His mother was full grown when I had her, and she was very fierce: if any workman came to the house, unless her master or I was by to restrain her, she would put him in fear of his life; and would have bitten him too, if she could have seized him. We gave her away to a friend who would be kind to her, and keep her out of mischief; and we brought up a puppy for ourselves, this same Bronti. Now he is more than three years old; and though he will sometimes fight a big dog who affronts him in the street, he never frightened anybody who came to the house. He watches, and gives one single, deep, quiet bark, to let us know that there is a stranger; and seeing that we are satisfied, he sits with one ear thrown back, listening and watching. If he meets a workman in the house, he does not even growl; only keeps him in sight, following him about, but with such a sweet-tempered look, that the greatest coward, if honest, could not contrive to be afraid of him. I might leave a joint of meat under his care, if he were ever so hungry; he would not touch it, because he is truly honest: and as to his sense, you would hardly believe if I told you how sensible he is. When I am putting on my boots, he comes up to me, and looks very eagerly in my face; if I say “Yes,” or, “Bronti shall go,” he is just wild with joy, tearing about, barking, and making no small riot. If I say “No,” or shake my head sorrowfully and say nothing, he steals away, lies down, and never attempts to follow me: but he gets on a chair, and Fiddy on a table, to see me go out at the gate; and then they both begin to cry and moan most piteously, so that nobody can comfort them.
On Sunday morning, Bronti looks very melancholy; how he knows the day I cannot tell. Of course, we all go to church, but he begins to be sad as soon as we get up. Neither he, nor Fiddy would attempt to follow us then, if the doors and gate were all set open: they seat themselves at the window to see us go. And now I recollect one time when Bronti was as savage as his mother. You shall hear about it.
One Sunday, when were all at church, a friend, just landed from a voyage, came to the house. He opened the garden gate, and was walking towards the door, when up jumped Bronti on a chair at window, barking, growling, and behaving so violently, that he really dared not try to get into a house where such a wild beast stood ready to seize him. So he went off to the church, found us, and after service returned with us; and Bronti, seeing him as a friend of the family, gave him an affectionate welcome. Then he told us of his ferocious behaviour; and we were very glad to find that our gentle dog knew how to protect our house and property when it was left entirely to his care.
A book larger than this might be filled, all through, with stories about the dog, besides what are already published; but any one of you may see enough to delight you every day in the affectionate creature, it you will only be patient and kind. It is too often the custom to punish a dog when he does not do just what you like; and you may like things quite different at different times. Now, the poor brute cannot tell exactly what you wish; and if he is used to get a blow, or an angry scolding, he will be so afraid of doing wrong, that what little sense he has left will fail him, and he will be so confused as to make him do wrong. An animal, or a boy either, living in constant fear of ill-usage whether he deserves it or not, will get either so stupid or so careless, as seldom to do what is required. Think a little, and you will understand this. An angry tone and hard words agitate a dog very much. Mr. Blaine, who wrote a book about their diseases and cures, says that he has often known a dog, weakened by illness, to go into convulsions on hearing another dog violently scolded. I tell you this to explain why some dogs are hard to manage: they are frightened out of their senses; to say nothing of the cruel pain that they are often made to suffer. I have seen a person beat a dog one day for not following him when he wished it, and the next day for following when he was not wanted. I have seen a dog set at another to fight, being encouraged, and irritated, and made savage on purpose; and soon after beaten for flying at some person, or thing that he was not wanted to attack. No wonder if the poor creature loses all his fine qualities under such treatment.
All that he wishes is to be allowed to love you, and follow you, and serve you. He wants the help of your reason to keep him from doing wrong; and he wants you to explain to him how he may please you. It has made my heart ache, many a time, to see a poor dog obey his master’s call, coming up to him in a crouching, crawling way, trembling with fear, and seeming to say, “Pray, pray do not hurt me! I am ready to do what you wish, and to lay down my life for you; but you are going to beat or to kick me, and I am a poor creature, without any one to take my part. I could bite you, I could seize you by the throat, or tear the flesh off your leg, but I will not do so. I come because you call me; pray do not hurt me!” And I have seen the meek, obedient creature struck, and put to cruel pain, without the smallest reason in the world. And when I recollected the words of the Bible, “Verily there is a God that judgeth in the earth,” I have grieved the more to think what punishment that cruel man or boy was bringing on himself.
If we call one of our dogs, even when at high play in the fields, he instantly comes bounding up, puts his head on one side, pricks up his ears, and looks full in our faces as if saying, “Well, here I am; what do you want me to do?” A beating is the last thing that they would think of. I am not now speaking of Bronti and Fiddy in particular, but all the dogs that ever I had. The reason is, that the dog is the very fondest creature that breathes; and any but a really ill-tempered dog may be managed by means of this fondness; while, as I before remarked, a really bad-tempered one should not be kept to be punished, but speedily destroyed.
You know what a terrible thing the bite of a mad dog is. The wound may be so small as hardly to leave a scar, and it may heal, and be forgotten, perhaps for weeks and months; still, the deadly poison is in the person’s blood, and when it breaks out, a most fearful death follows, after such sufferings as nobody, who has not seen them, can have an idea of. But, perhaps, you do not know that the angry bite of a dog, when teased or hurt, has often produced the same awful madness. I remember a neighbour’s son dying most horribly of it, who had only had his finger wounded, as if by a pin’s point, by the tooth of a little dog which he was teasing and provoking in play. This shows us how very dangerous it is to irritate an animal; for you never know what peril you may run into. These things do not fall out by chance. The Lord God orders them all; and sometimes he does very terrible things, in judgment on those who knowingly transgress, and for an example to others. May you, dear young readers, be loving, and merciful, and kind; and never stand for a moment in the hateful character of oppressors, where it is alike your duty and your happiness to help the defenceless and to protect the weak!
Chapter IV. The Cat—The Cow—The Sheep—The Ass.
Poor Puss! I have not so much to say for her as for the noble dog. The cat is more selfish, and not so trustful; neither does she often show so much affection for us. The cat’s habits are more like those of a wild animal, than are the habits of any other of our domestic creatures. It is hardly possible to keep her from straying about, or to teach her to do no mischief. I have had a cat that would not steal, and a dog that would: both proving that every rule has an exception. I often think, when I see Puss watching for mice and birds, and choosing them rather than meat, what a wonderful thing it is that God should have taught a beast of prey to attach itself to man, so far as to rid him of other creatures which, by increasing too fast, would eat up what he wants to live upon. At the same time, I grieve to remember that this war between us and the smaller animals, and between them and each other, comes from our rebellion against God; and I dare not set one creature to destroy another, any farther than is necessary for my own safety, and the support of my family.