"I one day picked up in the streets an old spaniel bitch, that some boys were worrying, from which her natural timidity rendered her incapable of defending herself. Grateful for the protection, she readily followed me home, where she was placed among other dogs, in expectation of finding an owner for her; but which not happening, she spent the remainder of her life (three or four years) in this asylum. Convinced she was safe and well treated, I had few opportunities of particularly noticing her afterwards, and she attached herself principally to the man who fed her. At a future period, when inspecting the sick dogs, I observed her in great pain, occasionally crying out. Supposing her to be affected in her bowels, and having no suspicion she was in pup, I directed some castor-oil to be given her. The next day she was still worse, when I examined her more attentively, and, to my surprise, discovered that a young one obstructed the passage, and which she was totally unable to bring forth. I placed her on a table, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in detaching the puppy from her. The relief she instantly felt produced an effect I shall never forget; she licked my hands, and when put on the ground she did the same to my feet, danced round me, and screamed with gratitude and joy.
"From this time to her death, which did not happen till two years after, she never forgot the benefit she had received; on the contrary, whenever I approached, she was boisterous in evincing her gratitude and regard, and would never let me rest till, by noticing her, I had convinced her that I was sensible of her caresses. The difference between her behaviour before this accident and after it was so pointed and striking, that it was impossible to mistake the grateful sense she had ever retained of the kindness which had been shown to her."
Spaniels in cover are merry and cheerful companions, all life and animation. They hunt, they frisk about, watching the movements of their master, and are indefatigable in their exertions to find game for him. Their neat shape, their beautiful coats, their cleanly habits, their insinuating attention, incessant attendance, and faithful obedience, insure for them general favour. It is almost impossible, therefore, not to have the greatest attachment and affection for them, especially as few dogs evince so much sagacity, sincerity, patience, fidelity, and gratitude. From the time they are thrown off in the field, as a proof of the pleasure they feel in being employed, the tail is in perpetual motion, upon the increased vibration of which the experienced sportsman well knows when he is getting nearer to the game. As the dog approaches it, the more energetic he becomes. Tremulous whimpers escape him as a matter of doubt occurs, and he is all eagerness as he hits again on the scent. The Clumber breed of spaniels have long been celebrated for their strength and powers of endurance, their unerring nose, and for hunting mute—a great qualification where game abounds. This breed has been preserved in its purity by the successive Dukes of Newcastle, and may be considered as an aristocratic apanage to their country seats. Nor should the fine breed of spaniels belonging to the Earl of Albemarle be passed by in silence. They are black and tan, of a large size, with long ears, and very much feathered about the legs. They are excellent retrievers; and those who have seen will not soon forget Sir Edwin Landseer's charming picture of the late Lord Albemarle's celebrated dog Chancellor, and one of his progeny, holding a dead rabbit between them, as if equally eager to bring it to their amiable master. These dogs, like those of the Clumber breed, hunt mute, and seldom range out of shot.
While on the subject of Lord Albemarle's breed of dogs, I may mention an extraordinary fact which I noticed in a former work, and which I witnessed myself. I allude to the circumstance of a favourite dog having died after producing a litter of puppies, which were adopted, suckled, and brought up by a young bitch of the same breed, who never had any whelps of her own, or indeed was in the way of having any. The flow of milk of the foster-mother was quite sufficient for the sustenance of the adopted offspring, and enabled her to support and bring them up with as much care and affection as if they had been her own. Here was an absence of that notus odor which enables animals to distinguish their young from those of others, and also of that distension of milk which makes the suckling their young so delightful to them. Indeed it may be observed how beautifully and providentially it has been ordered, that the process of suckling their young is as pleasurable to the parent animal as it is essential to the support of the infant progeny. The mammæ of animals become painful when over-distended with milk. Drawing off that fluid removes positive uneasiness and affords positive pleasure. In the present instance, however, nothing of the sort was the case, and therefore we can only look to that kindliness of disposition and intelligence with which many animals are so strongly endowed as the reason of the singular adoption referred to. I am aware that this fact has been doubted, but it is too well known and authenticated to admit of the possibility of any mistake. In this instance it must be allowed that the usually defined bounds of instinct were exceeded. If so, distress at hearing the cries of the helpless young must have acted forcibly on the kindly feelings of a poor brute, and thus induced her to act in the manner I have described.
Spaniels, like other dogs, possess the power of finding their way to their homes from distances of considerable extent, and over ground they have not before traversed.
A lady residing at Richmond (Mrs. Grosvenor) gave the Rev. Leonard Jenyns the following anecdote of a dog and cat. A little Blenheim spaniel of hers once accompanied her to the house of a relative, where it was taken into the kitchen to be fed, when two large favourite cats flew at it several times, and scratched it severely. The spaniel was in the habit of following its mistress in her walks in the garden, and by degrees it formed a friendship with a young cat of the gardener's, which it tempted into the house,—first into the hall, and then into the kitchen,—where, on finding one of the large cats, the spaniel and its ally fell on it together, and, without further provocation, beat it well; they then waited for the other, which they served in the same manner, and finally drove both cats from the kitchen. The two friends continued afterwards to eat off the same plate as long as the spaniel remained with her mistress in the house.
A gentleman residing at Worcester had a favourite spaniel, which he brought with him to London inside the coach. After having been in town a day or two he missed the dog, and wrote to acquaint his family at Worcester of his loss. He received an answer informing him that he need not distress himself about "Rose," as she had arrived at her old house at Worcester five days after she had been lost in London, but very thin and out of condition. This same dog was a great favourite, and much domesticated. She formed a friendship with the cat, and when before the fire the latter would lie down in the most familiar manner by the side of the dog. When the dog had puppies, the cat was in the habit of sucking her; and it happened more than once that both had young ones at the same time, when the cat might be seen sucking the bitch, and the kittens taking their nourishment from the cat.
A friend of mine, who then resided in South Wales, had a team of spaniels, which he used for woodcock shooting. As he was leaving the country for a considerable length of time, he gave permission to some of his neighbours to take out his spaniels when they wanted them. One of these was a remarkably good dog, but of rather a surly disposition, and had, in consequence, been but little petted or noticed by his master. Notwithstanding this, nothing could induce him either to follow or hunt with those to whom he was lent. In order, therefore, to make him of any use, it was necessary to get his feeder to accompany the shooting party, and the dog would then take to hunt in cover; but if this man returned home, the dog would find it out and be there before him. At the end of nearly six years his master returned into Wales, and near the house discovered his old dog, apparently asleep. Knowing his ferocious disposition, he did not venture to go close to him, but called him by name, which did not appear to excite the animal's attention. No sooner, however, did the dog hear an old exciting cover-call, than he jumped up, sprang to his old master, and showed his affection for him in every possible way. When the shooting season came, he proved himself to be as good a dog as ever.
Mons. Blaze says, that a fondness for the chase does not always make a dog forget his fidelity to his master. He was one day shooting wild ducks with a friend near Versailles, when, as soon as the first shot was fired, a fine spaniel dog joined and began to caress them. They shot during the whole day, and the dog hunted with the greatest zeal and alacrity. Supposing him to be a stray dog, they began to think of appropriating him to themselves; but as soon as the sport was over, the dog ran away. They afterwards discovered that he belonged to one of the keepers, who was confined to his house by illness. His duty, however, was to shoot ducks on one particular day of the week, when he was accompanied by this spaniel; he lived six miles from the spot, and the dog, knowing the precise day, had come there to enjoy his usual sport, and then returned to his master.
One of the most extraordinary cases on record of a friendship between two most dissimilar animals, a spaniel and a partridge, is narrated by a writer in whom implicit confidence may be placed:—"We were lately (in 1823) visiting in a house, where a very pleasing and singular portrait attracted our observation: it was that of a young lady, represented with a partridge perched upon her shoulder, and a dog with his feet on her arm. We recognised it as a representation of the lady of the house; but were at a loss to account for the odd association of her companions. She observed our surprise, and at once gave the history of the bird and the spaniel. They were both, some years back, domesticated in her family. The dog was an old parlour favourite, who went by the name of Tom; the partridge was more recently introduced from France, and answered to the equally familiar name of Bill. It was rather a dangerous experiment to place them together, for Tom was a lively and spirited creature, very apt to torment the cats, and to bark at any object which roused his instinct. But the experiment was tried; and Bill, being very tame, did not feel much alarm at his natural enemy. They were, of course, shy at first; but this shyness gradually wore off: the bird became less timid, and the dog less bold. The most perfect friendship was at length established between them. When the hour of dinner arrived, the partridge invariably flew on his mistress's shoulder, calling with that shrill note which is so well known to sportsmen; and the spaniel leapt about with equal ardour. One dish of bread and milk was placed on the floor, out of which the spaniel and bird fed together. After their social meal, the dog would retire to a corner to sleep, while the partridge would nestle between his legs, and never stir till his favourite awoke. Whenever the dog accompanied his mistress out, the bird displayed the utmost disquietude till his return; and once, when the partridge was shut up by accident a whole day, the dog searched about the house, with a mournful cry which indicated the strength of his affection. The friendship of Tom and Bill was at length fatally terminated. The beautiful little dog was stolen; and the bird from that time refused food, and died on the seventh day, a victim to his grief."