[June 8, 1895.]
A friend thinks I ought to add to the collection of dog stories appearing in the Spectator, one which is within my own knowledge, and may appear deserving of publication. My uncle, a well-known Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates in a western county, had a tenant on his estates who occupied a farm not far from the River Severn. The farmer possessed a favourite dog, who slept at the foot of his bed every night. When a brother emigrated to Canada, the farmer gave him the dog as a travelling companion. In the course of time the news arrived that the emigrant and his family, together with the dog, had safely reached their destination—a farm in the interior of Canada some days' journey from the port where they landed. At a later date the brother in Canada wrote to his family in England saying that the dog had disappeared. Some time afterwards the dog came back to the farm of his old master, about three miles from Gloucester, and though at first it could hardly be believed that he was returned from Canada, yet he soon established his identity by taking his old place at the foot of his master's bed at night. Inquiries were made, and the dog's course was traced backwards to the River Severn, thence to Bristol, and thence to a port in Canada. It appeared that, after running from his home in Canada to the seaport, he selected there a vessel bound for Bristol, and shipped on board. After arriving at the Bristol basin, he found out a local vessel trading up and down the River Severn (locally called a "trow"), and transferred himself to her deck. When he reached the neighbourhood of Gloucester, the dog must have jumped into the Severn and reached the shore nearest to his old home.
I can vouch for the truth of this story, from information received from my relations on the spot shortly after the occurrence took place. I knew the farm well, and the farmer who occupied it.
H. C. N.
A CAT-AND-DOG FRIENDSHIP.
[June 8, 1895.]
The interesting letter, "A Canine Nurse," in the Spectator of May 18th, recalls to mind an equally curious event in cat and dog life which occurred some years since in a house where I was living, but with the additional interest of a hen being also implicated.
In the back-kitchen premises of an old manor-house, amongst hampers, and such like odds and ends, a cat had a litter of kittens. They were all removed but one, and as the mother was frequently absent, a hen began laying in a hamper close by. For a time all things went well, the hen sitting on her eggs and the cat nursing the kitten within a few inches of each other. The brood were hatched out, and almost at the same time the old cat disappeared. The chickens were allowed to run about on the floor for sake of the warmth from a neighbouring chimney, and the kitten was fed with a saucer of milk, &c., in the same place, both feeding together frequently out of the same dish. The hen used to try to induce the kitten to eat meal like the chicks, calling to it and depositing pieces under its nose in the most amusing way; finally doing all in its power to induce the kitten to come, like her chicks, under her wings. The result was nothing but a series of squalls from the kitten, which led to its being promoted from the back to the front kitchen, where it was reared until it was grown up. At this time a young terrier was introduced into the circle, and after many back-risings and bad language on pussy's part, they settled down amicably and romped about the floor in fine style. Eventually the terrier became an inveterate rabbit-poacher—killing young rabbits and bringing them home—a proceeding to which the cat gave an intelligent curiosity, then a passive and purring approval, and finally her own instincts having asserted themselves, she went off with the dog, hunting in the woods. Our own keeper reported them as getting "simply owdacious," being found a great distance from the house; and keepers of adjacent places also said the pair were constantly seen hunting hedgerows on their beats. On one occasion I saw them myself hunting a short hedge systematically, the dog on one side, the cat on the other; and on coming near an open gateway a hare was put out of her form, and bounding through the open gate, was soon off; the dog followed, till he came through the gateway, where he stood looking after the hare; and the cat joining him, they apparently decided it was too big or too fast to be successfully chased, so resumed the hedge-hunting, each taking its own side as before.
They frequently returned home covered with mud, and pussy's claws with fur, and would lie together in front of the fire; the cat often grooming down the dog, licking him and rubbing him dry, and the dog getting up and turning over the ungroomed side to be finished. This curious friendship went on for six months or more, till the dog had to be kept in durance vile to save him from traps and destruction, the cat, nothing daunted, going on with her poaching until one day she met her fate in a trap, and so brought her course to an end. The dog was a well-bred fox-terrier, and the cat a tabby of nothing beyond ordinary characteristics, save in her early life having been fostered by a hen, and in her prime the staunch friend and comrade of poor old Foxie, the terrier. If there are "happy hunting-grounds" for the animals hereafter, and such things are allowed in them, no doubt they will renew their intimacy, if not their poaching forays, together there.