“He next placed six cards of different colours on the floor, and, sitting with his back to the Dogs, directed one to pick up the blue card, and the other the white, &c., varying his orders rapidly, and speaking in such a manner that it was impossible the Dogs could have executed his commands if they had not had a perfect knowledge of the words. For instance, M. Léonard said, ‘Philax, take the red card and give it to Brac, and, Brac, take the white card and give it to Philax.’ The Dogs instantly did this, and exchanged cards with each other. He then said, ‘Philax, put your card on the green, and Brac, put yours on the blue;’ and this was instantly performed. Pieces of bread and meat were placed on the floor, with figured cards, and a variety of directions were given to the Dogs, so as to put their intelligence and obedience to a severe test. They brought the meat, bread, or cards, as commanded, but did not attempt to eat or to touch unless ordered. Philax was then ordered to bring a piece of meat and give it to Brac, and then Brac was told to give it back to Philax, who was to return it to its place. Philax was next told he might bring a piece of bread and eat it; but, before he had time to swallow it, his master forbade him, and directed him to show that he had not disobeyed, and the Dog instantly protruded the crust between his lips.
“While many of the feats were being performed, M. Léonard snapped a whip violently, to prove that the animals were so completely under discipline, that they would not heed any interruption. After many other performances, M. Léonard invited a gentleman to play a game of dominoes with one of them. The younger and slighter Dog then seated himself on a chair at the table, and the writer and M. Léonard seated themselves opposite. Six dominoes were placed on their edges in the usual manner before the Dog, and a like number before the writer. The Dog, having a double number, took one up in his mouth, and put it in the middle of the table; the writer placed a corresponding piece on one side; the Dog immediately played another correctly, and so on until all the pieces were engaged. Other six dominoes were then given to each, and the writer intentionally played a wrong number. The Dog looked surprised, stared very earnestly at the writer, growled, and finally barked angrily. Finding that no notice was taken of his remonstrances, he pushed away the wrong domino with his nose, and took up a suitable one from his own pieces and placed it in its stead. The writer then played correctly; the Dog followed, and won the game. Not the slightest intimation could have been given by M. Léonard to the Dog. This mode of play must have been entirely the result of his own observation and judgment. It should be added that the performances were strictly private. The owner of the Dogs was a gentleman of independent fortune, and the instruction of his Dogs had been taken up merely as a curious and amusing investigation.”[100]
To give another instance of a Dog understanding actual words:—A woman expressed aloud a wish that a certain Cat, who plagued her greatly, was dead. Her favourite Dog went out of the house, found the Cat in the garden, and immediately slew it! This is quite a parallel case to the story of Henry II. and Thomas à Becket.
Another very unequivocal instance is given us by Mr. Hugh Miller. Pompey, a black Retriever, belonging to a lady at Morningside, Edinburgh, could not be kept because he was perpetually damaging the neighbours’ gardens. He was, therefore, sent to lodge with the family of an old servant, but there, too, he made his position untenable by fighting with the servant’s own Dog. At last, it was agreed that there was no use in trying to cure Pompey of his bad habits; he was condemned to death, and the butcher was ordered to hang him on a certain day. The children, who loved the poor beast, despite his crimes, kept throwing their arms round his neck and saying, “Oh, poor Pompey, you’re going to be hanged!” On the morning fixed for the execution Pompey disappeared, and kept clear until he imagined the storm had blown over. Another day was, therefore, fixed, but before that time the servant at whose house he was stopping mentioned Pompey’s case to a lady, who obtained a reprieve, and adopted him herself. He behaved very well with his new mistress for some time, although for a full year after his rescue he was much depressed in spirits, and wore quite a hang-dog look. But after some years, there was a general change of servants in the house, and Pompey, who disliked strangers, bit one of the new-comers. His mistress—without meaning a threat—said to him, “Oh, Pompey, you’ll be hanged after all!” whereupon Pompey decamped, and could by no means be heard of. At length, an advertisement in the Scotsman was answered by a gentleman, who stated that an ownerless Dog, of the description given, had been caught changing trains at Layton, Cumberland. Here he was detained, and, although at home rather averse to strangers, displayed at once extraordinary urbanity, and was soon a prime favourite. Evidently it was his intention to ingratiate himself with his new friends, that he might not be sent home and hanged. Subsequently, he was identified by a friend of his mistress’s who was travelling in Cumberland, and sent home. Besides illustrating a Dog’s knowledge of words, this anecdote furnishes a wonderful instance of acuteness, for this Dog knew nothing of the railway by which he travelled to Layton, except from having a short time before accompanied the cook to the station to see her off on a journey.
After finding that the Dog can understand what is said to him, one is always tempted to wish he could go one step further, and answer again, for to hear from a Dog’s own lips his opinion on “men and things” would be an entertainment of no small interest. Attempts have been made to teach Dogs to speak, but as one might imagine with very partial success. A curious account of an attempt of this kind was communicated by the great philosopher Leibnitz to the French Academy.
“A little boy, a peasant’s son, imagined that he perceived in the Dog’s voice an indistinct resemblance to certain words, and therefore took it into his head to teach him to speak. For this purpose he spared neither time nor pains with his pupil, who was about three years old when his learned education commenced, and in process of time he was able to articulate no fewer than thirty distinct words. He was, however, somewhat of a truant, and did not very willingly exert his talent, and was rather pressed than otherwise into the service of literature. It was necessary that the words should be pronounced to him each time, and then he repeated them after his preceptor. Leibnitz attests that he heard the animal talk in this way, and the French Academicians add, that unless they had received the testimony of so celebrated a person they would scarcely have dared to report the circumstance. It took place in Mesnia, in Saxony.”[101]
BLACK RETRIEVER.
But “actions speak louder than words,” and although the Dog is not gifted with the power of articulate speech, he is yet capable of expressing his feelings by look and gesture as eloquently as most people. It is altogether wonderful to see how a Dog’s whole expression and demeanour are changed by a word or look either of praise or blame. The eye, the mouth, the ear, the tail, the whole trunk, all are called into requisition, and together speak a language which is unmistakable. Mr. Darwin gives a most interesting account of the mode of expression of two opposite states of mind in the Dog; an account which, like everything written by the same author, leaves nothing to be desired for clearness and accuracy.