The education of dogs is in itself a profession, and has opened multifarious employments to those intelligent creatures. The collie will convoy a flock of sheep to pasture, guard them all day, drive them into shelter if storms arise, and guide them home to the fold at night. The dogs of the St. Bernard hospice have been devoted for centuries to the task of saving life amid Alpine wastes; and they perform this duty with a patience, zeal and sagacity that no human being could surpass. Old Barry saved forty-two persons—a record unequaled in any records.
There are firemen’s dogs, who in most cases volunteer for the service, apparently from pure adventurousness, but have often saved life and property in the way of their profession. Not least among deeds of daring was that splendid rush of “Bob, the London Fireman’s Dog” into a blazing building, whence he brought out alive a poor cat!
HELP, THE RAILWAY DOG OF ENGLAND.
Help, a collie, has been trained to collect money; is an accredited agent, in fact, for the “Society of Railway Servants.” “I am Help,” says the inscription on his collar, “the railway dog of England, and traveling agent for the orphans of railway men who are killed on duty. My office is at 306, City Road, London, where subscriptions will be thankfully received.” In three years this dog collected five hundred pounds. One can hardly resist the mute, dignified appeal with which this noble collie approaches you, looks up gravely into your face, then after waiting long enough for you to inspect his credentials, and contribute if you like, passes on to another.
Some dogs, like that of Allan Pinkerton, show an aptitude for detective business, and become valuable auxiliaries; others, in the service of dishonest owners, become smugglers. Immense ingenuity has been expended in training them for the latter business, with results highly satisfactory to their owners, “Le Diable”—so named by French custom-officers, from his cleverness and daring—in this way made his master a rich man, and—guiltless outlaw that he was—was killed at last while smuggling a packet of costly lace.
A more honorable outlet for canine activity has been found in the Prussian army, where a “Watch-Dog Battalion” is formed. Its members—usually collies—are trained to carry dispatches, hunt up stragglers on a march, look for the wounded, and do outpost duty; all of which they do so well that no soldier could possibly do better.
But it has been reserved for the present decade, and for Sir John Lubbock, to train a dog to converse. He says that he was struck first by the applicability to animals of the deaf-mute system (as used by Dr. Howe with Laura Bridgman), and began to test it on his black poodle Van. After preparing a number of cards, printed in large clear letters, with such words as “water,” “tea,” “bone,” “food,” “out,” etc., he by degrees associated them in the dog’s mind with the objects they represented, and in a few weeks succeeded in teaching Van their meaning. When the little fellow wished to go out, he would bring the card with that word, if food, then that card, and so on; selecting the desired card from a number of others with evident discrimination, and greatly pleased with his own success.
Lately too, Prof. Bonnetty and his troupe of feline actors have come to the fore in Paris, where they have aroused immense enthusiasm. The professor takes his cats at random from gutters, streets or roofs, as chance may have it, and for about three months leaves them at perfect liberty in a large room, quietly observing their dispositions and manners. At the end of this time he begins to train them—in no case compelling them by fear. Their education usually requires a year and a half.