Even more culpable than the boy with his thoughtless cruelty is the man with his deliberate cruelty, the brute who makes this faithful creature the butt for his ill will. There is a deal of truth in the statement of Roland Hill that every man’s dog or his horse knows whether he be a Christian or not.
Where in the annals of mere humans, is there a story as touching in its absolute fidelity as that of “Gray Friar’s Bobby?” Lest this wonderful true story may not be familiar to you I give it here very briefly, the account being taken from our Four Footed Friends:
During the fifties there lived in Midlothian a farmer named Grey. This man, like others of his calling, was generally to be found in Edinburgh every Wednesday, attending the market, accompanied always by his shaggy terrier, Bobby. It was Grey’s custom, as the time-gun announced the hour of one from the Castle heights, to repair to a small restaurant in the neighborhood of Greyfriars’ Churchyard, known by the name of Traill’s Dining Rooms. Here Bobby and his master had their midday meal, which in the case of the doggie consisted regularly of a bun.
In 1858 Grey died, and was laid to rest near the historic church of Greyfriars, aptly named by Sir Walter Scott “the Westminster of Scotland.” On the third day following the funeral, and just as the echoes of the time-gun were dying away, the occupants of Traill’s rooms were surprised to see a dog, the picture of woe and hunger, enter the doorway and approach the proprietor, upon whom he gazed with a most beseeching expression.
Traill immediately recognized in this visitor the once happy and well-cared-for Bobby. Stirred with compassion, he gave a bun to the silent pleader, who then, without waiting to eat it, ran out of the shop carrying his newly-found meal in his mouth. Next day at the same hour Bobby again appeared, and repetition of events followed; but on the third day, Traill, whose curiosity and interest were now thoroughly aroused, determined to follow the dog, and thus discover his destination. This was soon reached, for Bobby, bun in mouth, made straight for Greyfriars’ Churchyard where, approaching the grave of his master, he lay down and began to eat his scanty meal. It was now evident that the chief, if not the only mourner of the kind-hearted farmer, had been his four-footed friend Bobby, who, after following his late master’s funeral procession, had then refused to leave the humble mound which marked his grave, until forced to do so by the pangs of hunger. Bobby’s plight and the locality of his new domicile having come to the knowledge of the occupants of his former home, he was brought back, it is said, three times. However, all efforts to make him relinquish his chosen post proved unavailing and each attempt was followed by a speedy return to the same spot in Greyfriars. Here Bobby continued to spend both days and nights, taking refuge only in rough weather under a tombstone hard by, and stoutly resisting all friendly advances made by the compassionate strangers desirous of providing a home for him. In course of time a shelter was erected for his protection near his master’s grave. He continued his daily visits to the restaurant, arriving punctually at the same hour, and never failing to receive his bun from the kind-hearted proprietor. This went on for nine years when, owing to a more rigorous enforcement of the seven shillings yearly dog license, Bobby was arrested as a “vagrant,” and appeared in court accompanied by his humane sympathizer and defender, the restaurant keeper, who was accused of harboring the dog. They were tried before three magistrates who, after hearing the story, tempered the law with mercy and forgave him for not paying his rates, thus saving Bobby from an untimely end.
This remarkable dog, who, by an irony of fate, had great length of days granted to him, lived until 1872, and then, like his master, was buried in Greyfriars’ Churchyard, where his grave, now marked by a rose bush, is often pointed out to visitors. A short time before Bobby’s death the Baroness Burdett-Coutts visited Greyfriars, and the sight of the Highland mourner so interested her, that when his demise occurred, she obtained permission to erect at the street corner, near the churchyard gate, a granite fountain with an effigy of the inconsolable dog sitting on guard.
How can I better close this unworthy monograph upon man’s faithful friend, than by quoting Senator Vest’s immortal tribute to the dog delivered before a Missouri jury. He certainly epitomizes the subject as no one else has.
“Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son and daughter that he has reared with loving care may become ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from him when he may need it most. Man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees and do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend a man may have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is the dog.
“Gentlemen of the Jury: A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince.
“When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast into the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws and his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.”