"The One" Dog and "The Others": A Study of Canine Character

by Frances E. Slaughter

We do not need to be told of the dark hours that come to us when one whom we love has been taken from us, or of the craving for the companionship that is lost that takes possession of us. Our interest in our daily pursuits is gone, and a blank feeling of desolation saps our energies. When a dog shows grief in the same way, sitting alone and desolate, refusing food and all the joys of his daily life, the link of sympathy is strong between us, as we recognise that he is afflicted with a sense of loss akin to that which has saddened our own life.

My first dog came to me, and indeed made his place good in my affection, while he was suffering the keenest grief at the loss of his owner. In the many changes of life in India, Jell’s mistress was called to join her husband in a distant station and, the heat in the plains still being great, she did not wish to take her dog with her. Knowing that I was wanting a dog, she offered hers to me. But Jell was not prepossessing in appearance, and indeed well deserved the epithet of “thoroughbred mongrel.” As I have a predisposition in favour of well-bred dogs, I declined the proffered gift. But on the morning of my friend’s departure the large, white, leggy, and bullet-headed terrier—so called—made its appearance in my verandah, with a note explaining his presence. No home had offered for him, and he was thrown on my generosity to provide him with one. This I determined to do elsewhere, as soon as might be, but in the meantime I was confronted with the problem of reconciling Jell to his present quarters, so far at least as to preserve his life. In the first moment of my displeasure at his arrival, I had ordered him off to the compound in the charge of the mehtar who had brought him to me. But I distrusted a native’s methods with dogs, and something in the dejected appearance of Jell as he was being led away softened my heart so far that I decided to take charge of him myself.

He lay in my room, crying for hours together. He would take no interest in anything, showed a fine disregard of all attempts to win his favour, and refused to touch his food. At the end of the second day I began to wonder what I should do with him, and was heartily wishing that he had not been cast on my hands, when I became aware that two soft eyes were watching me from the far corner of the room. There was an expression of dawning confidence in the look, that gave me hope of better things in store. I waited, and in a little time Jell raised his head and sat up, with his gaze still fixed on my face. Presently he rose and came to my side, and made the first advances of friendship. To these he suffered my response with a far from flattering lack of eagerness. Nevertheless, the first step had been taken, and I was admitted to a place in his affections. This place I never forfeited; for Jell, in spite of his want of good looks, did not find another home, but remained my constant and devoted attendant to the day of his death.

With a small terrier named Floss a friend had a similar experience, though this little dog had a far more chequered history in her English life than Jell had in India. Floss came to her future mistress with only an announcement by telegraph that she might be expected on a certain day. The man who sent her promised her history later, and in due course both the terrier and the story of her deeds arrived. First, Floss reached her new home just as the house was being closed for the night. The basket, when opened in the kitchen, disclosed a small terrier with black and tan head and black spot and fiery eyes, of a most uncompromising expression of countenance. The little thing sat up, glared at the strangers round her, and defended herself with her teeth from all attempts to touch her. At last, in despair, the basket was turned over and Floss rolled on to the floor. She then put her back against the dresser, and showed that she still meant to keep off intruders. All thought of taming her was for the time given up, and her basket being righted, Floss was allowed to take possession of it, and both were then carried up to her new owner’s bedroom. As the little thing had been travelling for twenty-four hours, she was offered food and water; but she would have none of them, and continued to sit up straight in her basket, a very forlorn and vigilant little figure. Many times during the night her mistress roused herself to see how Floss was getting on, and always the same watchful and sad-looking terrier gazed back at her, showing by a low growl her displeasure at the interest displayed.

Suspicion
FLOSS

In the morning things were no better. Floss refused all advances made to her, and would neither drink nor eat. Basket and all, she was carried down to the kitchen garden, from which she could not escape. Here she condescended to walk about a little, but whenever she met her mistress’s eye she marked her disapproval of the situation by a growl. Carried back to the bedroom, she sat in melancholy wrath for the rest of the day, and was as uncompromising as ever whenever her basket was touched or moved. The last thing at night her owner tried to soften her by turning her out on the foot of her bed; but Floss refused all advances, and only growled at every movement of her companion.

In the morning, when my friend awoke, she found Floss also awake and watching her. Without moving, she said in a low tone, “Floss;” and the dog immediately crawled up the bed and licked her face. Then Floss lay down and submitted to a good deal of stroking and petting; and when breakfast made its appearance she showed a gracious tolerance of things as they were by making a good meal. From the moment when she responded to her name dated Floss’s love for her mistress, which seemed to grow and strengthen with every year of her life.

The first use the latter made of the establishment of good relations between them was to attend to some ugly wounds on the face and head that Floss had brought with her. When the promised story of her life came, these wounds were explained. It appeared that the terrier had belonged to a miner in South Wales, and had taken part in badger baiting. It was the custom for the miners to meet on Sunday afternoon for this more than doubtful amusement. Each miner brought a dog, and the performance was to see which of the dogs could bring the badger out of his box in four minutes. But the badger was large and fierce, and one dog after another—bull-terriers among them—tried in vain to draw him. Then one of the miners opened his coat, and brought out the tiny Floss, who was only eighteen months old and weighed ten pounds. In less than four minutes the game little terrier drew her formidable opponent, and her exploit was so much talked of that she was bought and sent off to a home where good terriers are ever welcome, before the marks of her conflict had healed. Under gentler care Floss developed a touching devotion to her owner, and for many years was one of the reigning household pets in her new home.

How many similar instances of mourning for lost friends occur to us! Every one who knows anything of dogs can recall some touching story that tells at once of the love that flooded, and the pain of separation that darkened, the dog’s life as he passed from the secure confidence of requited affection to the desolate uncertainty of the care of strangers.