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

by Frances E. Slaughter

In the same way, as soon as a dog has discovered that a picture is really a flat surface, and that the figure he sees there has no solid form, the thing loses all attraction for him. When an excellent painting of the master of the house was brought home, where a poodle and a collie were the household pets, both dogs recognised it at once. They jumped about in great excitement, and invited their owner to take them for the walk they always associated with his appearance among them from his study. When no response came, and they were not allowed to jump up with the usual marks of excitement, the picture had no more interest for them than a scented soap plum has after the first taste for an inquiring child.

In a house where a Blenheim spaniel lived, she could not bear to be taken into the dining room where the walls were hung round with family pictures. Some of these ancestral portraits were of stern appearance, and for one of them the children of the house had a great dread, saying that its eyes followed them about the room. When the spaniel was some eight or nine months old she first made acquaintance with the portraits. She showed every symptom of terror as she gazed at them, and singled out the children’s special dread for her fiercest growls of disapproval.

Whether an unusual degree of imagination, or a love of fun pure and simple, was the cause of very unusual conduct in a bull-terrier, I will leave others to decide. Possibly both imagination and a fondness of practical jokes were at the root of this strange creature’s love of dressing up. Such a trait is not unusual in poodles, who have a special aptitude for tricks of all kinds, but I have never heard of another bull-terrier with the same taste. This dog delighted in showing off, and the greater the laughter he excited, the better pleased he was with his performance. His favourite articles of attire were a bonnet and cloak, under which his grim face and broad shoulders were very effective. During one of his exhibitions to a group of admiring friends, whose laughter came as a pleasing evidence of success, he suddenly saw a strange dog strolling over his private grounds. With a fierce growl he sprang after the intruder. The latter, hearing the growl, turned in the direction from whence it came, but the strange sight that met his gaze was too much for his nerves. What could this large bonnet and fluttering cape over the little flying legs mean? With a howl of terror the stranger fled, and the terrier returned complacently to take up his performance at the point at which it had broken off.

A strange mixture of imaginative power and common sense was the distinguishing mark of a Blenheim spaniel, named Sylvia. In birth and appearance Sylvia was an undoubted aristocrat, and in character she was haughty to the verge of snobbishness. From her early youth she showed a detestation of poverty in any form. She would never go into a cottage if she could help it, and her family declared that she showed much greater pleasure in starting for a drive in a brougham or Victoria than in a humbler pony cart.

Sylvia had a strong will in her fascinating, tiny form. If she did not understand the reason of an order given to her, she would oppose it with all her strength. So excited would she become, if the attempt to exact obedience was persisted in, that it seemed as if a fit would be the consequence of perseverance in correction, and the little culprit usually had her own way. But she was not a disobedient dog on the whole. It was only when the meaning of the correction was not clear to her that she would die rather than give in to it. The easiest available means of punishment for such acts of insubordination was to shut her up in the travelling basket, in which she had arrived at her new home, till she had recovered her normal state.

When a journey with her mistress was in prospect, the latter regretted the use to which the travelling basket had been put. The probable effect on Sylvia of attempting to put her in, when no disciplinary effort was needed, was discussed in the family, and when the time came for the attempt to be made, her mistress gave herself a clear hour for the coming struggle.

The basket was brought out and stood in the big dark panelled hall, and in low spirits her mistress called Sylvia to her side. But Sylvia had realised that it would not do to run the risk of being left behind, so throwing aside all past associations with the basket as a place of correction, she disconcerted her mistress by running up and jumping straight into it. Even then she wished to see the arrangements for her departure complete, and would not be satisfied till the lid was fastened down and she was left safely secured till the time of the start arrived. It was not for a little dog possessed of common sense to indulge in tantrums, when such unknown joys were at stake.

When travelling, Sylvia showed a similar self-restraint and appreciation of the situation of the moment. She would be taken out of her basket, and allowed to roam the railway carriage or amuse herself at the window. But it was only necessary for her mistress to whisper to her, “It is the next station, Sylvie,” and she would instantly jump into her own special travelling carriage, so as to be ready to accompany her party when they left the train. So effective was the behaviour of this little red and white silken coated beauty that strangers were much impressed by her sweetness and intelligence. A fellow traveller once said to Sylvia’s mistress that he would willingly give twenty pounds down for so sweet-tempered a dog, as he wanted her to console a little Blenheim widower that he had at home. The bereaved one went every day to howl at the grave of his lost love, but such a vision of beauty and amiability as Sylvia could not fail to comfort him. As the latter’s mistress refused the offer, she had visions of her “sweet” dog bustling and snapping at the little widower, till she had reduced him to the state of submission her imperious nature demanded from her associates.

Sylvia was taught many of the usual tricks in her young days, but she was by no means ready to show off whenever she was wanted to. If her mistress called on her for a performance, which the little thing foresaw might be a longer one than she felt ready for, she would dash up when called, throw herself down, and do “dead dog” for a second, jump up and thrust first one paw and then the other into her owner’s hand, stand for a passing moment in trust attitude, then snap up an imaginary biscuit and run away. After this no further calls could be made on her complaisance by sensible folk.

In later life Sylvia turned instructor to her adoring family. She devised a trick of her own for their benefit. When she wanted anything to be done for her she lay down in a conspicuous position and did “dead dog.” It was for her friends to find out what she required. One thing after another was suggested, but there was no movement from the little waiting form, till at last the right guess was made. Then Sylvia sprang to her feet with a shrill bark, and demanded the instant carrying out of the suggestion.