“I once, under somewhat singular circumstances, made the acquaintance of a Dog, as arrant a vagabond and impostor as ever ran on four legs, but whose shortcomings were, I feel convinced, occasioned by circumstances entirely beyond his control. He was above the medium size, and of handsome proportions, except for one or two blemishes. There was an air of superior breeding about the animal; his coat was silky and genteel, and his bright eyes beamed with intelligence. Owing, however, to an accident of birth, a taint of the most objectionable cur kind had crept into his composition. It announced itself in distorting to bandiness his otherwise symmetrical fore-legs, and in a shapeless, club-like tail, which usurped the place of a wavy, graceful terminal appendage such as would have been his had not his breed been marred. A close observer might have remarked, as well as the peculiarities mentioned, a raffish-drooping of the left eyelid and an up-curving of the upper lip on the right side, as though the animal had been used to pot-house company; and they had taught him the trick of holding a short pipe there. But, on the whole; and at a cursory glance, he was quite a nice-looking Dog.
“The first occasion of our meeting was very late one wintry night, when the snow lay half a foot deep on the street pavement. I cannot say if he first caught sight of me or I of him, for he was crouched in the shadow of a lamp-post; seemingly on the chance of there coming that way a compassionate pedestrian who might be induced to give him a night’s lodging. Our eyes met, and had I been a long-lost relative he could not have been more suddenly inspired with joy. He bounded to his feet, and proclaimed his good-luck in tones that must have awakened all the babies in the neighbourhood. I quickened my step, but he appeared to regard this as a friendly response to his friskiness, and he barked the louder. For peace and quietness’ sake I adjured him as a ‘Good Dog.’ That did the business. He had no objection to trotting soberly by my side on that understanding, and so together we arrived at my domicile.
“It was altogether against the rules of the establishment to admit strange Dogs, but under such circumstances what could I do? His genteel appearance pleaded for him. The mere fact of his having, like a blundering, stupid, honest tyke, jumped to the conclusion that I looked just the sort of Man to befriend a houseless Dog, spoke in his favour. Every one was in bed as I opened the door with my latch-key, and not too deeply to compromise myself I pointed out to my canine intruder that his place for the night was the door-mat. I went down-stairs and searched for scraps, and got him together a tolerably good supper, and left him perfectly comfortable.
“I cannot believe that at that time he had it in his mind to abuse my confidence, or to act towards me in any way the reverse of honourable. It must have been that unfortunate one-eighth of cur that, made bold by beef-bones, rose against the animal’s better nature, and conquered it. Anyhow, when the outer door was opened to the newspaper-boy next morning, the servant was scared by the spectacle of a Dog taking the whole flight of steps at a leap, and making off with part of a leg of pork in its mouth. The villain had feloniously extracted it from the pantry, which I had inadvertently left open when I went foraging for him. Besides the pork he had carried off, he had helped himself during the night to a small steak-pie, about a pound of fresh butter, and a fine rasher of ham. I had but little expectation of encountering the canine traitor ever again; but I did so. About a week after, at dead of night, and in the pouring rain, once more I made out his crouching figure in the shadow of the identical lamp-post. Again our eyes met, and, as on the previous occasion, he instantly leapt to his feet. Not to cut capers about me. However, his guilty fears did not make of him a faltering, trembling coward. He took in the whole situation at a glance, including my vengefully-grasped umbrella, and, with one brisk bark of derision, made off at a speed which quickly carried him out of sight. Since then I have frequently encountered him, but it has been in the busy streets at daytime, but he does not run away. If he can avoid my eye he does so. If he cannot—and with his guilt haunting him I imagine it is not easy to do so—he assumes a puzzled expression of countenance, as though half convinced he has seen me before, though when and under what circumstances he could not say though his life depended on it.”[106]
Another very good instance of cunning, produced by a long course of back-slum life and manners, is given by the writer from whom the foregoing anecdote is taken, respecting “a Dog—a low-looking villain, blind of one eye, and, in consequence of his nefarious propensities, with never more than three sound legs to run on, who haunts the neighbourhood of Drury Lane. Nobody owns the brute, but he has contrived to scrape acquaintance with a kind-hearted cheesemonger, who keeps a shop there. I have the worthy tradesman’s own word for it that he always knows when the officer on the look-out for vagrant Dogs is about by the sudden appearance of Tinker and his peculiar behaviour. At ordinary times disdaining to be anything better than a Dog of the streets, his custom is to salute the cheesemonger from the pavement, and by a bark and a wag of his stump of a tail solicit an unconsidered trifle of bone or bacon-rind; but on the special occasion alluded to his tactics are quite different. He enters the shop with a sober and business-like air, and lies down on a mat by the parlour-door, with paws extended and his tail beating a contented tattoo on the floor, as though since his puppyhood that had been his home and abiding-place, and he had known and desired to know no other. It is a joke between the officer and the cheesemonger, and the former enters the shop and loudly demands to know if ‘that Dog lives here.’ I have not as yet had the pleasure of witnessing it, but the cheesemonger informs me that it is ‘as good as a play’ to observe the reassuring blink of his only eye which, at this juncture, Tinker bestows on the policeman, immediately afterwards curling himself round for a doze, as though to say, ‘Let this convince you.’ Tinker’s stay, however, is not protracted. As soon as, according to his calculation, the coast is clear, he is off, as unexpectedly as he came, and until he is again hard pressed by the law never thinks of crossing the cheesemonger’s threshold.”
We spoke just now of Dogs being honest from pure conventionality; there is no doubt that many of them soon acquire a very acute sense of the conventional, and perform certain actions, or assume a certain behaviour, simply because they feel it to be the right and proper thing. We have heard of a Bull-terrier who acquired perfectly that sense of decorum which in many human beings serves in lieu of religious feeling. When this Dog was bought, it was debated whether or not it would be advisable to let him remain in the room at prayers; the question was eventually decided in the affirmative, and the Dog almost immediately seemed to get a sense of what was meant, and to feel that he was expected to behave with propriety. He therefore adopted a particular mode of procedure—a sort of canine ritual—to which he always steadily adhered. While the Bible was being read, he sat straight up on his haunches on the hearth-rug, looking solemnly into the fire. This he continued until the family knelt to pray, when he immediately went off to a corner of the room, and stood there with lowered head until all was over. He did this with such perfect solemnity that the effect was indescribably ludicrous, and friends stopping in the house had to be warned of what to expect.
The tales of canine magnanimity are endless. Every one knows that of the big Newfoundland who, being long plagued by a number of little yelping curs, one of whom at last bit him, revenged himself only by dipping the offender in the quay hard by, and, after he was cowed, plunging in and bringing him safe to land. But all Dogs are not magnanimous. Some of them, like certain men one meets with, have quite a talent for taking offence, and will pick a quarrel on the slightest provocation, or, indeed, on no provocation at all. There are, of course, the wretched little curs one meets in the street, whose sole delight seems to be to rush out suddenly and bark furiously at every passer-by; but these miserable beings act as they do rather from lack of brain, and for want of something to do, than from real badness of heart. There are Dogs, however, who are naturally quarrelsome, and will do all in their power to get up a row, simply for the pleasure of the thing. “There is a well-authenticated instance of a Terrier, who, in picking a quarrel, contrived, as if trained in the Kanzellei of Prince Bismarck, to place himself technically in the right. He would time his movements so that some passenger should stumble over him, and would then fasten on the calf of his leg. With a most statesman-like aptitude, he selected the aged, the infirm, and the ill-dressed, as the objects of his cunningly-planned attacks.”[107]
Not only are instances of quarrelsomeness to be found Dogs, but also of the strongest desire to revenge real or supposed injuries, of the exercise of a wonderful amount of cunning and reasoning power to bring a hated rival to justice. The following anecdote forms a capital antithesis to that of Mr. Romanes’ Terrier, who prevented the escape of the Dog he disliked and was jealous of, although such an event would have brought him the greatest possible comfort:—
“A fine Terrier, in the possession of a surgeon, about three weeks ago, exhibited its sagacity in a rather amusing manner. It came into the kitchen and began plucking the servant by the gown, and in spite of repeated rebuffs, it perseveringly continued in its purpose. The mistress of the house hearing the noise, came down to inquire the cause, when the animal treated her in a similar manner. Being struck with the concern evinced by the creature, she quietly followed it up-stairs into a bed-room, whither it led her; there it commenced barking, looking under the bed, and then up in her face. Upon examination, a Cat was discovered there quietly demolishing a beef-steak, which it had feloniously obtained. The most singular feature in the whole case is that the Cat had been introduced into the house only a short time before, and that bitter enmity prevailed between her and her canine companion.”