We want, do we not, to raise their standard, not to lower our own, and though, of course, there are black sheep, many of them, I do believe that good treatment evokes good service. The householder who, remembering how comparatively new to the country the art of domestic service is, shows a little consideration, never breaks a promise, and does not scold or whack all round, because it happens to be a hot morning, will probably fare best, after all; moreover, on returning from leave, he or she will be sure to find ‘Audu’ or ‘Ibrahim’ smiling a welcome at Burutu, all anxious to take up service again with such a desirable Master or ‘Missis.’
CHAPTER III
Dogs, Poultry and Cows
Dogs
This collection of notes, which aims at giving assistance to English men and women in Nigeria, would, to my mind, fall miserably short of the mark if it failed to include within its scope some practical suggestions for the provision of comfort and the preservation of health of their dogs.
That West Africa is not a healthy country for English dogs is only too sadly certain, but it is equally certain that they will continue to come as long as Englishmen do, therefore it is not worth while giving sage advice as to the wisdom and true kindness of bringing or not bringing them—especially as I like to try and be consistent, and I cannot picture myself taking ship at Liverpool without one, or even two of my own!
I have met a variety of English dogs out here, from massive bull-terriers down to the most fascinating little person, a tiny Yorkshire terrier; but, to those who, coming out for the first time, are puzzled in the selection of a dog, I would like to say:—let him be a young dog and a small one. A puppy, well over distemper, aged from six to twelve months, will suffer far less from the change of climate, food, etc., than an older dog, and, when he does not weigh more than twenty or thirty pounds, his lightness makes it a simple matter for him to be carried on the march—for no dog should ever be allowed to run all through the hot hours of a long march. We, who are a long way off the ground, on horseback, occasionally grumble at the heat; what must be the sensations of the faithful little follower padding wearily along, close to the baking earth, all chance of breeze kept from him, as a rule, by high grass on either side, and a pitiless sun scorching his spine all the time?
We learnt this lesson through sad experience, the loss of a dearly loved little Irish terrier, who marched always on his own feet. He had lived in perfect health for four years in India, and had even weathered eight months in Sierra Leone, but died in Lokoja, after three months almost continuous touring in the bush.
Since then our dogs have never been allowed to run; we have had two carried all the way from Zungeru to Katāgum and back, a distance of eight hundred miles. They very soon got accustomed to the confinement; one was usually carried on the saddle of one of our mounted servants, and, after a few days, he learnt to appreciate the arrangement and to jump up at the pony, begging to be picked up as soon as the sun got hot. The other dog, a bull-terrier, had an ordinary square provision box filled with grass, its cover, a native-made wicker basket, having a small goat-skin fastened just on the top to keep off the sun. The cover fitted loosely, admitting plenty of air and was easily secured to the box by a few strings. After the dog had run three or four miles in the fresh early morning, and hunted and amused himself to his heart’s content, he was usually very ready to pack himself into his box, especially as there were invariably a few toothsome bones to be found there, and he then slept peacefully in it, until his carrier dumped him down in camp.