'Murphy': A Message to Dog Lovers

by Ernest Gambier-Parry

Here is a dumb animal that, long before the dawn of history, is known to have been man’s close companion. Step by step, we see him advancing with those to whom he is linked, until he raises himself immeasurably above all other animals, and takes his place pre-eminently as the friend of man. No one of those from whom he originally sprang was known to bark, and no wild species does so. By and through man, the dog was endowed with this means of expression, and was thus able to act as his more efficient guard. It is an established fact that the dog barks when in contact with man, and loses the power when separated from him. Such was the case with the dogs that were left many years ago on the uninhabited island of Juan Fernandez. The descendants of these dogs were found thirty years later to have lost the power of barking, and only subsequently regained it with difficulty.

The fact that the dog barks is not, however, the chief point. This peculiar gift has been developed into a language, for it is by those wonderful inflections of the voice in barking that the dog has learnt to make man understand his meaning. Thus, as we all know, he is able to convey, at will, a note of warning, to signal the approach of danger, to show his anger, his alarm, his joy, the spirit that animates him in the chase, to make his appeal for help, to declare the need of succour. His bark has in these ways become his chief means of communication, quite apart from the howl, the whimper, the whine, or the growl; the “singing” that is associated with a pack of foxhounds baying at the moon; the “talk” that the subject of these pages possessed to such an extraordinary degree.

Then again, as he responded more readily to education, and acquired by degrees something of the civilising instincts that were affecting man, the dog became not only a trusty companion but a humble servant. Nor did he stop here, for, what was still more remarkable, he certainly came by degrees to reflect some of man’s chief characteristics, as well as nearly all human passions. By association of ideas he developed memory. By his dreams and the various sounds he emits in sleep, he is seen to possess imagination. His wonderful power of scent is found capable of being turned to other uses than sport, and is even now not utilised in sundry quarters as it might be. Then, too, he habitually forms his own judgments, and these are usually exceedingly correct, as when he recognises an intruder, or arrives at what is right and what is wrong within the circle of his own domain. On many occasions he certainly gives evidence of a conscience and the possession of the rudiments of the moral sense. When he does wrong he frequently exhibits shame as well as contrition, seeking forgiveness, and being often distinctly unhappy till this is secured. So far does he occasionally carry this, that when he knows he has transgressed rules, he will come and make confession, his own honesty bringing upon him a punishment he would otherwise have escaped, or serving to declare what was not previously suspected by those about him.

But it is when we approach the higher qualities that the dog stands out in his true light. The best of his class naturally possess these in greatest perfection, but it is a fact that none are altogether without them. His instinct, his patience and subservience to the will of his master, his pluck and his courage, his fidelity that nothing seems capable of undermining, his trustfulness, his power of sympathy with man and with his own class, and, lastly, the touching and infinite depth of his love—all these are characteristics that occasionally put man to shame, but which make man always trust him more and more. In the face of his marvellous instinct, man is not infrequently struck dumb as he watches. A dog’s patience is a thing to study, as well as one from which to learn many a fair lesson. His pluck and courage are almost proverbial. In many a case the odds against him seem not to make the slightest difference: he will fight on to the end; let his master only lead, he will follow to the death.

And it is here that his fidelity attains its very pinnacle. Faithful unto death! Again and again, in innumerable instances, he has shown his faithfulness long after the one he loved was dead. The dog in the mediæval legend that dug his master’s grave, covered him with moss and leaves, and then watched there for seven years, until he died himself, has found many a parallel in real life. A well-known dog in the days of the Stewarts was still beside his master’s tomb three years after the latter’s death; and, in much later times, another dog, at Lisle, refused to come away from the spot where his master lay, and remained on guard for nine long years, the villagers recognising his fidelity by building him a kennel and bringing him his daily food until he died.

And if an instance of the exhibition of grief on the part of a dog is called for, some will remember the little dog in the far-away Sudan. He was the property of the only officer that fell at Ginnis, and who had been in the habit of taking him everywhere. When his master was consigned to the sand, this dog was seen to be cowering beside the stretcher, looking even smaller than before; and, when all was over, he had to be lifted away from the edge of the pit, where he lay with his head hanging over the edge in an abject state of grief. He was only a dog, and a small one; but many a man, hardened by the experiences of a campaign, turned away his head at the sight.

Few can have been much in the company of dogs without becoming aware of their power of sympathy, the way in which they almost invariably show this to their own kind, and also especially to man. For a dog to be injured or ill is for others at least to leave him in peace; but with man they go much further, as they do in many directions where man is concerned. When Lazarus lay at the gate of Dives, alone and neglected, it was the dogs that came and licked his sores. So, too, in the hours of human adversity, somehow or other, dogs appear to understand, and act accordingly. How often the expression is heard—“They know!” The reason of their conduct and their actions on such occasions is entirely hidden from us, just as is that strange sense that dogs of highly developed brains undoubtedly possess—awe of the unknown, and that has made some conclude that they have an inkling of the spirit world.

Many dogs are subject to fits of nervousness, though for the most part only in connection with things they do not understand or are unable to grasp at the moment. At such times the dog invariably seeks the closer company of his friend, man. On the other hand, the dog often understands the meaning of sounds when man is at fault and a feeling of uncertainty has been aroused. A glance at a dog, and the words—“the dog hasn’t moved,” are quite sufficient then to reassure the watcher, possibly out of doors on a dark night. Thus the one looks to the other for support and confidence, and a mutual spirit of reliance exists between both.

There is little need to say much here of the dog’s power of love, for every one is aware of it, or may have been made richer by it in his life. The old saying of centuries ago still holds good, and “the dog is the only animal in creation that luvs you more than he luvs himself.” There are those who assert that all love is divine in origin. If this be so, and the dog could be considered to have a religion, then undoubtedly his religion is the love of man. We are brought face to face here with a passion that, in the dog, knows no limits, and that is apparently incapable of alienation. Faith, truth, love! What is to be said;—whence come these amazing powers; for what object could they have been created here? Perhaps the matter were better left where that other was just now. We can only seek the shelter that is common to us in such circumstances.

“He knows, who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate.”