OUR FOUR-FOOTED FRIENDS, BIG AND LITTLE.
[Nov. 8, 1873.]
May I be permitted to question, in the most friendly way, the assumption of "Lucy Field," in your last issue, that the lives of small dogs are in constant jeopardy from "a race of giant dogs, and exceptionally large dogs," at Muswell Hill? If it be so, then, surely the "giant dogs" of that region are exceptions. My experience goes to confirm the truth taught by Sir Edwin Landseer's "Dignity and Impudence," a fine print of which adorns my portfolio. I had a broken-haired friend, weight about eight pounds, learned in two languages, canine and English, who rejoiced in the name of Teens, given him by babes with whom he condescended to play, because he was a "tiny, teeny dog." I must confess that my late friend—alas! that I should say late—who was chivalrically brave in killing rats and carrying on war with cats, was a very bully, a kind of Ancient Pistol towards big dogs. To see him meet a Newfoundland or large retriever was as good as a play. Teens, with his tail curled like the spring of an ancient watch, his broken-haired back stiffened with indignation, would stand and give the pass-word all dogs seem to know, and be overhauled and examined as he walked round the giant like an English gunboat by a Spanish fifth-rate; but when once the enemy turned his back, Teens exploded like a cracker, running under the big dog's nose, and often springing at his lip. His gigantic, but generous foe (or friend) always fled, or walked away, followed by a torrent of abusive barks, which, from their peculiar intonation, I took for dog-slang, and Teens returning with an impudent smile on his countenance, wiped his feet on the pavement as a sign of triumph. I have seen him do this a hundred times, and never saw a big dog attempt to punish his impudence. Jeems, a black-and-tan of smaller weight, who seemed to walk upon springs, and who on work-a-days was called Jim, and James on Sundays, which day he perfectly well knew, was more like Parolles. He bullied big dogs at a distance, and seldom stood up to them like the truculent Teens, and, although he ran away, was seldom pursued and never hurt, while the Claimant (he was for his size unwieldly in fatness as a pup), who (or which) still lives with me, is now bullying a shambling retriever pup, full-grown, but, like Cousin Feenix, uncertain as to his gait, who good-naturedly submits to it. Here, perhaps, there is danger; for very big pups will pursue any little thing that runs away, and one of their large paws, which they put down as if they wore heavily clumped boots, might certainly crush the life—a very noisy, fussy, busy life it is—out of my small and impertinent, pretentious Tichborne. This dog, by the way, brings down his mistress her boots, as a hint for her to take a walk, and blows like a trumpet or young walrus under the door to be let in, having been corrected for scratching the panel. I end as I began, by assuring you that my experience, no less than that of my friends, lies in the direction of extreme generosity exhibited by large dogs towards small ones; I would not deny that a large dog may now and then punish an impudent and aggressive toy-terrier, but, as a rule, we can only wonder at the providential wisdom which makes them so generous and forbearing; having a giant's strength, they seldom indeed use it like a giant.
Hain Friswell.