The horse is one of the most sensible and most affectionate of creatures. You see, every day, how they will obey the man who drives them, going on, stopping, moving to the right or left, and turning any corner, all without the driver going near them. They have learned the meaning of his words, or they could not do this; and is it not dreadful that a creature able to understand, and most willing to obey the voice, should be beaten and tortured as horses are? Why does a horse go as fast as he can when he is cruelly whipped, and his poor mouth wounded by the hard bit? Because he is trying to get away from the man or boy who treats him so. Ah, when God brought his beautiful creatures to the first man, to be named, and gave them into his care, there was no appearance of man ever becoming so cruel, or the animals so miserable as they now are! Yet the Lord loves mercy and judgment, and hates tyranny and wrong, as much now as he did then: and we may be quite certain of this, that every cruelty committed is an offence in his sight, and will be terribly punished, if it be not repented of, and left off; for when a person says he repents, and goes on doing the same thing as before, he is deceiving himself and provoking God.
The horse must bear a great deal of dreadful pain and suffering to be made fit for the use man puts him to, in drawing carriages, and other things. It is not natural to him to have even a bridle and saddle on him; much less to be loaded with harness, to wear blinders on his eyes, and to drag a great heavy weight as fast as he can run, keeping always attentive to the least touch of the reins, and turning accordingly, to prevent running his carriage against others. His fine spirit must be broken, his liberty quite taken away, and many a bitter smart must the poor, dumb, harmless, helpless creature suffer. But surely this ought to be enough; and you would not be the cruel wretch to add to his pains? Sometimes people must go fast; but one who would distress and torment a horse to make him go fast, just because it pleases the driver to be moving quickly, is doing a very wrong thing; and so is the person who could neglect to give food and drink to a horse when he wants it. I wonder when I see the poor doing this. They know what it is to be overworked, and to want as much as they could eat; they are often cold, and cannot get fuel enough: and if they were tied up, and not able to run about, or to help themselves, having no servants to wait on them, how very badly off they would think themselves! Yet a poor horse is much worse off; he can neither do any thing for himself, nor express his wants to others: he does his best, serves us faithfully, obeys all that he understands; and then to be ill-used, neglected, starved! It is a thing that I cannot bear to think of; and I hope my readers will always set their faces against such wickedness. Remember that promise which the Lord has given, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”
I dare say you have heard of the Arabs—a wild people, the descendants of Ishmael, the son of Abraham, who possess a great deal of country in the east; and are powerful, and much feared, because nobody has been able to conquer them. Their greatest strength consists in having the boldest, fleetest, most docile horses in the whole world. Arabian horses may be known in a moment by their uncommon beauty, their delicate arched necks, waving manes, and long tails; but though a great price is given for them, and they are lodged, and fed, and tended with all the care possible, they cannot be so happy in a king’s palace, as in the tent or hut of their poor masters at home. The Arab treats his horse like a child; gives it to eat of his own victuals, to drink of his own bowl of milk, and lets it sleep in the midst of his family. Of course, the animal becomes so fond of him, that it serves him for love, carries him through all dangers, and has often been known to defend him with its life. We cannot bring up our horses in this way, nor treat them as the wild Arab does; but knowing what sense, and feeling, and gratitude, and love, this noble creature can and does show, we ought to be always watching to avoid giving it unnecessary pain, and to persuade others to be equally kind.
I cannot tell you how it used to grieve my dumb boy, Jack, when he saw a horse ill-used; or how very kind he was to one that he had the care of. He would sooner have wanted food and drink himself, than have allowed his master’s horse to feel hunger or thirst. He was very tender when rubbing it down, if there was any, sore place; and if the animal got cross or impatient, he would say to me in signs, “Poor horse not know: horse tired: soon go sleep, poor horse!” That was a very strong, spirited animal, and needed a steady hand to rein him in; but I often saw the dumb boy jump on his back, and with only the halter over his head, guide him where he chose. I never saw him give that horse a blow or a kick, in all the two years that he tended him. Jack was fourteen when he began, and sixteen when he left off being his groom. He was strong and healthy then; but at nineteen he died; and he told me that it made him very happy to think that he had never been cruel to any of God’s poor creatures. But I must not say any more now about the noble horse. There is another animal, the natural companion of man, the dog, which comes next in value; for though it cannot take us on a long journey, or convey our goods from place to place, it stands sentry over us and our property, being not only a good servant, but a most intelligent, fond, and faithful friend. It does not need to be broke in, like the horse; it learns the ways and the wishes of those around it; and the more liberty you give it, the more eager it is to serve and please you. The dog deserves a chapter to himself, and shall have it.
Chapter III. The Dog.
There is a great deal of sorrow in the world: perhaps, through the goodness of God, you have been kept from suffering much yourselves, but you must have seen trouble among your friends and neighbours; sickness and death, perhaps. And it often happens that great distress comes on people, so as to keep them hungry and cold, for want of what would buy enough food and fuel. Besides this, how often the bad conduct of one in a family will make the rest unhappy! A single drunkard, or thief, or violent person, will bring shame and misery on all the rest. The world is full of troubles; but I do not think that we often find, even among those of our own nature, men, women, boys, and girls, not related to us, a person with so little selfishness as to be always sorry and sad when we are so, and because we are so. When we meet with any one so kind-hearted, we love that person, and would do a great deal to serve or oblige such a feeling friend.
Now, I always observed that a dog, when kindly treated and taken care of, will show his concern for the troubles of his master or mistress, in a wonderful way. Indeed, I never, in my life, had a dog that would not do so; and seeing this has convinced me that it is worse than cruel to treat a dog ill—it is most ungrateful. It does sometimes happen that a dog has a bad and violent temper, even from a puppy; and if very careful treatment does not soon cure this, I should say that such a dog ought to be destroyed, by a quick and easy death; not making the poor brute suffer for what it cannot help. But in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a dog’s savageness is the fault of those who have brought him up: and few things are more wicked than to teach or encourage a dog to fight his own race, or to bark and fly at human beings. When the world was as God made it, there was no hatred in it, no quarrelling, no wish in any living creature to frighten or hurt any other living creatures; but when Adam became a sinner, his sin broke through all this beautiful order, and peace, and love, and set the animals against each other, and against himself. I am trying always to remember this; for when they alarm or distress me, and I am thinking to punish them, I ought not to forget what first made the brutes vicious, and brought so much suffering on them. It was man’s sin alone: man should therefore do the best he can to make them amends; and not increase their misery, as he often does, by cruel severity. I think you will agree with me in this. Besides, it is a certain truth, that God’s eye is upon us and on the animals about us, as much as it was on Adam and the living creatures that came to him to be named; and though we and they are much changed for the worse, yet the Lord God never does or can change. He is as righteous, as holy, as merciful, and as just to-day, as he was then. How often has Jack, when he saw a thoughtless boy hurting a dog, or any other animal, gone up to him, and said, on his fingers, in a very quiet, gentle, but earnest manner, “God see—God angry.” He felt much for the dumb beast, suffering pain; but more for the boy who was forgetting that the Lord’s hand would yet punish him, when he least expected it: for Jack very well knew that the Bible says, “He shall have judgment without mercy that hath showed no mercy.”
Dogs have been a great amusement to me ever since I was a baby; and I never have been without one in the house when I could keep one. Ladies and gentlemen are not often willing to let their carpets be soiled by dogs; but the poor people, who are not troubled with carpets, make companions of them. I am writing this book in a room with a carpet and good furniture, but I have my two dogs with me. There is little Fiddy, the small spaniel, at my feet, where he has lain every day for eight years; and there is Bronti, the fine big Newfoundlander, lying, where do you think? Why the rogue has got upon the sofa, and when I shake my head at him, he wags his long tail, and turns up his large bright eyes to my face, as much as to say, “Pray let me stop here; it is so comfortable.” But no, Bronti, you must walk down, my fine fellow, or some lady coming to see me may have her gown soiled, which would not be fair. We have no right to make our pets a plague to other people, and, perhaps, a means of injuring them too.
That was enough for Bronti; no need of a loud, cross, or threatening voice. He saw that I wished him to leave the sofa, and he wags his tail as contentedly on the carpet. I can manage him with a word, almost with a look, because he was born in the house, and has never been away from me; but master Fiddy was a year or two old when I had him, and some things he will do in spite of me. He will hunt a cat, kill a bird, and growl most furiously over a bone. Bronti has the same nature, but his love for us overcomes it all. He would live peaceably with a cat, it we had one; he will let the chickens and pigeons perch upon him, or walk between his feet; and last year I had half a dozen tame mice, which I used to let out upon him, when they would nestle in his warm coat, run races over and under him, and he would not move a limb, for fear of hurting one. As to a bone, he will allow me to take it out of his mouth at any time; and, what is more, he will readily give it up to Fiddy, whose little teeth can only nibble off the meat; and when he has done that, Bronti takes it, and munches the bone.