Another thing that strikes the traveller in Tibet is the sturdiness of Tibetan ponies,—long-haired, short, stumpy little brutes, which possess most marvellous endurance under circumstances which would kill most horses. They live on whatever grass they can find, which is not much—at best, short semi-dried blades which take a good deal of looking for before you can see them at all. Tibet ponies have all the qualities of a goat and antelope combined, and I have seen them, with a rider on their back, go up gradients where a human being would have great difficulty to go up on foot.
The dogs of Tibet are not quite so attractive, being either vicious to a degree or else stupid, lazy, and uninteresting. The common kind is not unlike our sheep-dog, except that the hair is longer, which in some cases gives them a slight appearance of collie dogs. They are generally ill-treated and [[136]]suffering, and they seem to have no affection for anybody. They possess plenty of intelligence, especially those trained by shepherds, and they are indeed a great help to their masters in driving the flock in the right direction and keeping the sheep together. These sheep-dogs are generally made to carry a broad leather collar with an immense brass bell.
Tibetan Dogs
Perhaps, talking of dogs’ affection, I might here give some account of a Tibetan dog—a friend of mine—that I met on my first expedition into Tibet, while I was being chased all over the country by the Tibetan army. One night, during a storm, we were attacked, and I heard a number of voices around my camp. I only had two men left, and we jumped up to defend ourselves. Stones were flung at us with slings—an art at which both Tibetan men and women excel. From their earliest childhood they keep in constant practice at flinging stones, and in daylight they can hit the mark with great accuracy. Shepherds use them constantly, and can pick out any sheep in a flock of hundreds. We kept close to the ground, rifle in hand, a few feet from our tent, to avoid being hit, as evidently they were aiming at it, it being of a lightish colour. They struck it several times. With them was a [[137]]dog barking furiously all the time. Dog and men seemed to be approaching—at least, by the sounds of their voices, for I could not see them. This seemed an appropriate time to fire a shot, which would undoubtedly, as usual, cause a stampede. It did. Only the dog remained, barking and yelping the whole night, but we were otherwise not troubled in any other way, although, of course, we kept watch until sunrise, when all we found were numerous fresh footmarks a few yards from our tent.
The dog ran about a good deal, barking and barking, until we prepared our breakfast, when he sat himself down upon his hindquarters and watched the proceedings with keen interest. He seemed very shy, and whenever we tried to get near him he bolted away with his tail between his legs, howling madly as if he had been hit by a stone. Dogs in Tibet are so accustomed to have stones flung at them at every possible opportunity that no doubt in his imagination he fancied he had been hit by a missile each time we raised our hand to caress him. Animals are not unlike people in that way.
At last, by offers of tinned meat and the use of the favourite Tibetan term of endearment, [[138]]“Chochu, chochu,” the dog became our friend. He seemed utterly astonished at being caressed, and rubbed himself affectionately against our legs. He took a particular fancy to Mansing, my faithful man who developed leprosy, and from that day the dog followed us everywhere. Mansing, who was suffering considerably, and who took no interest whatever in scientific observations, photography, surveying, etc., had at last a sympathising friend to whom he could confide his grievances. The two were inseparable, and whenever we stopped Mansing pathetically conversed with the dog, who seemed almost to understand all the coolie was telling him.
A Tibetan Camp of Black Tents
It was rather a puzzle to me why this dog followed us so long, for we had so little food that we could but seldom spare him any. He slept near us at night with his head on the lap of one of us, and during the march he showed quite sporting instincts by chasing antelopes and kiang (wild horse) when we encountered herds of hundreds of them. Curiously enough, when we entered a Tibetan encampment he always avoided being seen in our company. It seemed almost as if he realised that we were not welcome guests in the country, and feared the consequences. Possibly [[139]]he only temporarily left us to see what he could pick up in the way of food, but whenever we came across him in the encampment, he never would show signs of recognition, much less of affection, as was the case when he would rejoin us some miles beyond on the march, when he made ample efforts to reingratiate himself. He seemed almost to want to express: “Sorry I had to cut you in the encampment, but I really had to!”