Hounds Overtaking a Fox
The story has often been told that dogs which have been in the habit of eagerly following their masters on their week-day walks, will not stir on Sundays. They seem to know from past experience that they are not welcome on that day. Do these creatures count the days of the week and know in that way when Sunday comes? Or is there something in the dress of the family, the sound of church-bells in the air, or other indications to tell them that this is a day set aside from doggish sports and duties?
All I can say in the matter is that a village friend of mine, whose church was too far away for the bells to be heard, had a dog of this kind, that ran friskily up to go out with him every morning but Sunday, when it would not stir from its rug. To test the animal he on several occasions came downstairs in his week-day clothes and went about in his week-day manner. But the wise creature was not to be fooled. It looked at him lazily and lay still, its looks seeming to say, "I can count as well as you and I know this is Sunday. You can't fool me with your old clothes."
You may see that I am not going abroad for my stories. These are not anecdotes taken from books, but little matters told me by friends. The book stories, no doubt, are better, but these are fresher. Here are one or two that I have heard of a different kind, tales which go to show the faithfulness of the watch-dog.
One of these is of a gentleman who went out one day, leaving his dog locked in the house. On his return in the evening he found that he had forgotten his key and could not get into the house by the front door. He tried the other doors and windows and at last found an open window into which he tried to climb. But so savage a bark came from the care-keeper inside that he backed out again in a hurry.
"Don't you know me, Carlo?" he said, in a coaxing tone.
Carlo knew him well enough and came with wagging tail to the window to be caressed by its master's hand. But the instant he tried again to climb in the animal's attitude changed and it became the fierce watch-dog again.
Try as he would, Carlo simply would not let him come into the house in that way. It was the burglar's route, and even if this man were his master he had no right to take it. In the end the baffled gentleman had to give up the attempt and leave Carlo lord of the premises. The faithful watch-dog knew not master or man when it came to a question of duty.
Now let me speak of a dog that had a different sense of duty. It belonged to a cousin of mine and when left in charge of the house in the absence of its mistress was quite willing to let visitors enter and seemed very glad to see them. The trouble began when they tried to go out. This the dog would not permit. It was ready to attack them with teeth and claws if they tried it. "Here you are and here you stay till my mistress comes home," its attitude seemed to say. "Your coming may be all right, but that is for the lady of the house to decide, and you shall not go a step until she returns."