[257] Nature, vol. xx., p. 197.
[258] Some of my correspondents tell me of pet or drawing-room cats jumping on chairs and looking at bells when they want milk—this being their sign that they want the bell pulled to call the servant who brings the milk; and Mr. Lawson Tait tells me that one of his cats—of course without tuition—has gone a step further, in that she places her paws upon the bell as a still more emphatic sign that she desires it pulled. But Dr. Creighton Browne tells me of a cat which he has that goes a step further than this, and herself rings the bell. This is corroborative of Archbishop Whately's anecdote. 'This cat lived many years in my mother's family, and its feats of sagacity were witnessed by her, my sisters, and myself. It was known, not merely once or twice, but habitually, to ring the parlour bell whenever it wished the door to be opened. Some alarm was excited on the first occasion that it turned bell-ringer. The family had retired to rest, and in the middle of the night the parlour bell was rung violently; the sleepers were startled from their repose, and proceeded downstairs with poker and tongs, to intercept, as they thought, the predatory movements of some burglar; but they were equally surprised to find that the bell had been rung by pussy, who frequently repeated the act whenever she wished to get out of the parlour.' The cases, however, mentioned in the text are more remarkable than any of these, which, nevertheless, all tend to lead up to them as by a series of steps. Dogs attain to the level of asking by gesture their masters to ring bells. One instance will be sufficient to quote. Mr. Rae says in 'Nature' (vol. xix., p. 459): 'A small English terrier belonging to a friend has been taught to ring for the servant. To test if the dog knew why it rang the bell he was told to do so while the girl was in the room. The little fellow looked up in the most intelligent manner at the person giving the order (his master or mistress, I forget which), then at the servant, and refused to obey, although the order was repeated more than once. The servant left the room, and a few minutes afterwards the dog rang the bell immediately on being told to do so.'
It must also be added that dogs sometimes attain to the level of knocking knockers—though I should think this must be very rare with these animals, as I have only met with one case of it. This, however, is a remarkably good case, not only because it rests upon the authority of a famous observer, but also because it is so very definite as proving an act of reason. Dureau de la Malle had a terrier born in his house. It had never seen a knocker in its native home, and when grown up it was taken by its master to Paris. Getting fatigued by a walk in the streets, the animal returned to the house, but found the door shut, and it endeavoured vainly to attract the attention of those within by barking. At length a visitor called, knocked at the knocker, and gained admittance. The dog observed what had been done, and went in together with the visitor. The same afternoon he went in and out half a dozen times, gaining admittance on each occasion by springing at the knocker.
Lastly, Dr. W. H. Kesteven writes to 'Nature' (xx., p. 428) of a cat which used to knock at a knocker to gain admittance, in the way already described of so many other cats; but as showing how much more readily cats acquire this practice than dogs, it is interesting to note that Dr. Kesteven adds that a dog which lived in the same house ascertained that the cat was able to gain admittance by knocking, and yet did not imitate the action, but 'was in the habit of searching for her when he wanted to come in, and either waiting till she was ready to knock at the door, or inducing her to do it to please him.'
[259] Consul E. L. Layard gives in Nature (xx., p. 339) a precisely similar case of a cat habitually and without tuition ringing a bell by pulling at an exposed wire.
[260] I have requested Dr. Rae to write out all the particulars of these remarkable observations, and the following is the response which he has kindly made:—'When trapping foxes in Hudson's Bay it sometimes happens that certain of these acute animals, probably from having seen their companions caught, studiously avoid the ordinary steel and wooden traps, however carefully set. The trapper then sets one or more guns in a peculiar manner, having a line 15 or 20 yards long uniting the trigger with a bait, on taking hold of which the fox sets the gun off, and commits suicide. The double object of the bait being placed so near the gun is that the fox may be certainly killed—not wounded only—and that the head alone should be hit, and the body not riddled all over with shot, which would spoil the skin. It is also necessary to mention that four or five inches of slack line must be allowed for contraction of the line by change from a dry to a moist atmosphere, which otherwise would cause so great a strain on the trigger that the gun would be discharged without the bait being touched. So as to conceal as far as possible all connection between bait and gun, that part of the line next the bait is carefully hid under the snow.
'When the fox takes the bait, he will have lifted it five inches (the length of the slack line) from its normal position before the gun goes off; consequently, instead of pointing the gun at the bait, it is aimed fully eight or nine inches higher, at the probable position of the brain of the animal when the gun is discharged.
'For reasons which scarcely require explanation, foxes very generally go about in pairs (long before the snow disappears), not necessarily always close together, because they have a better chance of finding food if separated some distance from each other.
'After one or more foxes have been shot, the trapper on visiting his guns perhaps finds that a fox has first cut the line connecting the bait with the gun, and then gone up and eaten the bait; or, if the gun has been set on a drift bank of snow, he or she has scraped a trench ten or twelve inches deep up to the bait, taken hold of it whilst lying in the trench, set the gun off, and then trotted coolly away with the food (taken, one may say, from the gun's mouth) safe and uninjured, as is clearly evinced by there being no mark of blood on the tracks.
'In pulling the bait whilst in the trench, the fox would drag it five inches, or the length of the slack line, downwards, and therefore his head and nose would be completely out of harm's way, both because of the snow protection, and also these parts of his body being twelve or thirteen inches below the line of aim.