There of thy master keep that sign
And this plain stave.
Miss Cobbe is a devoted, outspoken friend of all animals. She says: “I have, indeed, always felt much affection for dogs—that is to say, for those who exhibit the true dog character, which is far from being the case with every canine creature. Their sageness, their joyousness, their transparent little wiles, their caressing and devoted affection, are to me more winning—even, I may say, more really and intensely human (in the sense in which a child is human)—than the artificial, cold, and selfish characters one meets too often in the guise of ladies and gentlemen.”
She had a fluffy white dog she was extremely fond of, and has written several chapters on dogs, kindness to animals, the horrors of vivisection, etc. Read False Hearts and True, The Confessions of a Lost Dog, and Science in Excelsis, and you will realize how she appreciates the rights and the noble traits of the brute creation, and how her own great heart has gone out to her pets. She closes one article, Dogs whom I have Met, with these words: “One thing I think must be clear: until a man has learned to feel for all his sentient fellow-creatures, whether in human or in brute form, of his own class and sex and country, or of another, he has not yet ascended the first step toward true civilization, nor applied the first lesson from the love of God.”
Edward Jesse, in his book, now rare and hard to obtain, on dogs, says, “Histories are more full of samples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.” A French writer declares that, excepting women, there is nothing on earth so agreeable or so necessary to the comfort of man as the dog. Think of the shepherd, his flock collected by his indefatigable dog, who guards both them and his master’s cottage at night; satisfied with a slight caress and coarsest food. The dog performs the service of a horse in more northern regions, while in Cuba and other hot countries is the terror of the runaway negroes. In destruction of wild beasts or the less dangerous stag, or in attacking the bull, the dog has shown permanent courage. He defends his master, saves from drowning, warns of danger, serves faithfully in poverty and distress, leads the blind. When spoken to, does his best to hold conversation by tail, eyes, ears; drives cattle to and from pasture, keeps herds and flocks within bounds, points out game, brings shot birds, turns a spit, draws provision carts and sledges, likes or abhors music, detecting false notes instantly; announces strangers, sounds a note of warning in danger, is the last to forsake the grave of a friend, sympathizes and rejoices with every mood of his master. The collie is the only dog who has a reputation for piety, his liking to go to kirk and his proper behaviour there being well known. Whenever Stanislaus, the unfortunate King of Poland, wrote to his daughter, he always concluded with “Tristram, my companion in misfortune, licks your feet.” That one friend stuck by in his adversity. We see inherited tendencies in dogs as in children—what Paley calls “a propensity previous to experience and independent of instruction”—as Saint Bernard puppies scratching eagerly at snow, and young pointers standing steadily on first seeing poultry; a well-bred terrier pup will show ferocity. The anecdotes of achievements of pet dogs are marvellous. Leibnitz related to the French Academy an account of a dog he had seen which was taught to speak, and would call intelligibly for tea, coffee, chocolate, and made collections of white, shining stones.
We read of dogs who know when Sunday comes; who watch for the butcher’s cart only at his stated time for appearance; who will beg for a penny to buy a pie or bun, and then go to the baker’s and purchase; who exercise forethought and providence, burying bones for future need. Some seem to have some moral sense, ashamed of stealing, sometimes making retribution, scolding puppies for stealing meat; others are as depraved as human beings, slipping their collars and undoing the collar of another dog to go marauding, then returning, put their heads back into the collar.[[1]]
[1]. Darwin said, “Since publishing The Descent of Man I have got to believe rather more than I did in dogs having what may be called a conscience.”
Landseer’s dogs used to pose for him with more patience than many other sitters. Some one said of him that he had “discovered the dog.” He was so devoted to them that when the wittiest of divines and divinest of wits (of course I mean Sydney Smith) was asked to sit to him, he replied, “‘Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’” The artist spoke of a Newfoundland who had saved many from drowning as “a distinguished member of the Humane Society.” Hamerton, in his charming Chapters on Animals, tells us stories, almost too wonderful for belief, of some French poodles who came to visit him. These canine guests played dominoes, sulked when they had to draw from the bank, retired mortified when beaten; also played cards, were skilful spellers in several languages, and quick in arithmetic.
Each breed has its own defenders and adherents. Olive Thorne Miller usually writes of birds or odd pets; but in Home Pets we find a most interesting tale of a collie, which she gives, to illustrate the characteristics of that family:
“Nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, in the early days of our nation and during the French and Indian War, this collie was a great pet in the family of a colonial soldier, and was particularly noted for his antipathy to Indians, whom he delighted to track. On one campaign against the French the dog insisted on accompanying his master, although his feet were in a terrible condition, having been frozen. During the fight, which ended in the famous Braddock’s defeat, the collie was beside his master, but when it was over they had become separated, and the soldier, concluding that his pet had been killed, went home without him. Some weeks after, however, the dog appeared in his old home, separated from the battlefield by many miles and thick forests. He was tired and worn, but over his feet were fastened neat moccasins, showing that he had been among Indians, who had been kind to him. Moreover, he soon showed that he had changed his mind about his former foe, for neither bribes nor threats could ever induce him to track an Indian. His generous nature could not forget a kindness, even to please those he loved enough to seek under so great difficulties.”