The Fjárhundr or shepherd-dog (C. Islandicus), according to Mackenzie, is of the Greenland breed; the “prick-eared cur” certainly resembles the Eskimo, sometimes with a dash of our collie. Formerly they were far more numerous than men; and old authors mention several breeds—“lubbar” or shag-dogs; dýr-hundar, deer or fox hounds, and dverg-hundar, dwarf hounds or lapdogs. Foreign animals are now rare; the common sort is a little “pariah,” not unlike the Pomeranian; stunted, short-backed, and sharp-snouted, with ruffed neck and bushy tail, or rather brush, curling and recurling. The colour is mostly brown-black, some are light-brown, deep-black, white, and piebald. Those brought to Reykjavik appear shy, savage, and snappish as foxes. Formerly they were trained to keep caravan-ponies on the path; now they guard the flocks, loiter about the farms, and keep cattle off the “tún.”[212] Good specimens easily fetch $6; a horse may be exchanged for the most valuable, those which, they say, can search a sheep under nine ells of snow. They are accused of propagating amongst their masters, hydatic disease and intestinal worms (Tænia echinococcus); and this consideration induced the Althing, in 1871, magno cum risu of the public, who asked why the cats were not assessed, to impose an annual dog-tax of $2 per head upon all exceeding a certain number on each farm—it will cause the premature death of many a promising pup. Half of the amount is the perquisite of the Hreppstjórar, the other moiety goes to the Treasury. The danger would be less if the dogs were not so often allowed to lick the platters clean, and to perform other and similar domestic duties.
Cats are common, especially in the capital, showing that defence is necessary against rats and mice. Herds of swine are alluded to in the island Sagas; and Iceland, like the Færoes, is full of such names as Svína-fell, Svína-dalr, and Svína-vatn. Not a single head is now seen except at Reykjavik, where a few are annually imported for immediate slaughtering. The peasants cannot afford to rear such expensive animals, which, moreover, damage the “tún.” A few goats are said to linger about the northern parts of the island; formerly they were common, but about 1770 they began to be proscribed for injuring the turf-roofs—where they can find no vines.
There are six families and some ninety species of birds, fifty-four of the latter being water-fowl. A valuable list of the air-fauna may be found in Appendix A. to Baring-Gould’s volume, “Notes on the Ornithology of Iceland,” by Alfred Newton, M.A. Almost every traveller has dipped into the subject, but Mr Newton has twice visited the island to study his specialty. His conclusion is thus stated: “The character of the avi-fauna of this country, as might have been expected from its geographical position, is essentially European, just as that of Greenland has American tendencies.” Of course many are emigrants from the south, and, treating of this subject, we should not forget the poetical, and apparently practical, theory of Runeberg the Skáld of modern Sweden. He makes the object light, not merely warmth: “The bird of passage is of noble birth; he bears a motto, and his motto is ‘Lux Mea Dux.’”
The most interesting of the game denizens is the ptarmigan (Tetrao lagopus). The people recognise only one species, but in these matters they are of no authority, and foreigners suspect the existence of two as in Norway. The small mountain-ptarmigan (Lagopus vulgaris) of the Continent is white in winter and grey speckled black at other times; its note is compared with the frog’s croak, the sheep’s cough, or the harsh cry of the missel-thrush. The Danish Skov or Dal-rype (wood or dale ptarmigan) is some seventeen inches long, white-plumed in winter, and during the rest of the year clad in warm yellow-brown, like the red grouse; the “cluck” can be heard a mile off. Metcalfe recognised in Iceland a modified cluck, while Faber and Yarrell believe the islander to be a new species. The cock is locally called Rjúpkarri, and the hen Rjúpa (Reb-huhn), evidently from the cry. It carries the young on the back, and is said to be stupid as the Touraco; this was not the author’s experience. Mackenzie appears to be in error when he makes the Scotch ptarmigan haunt the hills, and the Icelander prefer the lowlands. The bird enters largely into folk-lore: the fox of fable blinds it by throwing the snow in its eyes; and when the ger-falcon pierces its heart, he screams for sorrow to find that he has slain a sister.
Flocks of geese, also mentioned by the Sagas, are now found, like swans, only in the wild state; yet there is little apparent reason for the change. The raven will be treated of in another place; there are no crows except stragglers blown to sea by the southern gales. Poultry is still bred in small numbers about the farms, and, if the proportions were greater, they would be useful in clearing the ground of the injurious lumbrici. But the traveller observes that gallinaceous birds, originally natives of the tropics and of the lower temperates, though easily acclimated to the higher latitudes, will not thrive beyond the habitat of the civilised cereals. At any rate in Iceland their productiveness is limited.
It is generally known that there are no snakes in Iceland as in Ireland. Islands disconnected from continents by broad tracts of sea like Annobom and St Helena, notably lack venomous reptiles; the latter, however, have passed over the nineteen miles between Fernando Po and the Camarones mainland. Papilios and sphinxes, newts and lizards, frogs and toads, also shun the cold damp air. Mackenzie found a coccinella near the Geysir; and Madame Ida Pfeiffer secured two wild bees which she carried off in spirits of wine. The pests are gnats, midges, and fleas; the pediculus is well known, but the cimex, as in older England, has not yet become naturalised.
Mr J. Gwyn Jeffreys kindly obliged the author with the following note concerning a small collection forwarded to him.
“Ware Priory, Herts,
5th October 1872.
“My Dear Sir,—.... The Iceland shells are as follows:
Marine—