The sight of a sleek and beautiful cat seated calmly in the midst of a cage of birds was so new and unexpected that when Francesco produced them at the fair of Sussari he was surrounded instantly by a crowd of admiring spectators. Their astonishment scarcely knew bounds when they heard him call each feathered favorite by its name, and saw it fly toward him with alacrity, till all were perched on his head, his arms, and his fingers. Delighted with his ingenuity the spectators rewarded him liberally, and the boy returned joyfully to his home with sufficient money to last the family many months.
Not only do animals sometimes lose many of their natural characteristics by association with human beings or with other animals, but they even in some cases have been known to acquire the habits of animals of an entirely different species from themselves. One of the most remarkable instances of this was observed by La Malle. This gentleman had a kitten which had attained the age of six months when his live stock was increased by the arrival of a terrier pup, Fox, that was only two months old. The dog and the cat were brought up together, and for two years Fox had no association with other dogs, but received all his education from the three daughters of the porter, and from the cat. The two animals were continually together and acquired a great affection for one another; the cat, however, as the senior taking the lead. Soon Fox began to bound like a cat, and to roll a mouse or a ball with his fore paws after the feline fashion. He also licked his paw and rubbed it over his ear as he saw the cat do; nevertheless, owing to his native instinct, if a strange cat came into the garden he chased it away. La Malle brought a strange dog into the house, who manifested the utmost contempt and indignation for all Fox’s habits. M. Andouin, too, had a dog which acquired all the habits of a cat.
It has probably been remarked also, by most readers, that domestic animals almost always imbibe something of the disposition of their masters or mistresses. Thus, a plodding easygoing man will have a horse of much the same characteristics if it has been long in his service, whatever may have been the horse’s original disposition. Many similar instances will no doubt suggest themselves to the reader. It would seem that even mankind is not exempt from this influence, and that when men have not the energy or mental force to exert this molding power over the minds of their brute companions, the animals will exert it over them. At the risk of wandering from our subject it may interest some to have attention called to the testimony to this assertion, afforded by all uncivilized countries. Dr. Virey, who has given considerable attention to this rather queer subject, remarks: “Behold those men who pass their lives among animals, as cowherds, shepherds, swineherds, grooms, and poachers, they always acquire something of the nature of the animals with which they associate. It is thus that man becomes heavy and rude with the ox, filthy and a glutton with the pig, simple with the sheep, courageous and an adept hunter with the dog. In like manner the Arab is sober with his camel, the Tartar rough and blunt as his horses, the Laplander timid as his reindeer, the mountaineer active as the goat, the Hindoo somber as his elephant, because it is man’s fate to take the nature of his animals when he cannot form their nature to his.” Without recommending the adoption of this writer’s opinions entirely, for much that he has stated is no doubt due to climate and local causes, his theory is worthy of consideration by those who have a fancy for this kind of speculation.
A correspondent of the Agriculturist relates an amusing instance of a sort of “happy family” originated by the animals themselves: “About a month since two cats had a ‘family’ within a few days of each other. All the kittens were drowned except two of each set, which with their respective mammas were snugly settled in a couple of boxes in the same room. On the following day both families entire—or rather what remained of them—were found coiled up together in the same box. They were not disturbed and thenceforward the two mothers ceased to recognize any difference between the two pairs of kittens. They would alternately nurse the whole lot, or both affectionately entwined together divide this ‘labor of love’ just as the kittens, lying snugly between them, would happen to turn to the one or the other. But this is not all. Eddie brought a couple of young squirrels from the woods, which soon became very gentle. In less than two days both were found in the box among the cats and kittens, drawing from either or both the maternal fonts, upon a like footing of equality and community with that previously enjoyed by the kittens. The old cats seemed to acquiesce fully in the arrangement, and so it proceeded for a couple of weeks, until one of the squirrels was accidentally killed. The other having the freedom of the house is now a romping playmate of both cats and kittens, who continue uniformly to treat him as ‘one of the family.’”
CHAPTER XX.
EDUCATED SEALS—TAME FISH, ETC.
At the Zoological Gardens in London, and at several places on the continent, seals have been exhibited which had been taught to perform a number of tricks. The first “learned seal” which appeared in this country was one exhibited first at Barnum’s old Museum, on the corner of Broadway and Ann street, and afterward in various parts of the country. Ned, as he was called, was quite a philosopher in his way, and submitted gracefully to the change from his secluded haunts on the icy shores of Greenland, to the excitements of a public life.
Seals are naturally docile and intelligent, but skill in grinding a hand organ is scarcely a gift which comes by nature, and even in the case of Ned it was necessary to stimulate his musical taste before he became an adept on that instrument. This stimulus was the same as that to which we owe the curb-stone performances of modern Romans—hunger.
He had before this learned of his own accord to come up out of the water on the appearance of his keeper. He was kept in a large tank, or box, one half of which held the water, while the other half was floored over forming a platform on which he was exhibited. From this platform an inclined plane, formed of planks, led down into the water. Around the edge of the tank and platform a wooden railing extended, and in one corner of this enclosure was kept a tin box containing the fish with which the seal was fed. When the seal was first exhibited his keeper was in the habit of taking a fish from this box at each half-hourly exhibition, and tossing it to the seal who would come partly out of the water and open his mouth to catch it when he saw it in the keeper’s hand. This box had a lid to prevent Ned helping himself, and the seal soon learned that the noise of opening the box was followed by his getting a fish; so before long it was only necessary to tap on the lid to make him come up on the platform.
There was one trick which Ned invented himself, and used to perform to his own great satisfaction. He always liked to be able to see his keeper, but visitors often crowded around the tank so much as to obstruct his view. When this happened, Ned had a way of beating vigorously about in the water and splashing the offending spectators so that they were glad to withdraw to a more respectful distance. This afforded considerable fun to the attachés of the museum, who had discovered Ned’s little game, while, we believe, visitors never suspected that their ducking was anything more than mere accident.
The first feat he was taught was to sit up on his hind quarters. This was easily accomplished by holding a fish in the air as an encouragement for the seal to keep an erect position. More difficulty was experienced in teaching him to play the organ. Day after day his paw was placed on the handle, while the trainer industriously turned the crank and held Ned’s paw in position at the same time. Ever and anon the man would remove his hand to see if the seal continued the motion, but down would flop Ned’s paw and he would gaze vacantly at the instrument without the least apparent consciousness of what was to be done. But by-and-by there was a little hesitation in the paw and it did not drop quite so promptly on the trainer’s hand being removed. Then Ned got a little fish. The next time the paw lingered quite perceptibly on the handle, and there was just the faintest movement toward turning the crank. Then Ned got a bigger fish, which he undoubtedly relished exceedingly, for all this time he had been on short allowance. So it went on, the seal grinding a few notes, increasing their number each time and being rewarded with fish, until he had learned to roll out the full supply of tunes the instrument afforded, though his “time” would have puzzled a musician, his efforts being to grind at the greatest possible speed, and we feel safe in asserting that his “Old Hundred” was the fastest thing on record. After every exhibition he was rewarded with fish.