The Dog. The dog divides with the horse the honour of being the most intimate and devoted of the servants of mankind. "His origin," says Mr. Jesse "is lost in antiquity. We find him occupying a place in the earliest pagan worship; his name has been given to one of the first-mentioned stars of the heavens, and his effigy may be seen in some of the most ancient works of art. Pliny was of opinion that there was no domestic animal without its unsubdued counterpart, and dogs are known to exist absolutely wild in various parts of the old and new world." Whether the dog of civilization is a descendant of these wild dogs, or whether the wild dog is the progeny of domestic varieties relapsed into a condition of savagery, and whether both are descended from the wolf and the jackal has often been discussed. Certain it is that many of the species which now obtain are in certain characteristics at least the result of artificial breeding. In its domestic state, the dog is remarkable for its usefulness, obedience, and attachment to its master; and the great variety of breeds that are trained and educated for our benefit or amusement, are almost too numerous to be mentioned. The principal are, the greyhound, noted for his speed; the Newfoundland dog, remarkable for his size, sagacity, and benevolence; the shepherd's dog, perhaps the most useful of all; the spaniel, the barbel, and the setter, useful in hunting; the pointer, the staunchest of all dogs; the Dalmatian or coach-dog, with a skin beautifully spotted; the terrier, useful for destroying vermin; the blood-hound, formerly used for tracing criminals; the harrier, beagle, and foxhound, distinguished for their quick sense of smell; and the bull-dog, and mastiff, which are our watch-dogs.
The Dog's Understanding. Many marvellous instances are on record of the dog's capacity for understanding not only the direct commands of his master, to which of course he may be easily trained, but also, sometimes, the drift of conversations in which his master may engage.
The Rev. James Simpson of Edinburgh had a fine Newfoundland dog of which some good stories are told. On one occasion, however, Mr. Simpson happening to remark to a friend in the dog's hearing that, as he was about to change his residence, he would have to part with his dog, the dog took the hint, left the house and was never heard of again. Sheep dogs have been known to take very apparent interest in conversations upon the subject of their profession, and to anticipate the word of command by their perception of the drift of the remarks. Mr. St. John, in his "Highland Sports", gives a remarkable illustration of the way in which a shepherd's dog understood the conversation of his master:—"A shepherd once, to prove the quickness of his dog, who was lying before the fire in the house where we were talking, said to me, in the middle of a sentence concerning something else, 'I'm thinking, sir, the cow is in the potatoes.' Though he purposely laid no stress on these words, and said them in a quiet, unconcerned tone of voice, the dog, who appeared to be asleep, immediately jumped up, and leaping through the open window, scrambled up the turf roof of the house, from which he could see the potato field. He then (not seeing the cow there) ran and looked into the byre, where she was, and finding that all was right, came back to the house. After a short time the shepherd said the same words again, and the dog repeated his look-out; but on the false alarm being a third time given, the dog got up, and wagging his tail, looked his master in the face with so comical an expression of interrogation, that we could not help laughing aloud at him, on which, with a slight growl, he laid himself down in his warm corner, with an offended air, as if determined not to be made a fool of again."
The well known story of Sir Walter Scott's dog, supplied by him to Captain Brown, is another illustration. "The wisest dog I ever had," said Sir Walter, "was what is called the bull-dog terrier. I taught him to understand a great many words, insomuch that I am positive that the communication betwixt the canine species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. Camp once bit the baker, who was bringing bread to the family. I beat him, and explained the enormity of his offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. Then if you said, 'the baker was well paid,' or, 'the baker was not hurt after all,' Camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, and barked, and rejoiced. When he was unable, towards the end of his life, to attend me when on horseback, he used to watch for my return, and the servant would tell him 'his master was coming down the hill, or through the moor,' and although he did not use any gesture to explain his meaning, Camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the moor-side. He certainly had a singular knowledge of spoken language."
One of the most remarkable illustrations of the dog's capacity for understanding is probably that given by Mrs. Bowdich, as follows:
"Professor Owen was walking with a friend, by the side of a river, near its mouth, on the coast of Cornwall, and picked up a small piece of sea-weed. It was covered with minute animals; and Mr. Owen observed to his companion, throwing the weed into the water, 'If this small piece affords so many treasures, how microscopically rich the whole plant must be! I should much like to have one.' The gentlemen walked on, but hearing a splashing in the water, turned round, and saw it violently agitated. 'It is Lion!' both exclaimed; 'what can he be about? He was walking quietly enough by our side a minute ago.' At one moment they saw his tail above the water, then his head raised for a breath of air, then the surrounding element shook again, and at last he came ashore, panting from his exertions, and laid a whole plant of the identical weed at Mr. Owen's feet. After this proof of intelligence, it will not be wondered at, that when Lion was joyfully expecting to accompany his master and his guest on an excursion, and was told to go and take care of and comfort Mrs. Owen, who was ill, he should immediately return to the drawing-room and lay himself by her side, which he never left during the absence of his owner, his countenance alone betraying his disappointment, and that only for a few minutes."
The Dog's Sense of Locality. Dogs have a remarkable sense of locality, and will find their way to a spot they have once visited with an unerring instinct under circumstances which make it impossible for them to rely entirely upon their sense of scent. Some of the stories told of the extraordinary journeys made by dogs, apparently without anything to guide them but their natural instinct, seem almost incredible.
Captain Brown tells a story of a gentleman of Glasgow, who was unfortunately drowned in the river Oder while bathing during a continental tour. A Newfoundland dog, who was his travelling companion, made every effort to save him, but failing to do so, found his way either to Frankfort, or Hamburgh, where he went on board a vessel bound for England, from which he landed somewhere on the coast, finding his way ultimately to the person from whom he had been originally purchased, and who lived near Holyrood palace.
Another dog who, on arriving in England from Newfoundland, was given to a gentleman in London, was sent by him to a friend in Scotland, by water. The dog, however, made his escape and found his way back to his old master at Fish Street Hill, London, though as Mr. Jesse puts it "in so exhausted a state that he could only express his joy at seeing his master and then die."
This instinct seems to be common to many varieties of dogs. Captain Brown tells of a Dalmatian or coach-dog which Lord Maynard lost in France, and which he found at his house on his return to England, though how it had got there he never could trace. It is not necessary, says Captain Brown, that the dog shall have previously travelled the ground by which it returns. A person who went by sea from Aberdeen to Leith, lost his dog at the latter place, and found it on his return at Aberdeen. It must have travelled over a country unknown to it, and have crossed the firths of Forth and Tay.