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

by Frances E. Slaughter

At the midnight conference held over him we decided to shut him into a stable, and keep him under supervision till we could be sure on this point. As there was likely to be trouble with the stable door, of which a decrepit lock often defied the best efforts of those who did not understand its eccentricities, I insisted on going to open it, while the dog’s master kept his attention on the culprit. Lion came up to us quietly when we went out, and allowed his master to pat him, but the weird horror of that short walk in the dead of night, with the pattering feet behind me, is a thing not to be forgotten. Would one of those deadly springs suddenly overpower us? But the tragedies of the day were over, and Lion in the course of a few days found a new master, who was undismayed by the gruesome record of his misdeeds, with which he was made fully acquainted. His new owner found him gentle and affectionate, as I had done, but he watched him carefully, and some fifteen months later, when he thought he saw signs of excitement about him, I believe Lion’s life came to an end.

Whether some playful teasing had roused Lion’s anger against his friend the cook, and thus led to his terrible act of vengeance, I never knew. Mason always declared she had done nothing but play with him and the other dogs, as she always did when she was free in the afternoon. To all my questions as to whether she had taken a bone from him, I could get nothing but an assurance that she had been very careful since I had warned her, and thus no direct explanation of the disaster was ever forthcoming. I inquired diligently for details of Lion’s earlier life; but here again I could learn nothing of any value. He had changed hands frequently, and the experiences of his early days were shrouded in obscurity. I may admit that I have never since then had anything to do with bulldogs, and that among dogs, the bulldog is the only one I cannot regard with favour. The terrors of my experience with Lion have prejudiced me against all others of his kind.

Jealousy is often shown by dogs, but when this comes from the strength of their affections, which can brook no rival in their owner’s hearts, is it to be counted among their bad qualities? We must here take into account the comparatively low standard of the dog’s moral development, in the answer we give. Certain it is, that in the crimes to which jealousy often leads dogs, a sense of shame for the misdemeanour into which the force of their feelings has hurried them is almost always shown.

A clear instance of this was given by a Skye terrier, the object of whose dislike was a kitten. The Skye’s master was a man who possessed that strange power over animals that is only given to the few even among those who love them. He was, too, a scrupulously truthful person, and neither particularly imaginative nor of a philosophical turn of mind, so that any story that came from his lips is worthy of credence. Buzz, the Skye, was for a long time the only indoor pet in this household. Then a kitten was introduced by the mistress, and Buzz’s master took some notice of the new arrival. Buzz, though a perfect little gentleman in his behaviour to the kitten, showed every sign of being distressed by her presence. He would creep away under cover of the furniture and was generally very depressed, but as he never showed the least inclination to touch the kitten, it was thought he would soon be reconciled to her.

One day the kitten disappeared, and all search for it was unavailing. It was noticed that Buzz seemed more dejected than ever, instead of rejoicing at her departure. On the following morning, when the master of the house went out for his smoke and stroll round the garden after breakfast, Buzz went with him as usual. Instead of displaying his accustomed vivacity, however, he attracted attention by the depressed fashion in which he crawled along at his master’s side. At last he showed signs of interest, and made his master understand that he wanted him to follow him. He then led the way to a rose bush, and flinging himself impetuously on the bed, poor Buzz began to dig, looking up from time to time to make sure that his master was close beside him. At last the dead body of the kitten came to light. Buzz then left his work, and rolling over on his back, waved four fat paws in the air, in the fascinating way these terriers generally ask for pardon.

It was concluded that Buzz had killed the kitten and hidden the sign of his crime, and his conduct gave ground for the conviction. It might be, however, that the little intruder had been the victim of an accident, and that a servant was responsible both for that and the burial, but in any case the dog showed plainly that he knew what had happened, and could not rest till he had told his master. The simple action of asking pardon when he discovered the body seemed to point to his having had a share in the tragedy. Who shall say that the sense of shame Buzz showed at his own or another’s misdeed was not a clear evidence of the moral sense that is the guide of our own actions?

Another and more remarkable instance of the effects of jealousy on a dog, I will take from that mine of good stories contained in Miss Serrell’s book.[8] Whankey, the hero of the story, was a black and tan wire-haired terrier, a dog of such beauty that she was pronounced to be faultless in make and shape. She was too of a singularly engaging and affectionate disposition. To her mistress her attachment was very great, and as Miss Serrell says, “She could never tolerate anything for which I showed affection.”

“At one time,” the narrator goes on, “I kept a large head of poultry which Whankey looked on with great disdain. She would never go near them, and her anger knew no bounds when once, being pressed for room, I had a trip of young game chicks brought up and cooped on the lawn.”

“All went well for a time, Whankey affecting to ignore their presence. One very precocious young cockerel, however, soon took to leaving the others and marching up the steps of the verandah in front of the drawing room windows. One day he ventured to come close and look into the room, when Whankey was instantly on the alert and growled angrily at the intrusion. Growing bolder as he came to know the verandah better, the cockerel at last walked through the window into the room where I was sitting at the time. Whankey showed such anger at his audacity that I was glad to throw the bird some crumbs and get him back on to the lawn, and as Whankey then quieted down no more was thought about the matter.

“The following day, when I returned from a drive, I found Whankey in her usual place in the drawing room with the window open, and noticing some earth on her nose and paws, I said to her, ‘What have you been burying, Whankey?’ On this, instead of greeting me, she got up and walked out of the room. In the evening when the chicks were penned in their coop there was a hue and cry; one was missing, and this turned out to be the little pert cockerel. A few days afterwards his body was found buried under the shrubs at the far end of the garden, and of course there were all sorts of conjectures as to the manner of his death. Some were of opinion that a stray cat had done it, but the mystery was not cleared up till many months later....