One of the queerest friendships that ever came under my observation was that which existed between a bantam cock and a pekin drake. The cock was the most diminutive specimen of his kind that I ever saw, being hardly larger than a quail, while the drake was almost as large as a full-grown female goose. These two birds, so widely dissimilar as to genus and species, were always together. If "One Lung" (the cock) took it into his head to go into the garden and flew over the fence, "Chung" (the drake) would solemnly waddle to a certain hole in the fence well known to himself, and, by dint of much pushing with his strong, yellow feet, would squeeze himself through, and rejoin his companion with many a guttural quack and flirt of his tail. If "Chung" desired to take a bath, he would make for the brook, where "One Lung" would soon join him, always remaining, however, on the bank, where he would strut about and crow continuously. On one occasion, a chicken-hawk attacked the cock, which, though it defended itself valiantly, was in great danger of being destroyed. The drake soon became aware of what was happening, and hurled himself, with many a squawking quack, like a white avalanche against the hawk, and, with one quick blow of his horny, flat bill, laid this pirate of the air dead at his feet! He then examined the cock, with low-voiced exclamations issuing from his throat all the while. Then, finding him uninjured, he flapped his wings and quacked loud and long, as if in thankfulness. As for "One Lung," he pecked the dead hawk several times, then hopped up on its body and crowed as loud as he could, as if to say, "Look-what-I-have-do-o-o-ne!"
"One Lung" was taken to a neighboring farm for breeding purposes by his owner, and "Chung" moped and appeared utterly inconsolable during his absence. When the bantam was finally brought home, the drake recognized him "afar off" and came hurrying to meet him with flapping wings and much vociferation. He caressed him with his bill, and appeared to make a close examination of his person. These birds have always passed the night close together, the bantam roosting among the branches of a low bush, while his faithful companion squatted on the ground at its root.
Several years ago I knew a hen which was devotedly attached to an old white horse. When the horse was confined to the stable, the hen was always to be found in his stall, either in the manger, on the floor, or perched upon his back. This last position was a favorite one, and it was only abandoned when the hen was in search of food. When the horse was out on pasture, the hen went with him and stayed close beside him until nightfall, when she always returned and roosted on one of the stall partitions.
Many cow owners of my town are in the habit of turning out their cows in the morning, allowing them to roam about in the search of grass during the day. As there are many large open commons in the immediate neighborhood of town, the cows easily find an abundance of food. In my early morning walks I repeatedly noticed a large red cow which was always accompanied by a small black dog. When the cows came back into town in the evening, many of them passed my house, and among the number was the red cow and the dog in attendance. I became very much interested in the cow and dog, and, one evening, followed the former to her home. I asked her owner if he had trained the dog to follow the cow, whereupon he disclaimed all knowledge of any dog, declaring that he had not allowed a dog on his premises for many years. The next morning I was at his cow-house before the animal was turned out. When this occurred I followed her. A few blocks from her home, she was met by the dog, which bounded about her and showed his delight by wagging his tail. When she returned home in the evening he accompanied her until he arrived at his own home (the place where he met her in the morning), when he left her and crawled through a hole in the fence. His owner declared that his dog had been leaving home early in the morning and returning in the evening during the entire spring and summer (it was then September), and that he had often wondered where he stayed during the day. This queer friendship continued until November, when some miscreant put an end to it by shooting the dog. Neither the favored cow nor any of her companions (there were, sometimes, at least a hundred cows on the commons grazing together) appeared to pay the slightest attention to the dog or to notice him in any way. The dog kept close to his friend, the red cow, during the day, sometimes sitting gravely on his haunches and watching her eat, at other times frisking about her, as though asking for a romp. When she started to return home he followed close at her heels.
Another of my dog acquaintances struck up a friendship with a hog, and seemed to be highly pleased when he was allowed to play with his porcine friend. What is more wonderful, the hog appeared to be just as fond of his dog friend, and always greeted him with a series of delighted grunts. If permitted, they would play together for hours at a time. The dog was the bitter enemy of other hogs, and would worry them at every opportunity.[40]
I have had many friends among the lower animals, but have always gained and retained their good-will through their appetite. Some of these creatures will be considered queer pets, for instance, grasshoppers, spiders, and crickets, yet they were very interesting and often showed much intelligence. The lower animals, with the single exception of the dog (I do not include the cat, for I doubt her friendship), rarely accept man as a companion and friend spontaneously. Their appetites or the exigencies of their surroundings very frequently occasion them to act in a friendly manner towards man, simply in order to induce him to befriend them. It is the rarest thing in the world for them to experience disinterested friendship for him. As I have said elsewhere in this paper, a few instances of disinterested and spontaneous affection of animals, other than dogs, for human beings are, however, on record, and I am happy in being able to record another.
In 1882 there was received at the Fair Grounds in St. Louis, Missouri, a consignment of South American monkeys. Among the lot were several large individuals of a species then unknown to me, and which remain unknown to me to this day. When I entered the monkey house I went at once to the cage of the newcomers. One of the creatures, after examining me very carefully, uttered a peculiar cry, and then leaped to the bars and began jabbering at a great rate. I told the keeper that I believed that the monkey wished to make friends with me; that the tones of its voice were decidedly pacific. He laughed at the idea, and declared that this same animal had bitten him severely when he was removing it from the box in which it had been shipped to the cage in which it was then confined. I said nothing more, but, going behind the rail, inserted my hand between the bars of the cage. The monkey immediately seized it with its paws, kissed it, and then licked it with its tongue. It then drew its head down beside it, murmuring all the while in low tones. It showed great pleasure when I scratched its head and body, and, in fact, seemed to regard me with the greatest affection. When the keeper, in his astonishment, drew near, the monkey bounded toward him, chattering and showing every indication of great anger. This animal never forgot me, but always recognized me the very moment I entered the monkey house.
In the same house there was a large dog-faced ape (chacma) named "Joe," whose friend and companion was a little white and black kitten. "Joe" called no living thing, except the cat, his friend; he had many acquaintances, but only one friend. He would tolerate me, and even invented a name for me, so the keeper declared, yet his friendship never got beyond tolerance. But he loved the cat, and the cat seemed to love him—that is, as much as a cat could love. He could not bear to have her taken from his cage; whenever this was done he would rage up and down his den, coughing, growling, and yelling like a mad creature. When she was restored to him he would seize her by the nape of the neck and carry her to the back of his cage, from which coign of vantage he would growl forth maledictions on the heads of his tormentors.
In order to test this monkey's memory, the cat was removed from the cage, and another cat was substituted. "Joe" at first appeared to be afraid of the new cat, and retired to the rear of his den. He would avoid the cat, whenever she approached him, by moving about the cage. Finally, he became very angry, and seizing poor puss, he broke her back and then pulled her head from her body! This was done so quickly that the tragedy was over before we could make a move to prevent it.
At the end of three months his pet was returned to him. The kitten had grown considerably during this interval, yet "Joe" recognized her at once, and welcomed her with many extravagant acts denoting joy and satisfaction.