Better Than Men

by Rush C. Hawkins

The town of D——, happened to be the shire-town of the county in which it was situated. At the time of my brief sojourn there, the Supreme Court was in session and one of the judges had the head of the table at the hotel, while I, being a supposed distinguished stranger, with “boughten clothes” and a fair expanse of starched shirt-front, was given the seat of honor at his right hand. I found him a regulation specimen of the real original Yankee judge, quaint of speech, humorous, and intelligent, and not a profound believer in the oft-alleged superior qualities of the animal said to have been made in the image of his maker.

Our conversation started and continued for some time in the usual way; the weather and condition of crops being used as an excuse for the opening sentences, but, before the breakfast was over, a shrewd series of inoffensive direct questions, deftly put, brought to the surface the fact that I had travelled in strange and far-away countries.

Punctually at the usual hour and minute, the Sunday bells commenced their weekly call to the faithful, and the Judge interrupted the easy flow of his entertaining conversation to ask how I usually spent Sunday. I told him I had no particular way of doing that day, but usually permitted original sin to take its course. That idea seemed to strike him favorably and brought out a proposition that we should take to the woods and see which could tell the biggest story, he at the same time remarking: “You have travelled so much that by this time you ought to be an interesting liar. On such a beautiful day as this there is no excuse for bothering the parson. Sometimes on a cold chilly day he is a real comfort; he warms us up with the heat of the brimstone to come.”

That Sunday made its mark. It was a red-letter day never to be forgotten. My new acquaintance proved to be a philosopher and thinker of no ordinary dimensions. He was saturated with the teachings of Socrates, Cicero, Marcus Aurelius, and Gibbon, and I suspected he had taken a sly glance or two at Lucretius and Voltaire. He had ready for use, at command, the essence of the entire teachings of his favorite authors, and could quote whole pages from their works.

While we were stretched out upon a bed of dead leaves, looking up through the living ones to the open sky above, my faithful companions, feeling the quieting influence of the day, were near us, tranquilly enjoying the shade, and acting as though taking in a conversation which they seemed to understand. As with men we often meet, this silence was passing them off for being wiser than they were. My canine companion was close to my side with my hand gently resting upon his head, while my calico equine friend was enjoying the grateful shade of a broad spreading maple, and busying himself with switching away at speculative flies in search of opportunities for luxurious dinners.

The satisfactory contentment of the two animals attracted the attention of my judicial companion, and he asked me to explain the secret of our close companionship. He was surprised when I told him there was no secret about it, that I treated my four-footed friends as I would human beings; looked after their general welfare, saw that they were sufficiently fed with the proper food, talked to them in kindly tones of voice, gave them tid-bits now and then that I knew they were fond of, patted them approvingly, never scolded or used a whip, and, finally, spent a great deal of my time in their company. I further explained that intellectually I regarded them as being on a plane with children—to be looked after, to be kindly treated, and to have their mental faculties developed to the full extent of the separate capacity of each, and, that by pursuing such a course, we could obtain the best service and an amount of affection and companionship that would amply recompense us for all of our trouble.

“Well,” he exclaimed, “this is all news to me! There is logic and good sound sense in your whole scheme, and it’s strange I never thought of it before. You have studied the subject of intellectual development in animals and gotten something out of it I had never dreamed of. Ever since I have been able to think my head has been filled with common law, Court decisions, and the Statute in such case made and provided, and I have had but little time, and, possibly, less disposition, to indulge in sentiment. I suppose you know the people of your native state well enough to appreciate their strong and weak points. The Vermonter, as a rule, does not waste any time upon sentimentality; he is too busy digging out a living from these old hills and from between the rocks for those dependent upon him to waste much time cultivating the sentimental side. He is quite apt to take the utilitarian view of most earthly matters. His horse he regards as a useful animal, to be well fed and comfortably housed in order to prolong his usefulness as much as possible; and his dog he looks upon as a useless companion—not worthy of respect, comfortable lodging, or good food, unless he earns all three by bringing up the cows at night and chasing all marauders from grain and planted fields during the day. Your side of the animal question is a new one, and I am going to commence operations upon my faithful burden-carrier as soon as we reach the stable. I’d be mightily pleased to have him walk along with me and put his velvety nose against my face as I have seen your calico friend do with you. All men, all real men, properly put together, are fond of being loved, and are willing to take it in wholesale doses, and a little dog and horse—when the women are not around—thrown in to fill between the chinks, helps to make a perfect whole. We men are a careless, selfish lot, who leave mothers, sisters, wives, daughters, and dogs and horses to do the most of the loving, and accept it as a matter of right, without making the returns which are their due. They trudge along in silence, giving us their affection, and work on, chiefly for us, when they ought to kick. In giving me this Sunday lesson you have opened up a new lead in my make-up, and I intend to explore it until I develop a new deposit of humanity, and I’ll commence by stealing a lump of sugar for ‘Old Whitey’ the next time I leave the tavern table, and, instead of having it charged in the bill, I’ll open a new account, and credit my first theft to the cause of animal development.”

The next morning I parted from my judicial acquaintance, he volunteering the promise to write and let me know the result of his new experiment among the inhabitants of the barnyard. During the night he had “analyzed the whole business,” and arrived at the conclusion that there were other dumb creatures besides dogs and horses worthy of cultivating. The much neglected and despised pig, he proposed, with apparent humorous sincerity, to take in hand, and make a special effort to reform his manners and cultivate his mental faculties. He argued that human society was responsible for “downing the pig.” It is a question of “mad dog!” over again, he declared. “Some one in the far-off past had said the hog was a filthy beast, and without stopping to inquire, everybody else had joined in the cry. My mission is to do away with this unreasonable prejudice, and to elevate to his proper social and intellectual position among the animals of the earth my much abused and unappreciated porcine friend.” These were his jovial parting words, and, with them ringing in my ears, the trio made the morning start for the last day of the outward-bound part of the excursion.

A thirty miles ride carried us to one of the oldest villages in the northern part of the State—not far from the Canada line. One long street, made up of the blacksmith, shoemaker, and tinshop; a dry goods “Emporium,” a tavern—“The Farmers’ Home”—and the usual number of churches, with a doctor’s shop, and a few dwellings thrown in, here and there, to fill up the intervals between the more important structures—made, with a good supply of shade-trees, an attractive village. Of course the buildings were all square and white, and the blinds were all green, and they were placed as near the road as possible, but notwithstanding these faults of form, color, and position, constituting crimes against Nature, the whole was fairly attractive. Do what they will to offend and deface the beauties of New England, and especially Vermont nature, the Philistines who inhabit its picturesque valleys cannot destroy the beautiful ever-varying outlines of its hills or the restful repose of its summer days. They have managed to slaughter its forests and to dry up its limpid mountain streams, but, with the consummation of those outrages, Nature calls a halt; and the Vandals leave off destroying because there is little left to destroy.

The “Farmer’s Home” proved to be an attractive family affair. The father, mother, son and daughter composed the entire ménage, and all were equally at home in the duties of their special departments. There was a tour of duty for each in the kitchen; but the energetic daughter was supreme in the “Dining-hall,” where she propelled its affairs with mechanical exactitude. Her unwritten motto was: “On time, or cold victuals.” She was a strict constructionist, and “cl’ared off the things” as soon as the last piece of pie had disappeared. But, as the English would say, she was not at all a bad sort. She was active, inquisitive, quaint, and direct,—had opinions upon all subjects, and expressed them freely. I have always believed I was her first serious anthropological study. At first, she accepted me with an immense qualification. My manifest bias in favor of animals was something new to her which she could not comprehend. To her practical mind, the petting of a dog and looking after his welfare was a perfect waste of time, while paying particular attention to the wants and care of a horse was something not to be thought of. I saw she was rapidly filling up to the bursting point with curiosity, but was too shy to ask the direct questions which she was anxious to put to me. As soon as occasion offered, I felt it my duty to give her an opportunity to free her mind, and, sitting out the rest of the “boarders” at my last “supper,” presented an opening for the point of the wedge to enter. By way of introduction, I mentioned my regrets at being compelled to leave the next morning.