Family V. Canidæ.
(Dogs.)
Through the Hyænas, which seem to belong to the Viverradæ, we are connected with the familiar animals of the present group. The Dogs have a more or less lengthened muzzle; the bony palate terminates in a line with the hinder margins of the posterior molar teeth; they have two flat tuberculous molars behind the carnivorous tooth. They do not attain the size of the greater Cats, but exceed that of the Civets: the legs are long, and hence the stature is elevated. Though carnivorous, their ferocity is not, generally, equal to their strength; they obtain their prey, not by a sudden bound, but by hunting it down, by the aid either of sight or smell, often associating in packs for this purpose. They are not averse to carrion. The species, under the names of Dogs, Wolves, Foxes, and Jackals, are widely scattered.
Genus Canis. (Linn.)
The domestic Dog (Canis familiaris, Linn.) is probably the most valuable of all the bestial ser- vants of man. The strength of the Elephant, the endurance of the Camel, the swiftness and doci- lity of the Horse, the fleecy covering of the Sheep, and the patient labour of the Ox, are all exceedingly useful gifts bestowed by our gracious Creator; but all of these are circumscribed in their sphere of service, and by none are their whole faculties and powers rendered up with that fulness and freedom, that ungrudging love, with which the Dog delights to serve. The Horse does not draw the chariot, nor the Ox drag the plough, of his own choice; but the Dog finds his highest eratification in fulfilling and even anticipating the desires of his master. "The whole species," observes Cuvier, "has become the property of man; each individual is devoted to its particular master, assumes his manners, knows and defends his property, and remains attached to him until death; and all this, neither from constraint nor want, but solely from gratitude and pure friendship. The swiftness, strength, and scent of the Dog, have rendered him a powerful ally to man against other animals; and were even, perhaps, necessary to the establishment of society. It is the only animal which has followed man all over the world."
Another zoologist[1] speaks of the Dog as "an animal given to man to be his assistant and friend. To his service is the Dog devoted; by him are its very instincts modified; to him it looks up for encouragement, and his good word or kind caress throws it into a rapture of delight. The Dog enjoys to walk out with its master: it listens for his footstep, it whines in his absence, and it greets his return. Fidelity, courage, and intelligence are its attributes. It is the only animal which, from a spontaneous impulse, allies itself to the human race, shares with equal devotion the cottage of the peasant and the palace of the noble; and claims a return of the attachment it manifests, a return which every well-ordered mind will willingly accord.”
The varieties of the domestic Dog are very numerous, and, as crosses of breeds comparatively pure are continually taking place, the production of mongrel-races becomes endless. Many attempts to classify the various known breeds have been made, of which we give one of the most recent, by the zoologist last quoted; which is curious, at least, as an enumeration of the well-marked varieties. Mr. Martin excludes the Dingo of Australia, and what he considers as “the true wild Dogs of India.”
| “1. Ears erect, or nearly so; nose pointed; hair long, often woolly; form robust and muscular; aspect more or less wolfish. | Feral[2] dog of Russia. Feral dog of Natolia. Shepherd’s dog of Natolia. Persian guard-dog. Pomeranian dog. Icelandic dog. Siberian dog. Tschutschi dog. Esquimaux dog. Hare-Indian dog. Black wolf-dog of Florida Indians. Nootka dog. Shepherd’s dog. | |
| 2. Ears narrow, semi-erect, or only slightly pendulous; muzzle produced; jaws strong; hair smooth or wiry; limbs long and vigorous: power of scent not highly developed. | Ancient German boar-hound. Great Danish dog. Feral dog of Hayti. French mâtin. Irish wolf-dog. Scotch deer-hound. English grey-hound. Italian grey-hound. Persian grey-hound. Brinjaree dog. Albanian grey-hound. Lurcher. | |
| 3. Ears moderately large and pendent; muzzle deep and strong; hair long, sometimes wiry; form robust; aspect grave and intelligent. | Italian wolf-dog. Newfoundland dog. Labrador dog. Alpine dog. | |
| 4. Ears moderately large; sometimes very large; pendent; hair long and fine; muzzle moderate; forehead developed; scent acute; intelligence at a high ratio. | Spaniel and fancy varieties. Water-spaniel and varieties. Rough water-dog, or Barbet. Little Barbet. | |
| 5. Ears large, pendent; muzzle long and deep; nose large; hair close; scent acute; form vigorous. | Pointer. Dalmatian dog. Beagle. Harrier. Fox-hound. Old English hound. Blood hound. African hound, &c. | |
| 6. Ears moderate, pendent; muzzle short and thick; jaws enormously strong; hair short, sometimes wiry; form robust; sense of smell variable. | Cuban mastiff. English mastiff. Thibet mastiff. Ban-dog. Bull-dog. Corsican and Spanish bull-dog. Pug-dog. | |
| 7. Ears sub-erect; muzzle rather acute; jaws strong; hair short or wiry; scent acute; habits active; intelligence considerable. | Terrier, smooth and wire-haired. Turnspit. Barbary dog.” |
Anecdotes of the docility, sagacity, memory, courage, faithfulness, and love of the Dog, are sufficiently numerous to fill volumes. A few of these we subjoin. The repetition may serve to inculcate a kindly regard for the comfort of an animal whose faculties are of so high an order, and so entirely devoted to man.
The Shepherd's Dog perhaps excels all others in intelligence, thoughtfulness, and promptitude.
SHEPHERD'S DOG.
On the trackless downs of Wiltshire, or the wild moors of Lancashire and Scotland, the flocks could not be kept together but for the aid of this faithful and ready-witted assistant. Who has not seen with admiration the ease with which a Colley will guide a flock through the mazy streets of London, to or from Smithfield, amidst passengers, vehicles, and cattle, and even through other flocks, without suffering one to lag behind or to wander? Mr. Hogg himself communicated the following anecdote to Mr. Jesse. "During the time in which Lambs are weaned, the Ettrick Shepherd had seven hundred of them under his care. As is sometimes the case, especially at that time, they broke away in the middle of the night, and scampered off in three different parties across the hills, in spite of all the shepherd and his assistant could do to keep them together. 'Sirrah,' cried: the shepherd, in great affliction, (addressing his dog,) ‘Sirrah, my man, they’re a’ awa.' The night was so dark that he did not see the dog, but the faithful animal had heard his master’s words, and without more ado he silently set off in quest of the flock. Meanwhile, the shepherd and his companion spent the night in scouring the hills for miles round, but could see nothing of the flock or the dog. On their way home in the morning, they discovered a body of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine called the Flesh Cleuch, and the dog standing in front of them, looking all around for some relief, but still standing true to his charge. Not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting."[3]
In the transport of flocks from distant parts of the country to market, the sagacity and memory of this dog is invaluable. "A shepherd employed to bring up some mountain-sheep from Westmoreland, took with him a young sheep-dog, who had never made the journey before, and, from his assistant being ignorant of the ground, the man experienced great difficulty in having the flock stopped at the various roads and lanes. Next year this shepherd, accompanied by the same dog, brought up another flock. On being questioned how he had got on, he said, much better than the year before, as his dog now knew the road, and had kept the sheep from going up any of the lanes or turnings which had given him so much trouble in his former journey. The distance was not less than four hundred miles."[4]
Mr. Darwin has described in an amusing manner the sheep-dogs of the plains of South America, to whom the unassisted care of the flocks is devolved, and whose courage is exercised only by the stimulus of their charge. "When riding, it is a common thing to meet a large flock of sheep, guarded by one or two dogs, at the distance of some miles from any house or man. I often wondered how so firm a friendship had been established. The method of education consists in separating the puppy, when very young, from the bitch, and in accustoming it to its future companions. An ewe is held three or four times a day for the little thing to suck, and a nest of wool is made for it in the sheep-pen. At no time is it allowed to associate with other dogs, or with the children of the family. . . . . From this education it has no wish to leave the flock, and just as another dog will defend its master, so will these the sheep. It is amusing to observe, when approaching a flock, how the dog immediately advances barking,—and the sheep all close in his rear as if round the oldest ram. These dogs are also easily taught to bring home the flock at a certain time in the evening. . . . The shepherd-dog comes to the house every day for some meat, and immediately it is given him he skulks away as if ashamed of himself. On these occasions the house-dogs are very tyrannical, and the least of them will attack and pursue the stranger. The minute, however, the latter has reached the flock, he turns round and begins to bark, and then all the house-dogs take very quickly to their heels. In a similar manner a whole pack of the hungry wild dogs will scarcely ever (and I was told by some, never) venture to attack a flock guarded even by one of these faithful shepherds."[5]
The following, which we extract from the Times newspaper of August 26th, 1847, quoted from an Edinburgh paper, illustrates the kindness of the shepherd’s dog in contrast with the cruelty of man, so as to justify the question with which the article is introduced: "Which is the brute? An instance of animal sagacity and humanity, unequalled in our remembrance, took place before our door lately. An unfortunate dog, in order to make sport for some fools, had a pan tied to his tail, and was sent off on his travels towards Galt. He reached the village utterly exhausted, and lay down before the steps of Mr. Young’s tavern, eying most anxiously the horrid annoyance hung behind him, but unable to move a step farther to rid him- self of the torment. Another dog, a Scotch colley, came up at the same time, and, seeing the distress of his crony, laid himself gently down beside him, and gaining his confidence by a few caresses, pro- ceeded to gnaw the string by which the noisy ap- pendage was attached to his friend’s tail, and with about a quarter of an hour’s exertion, severed the cord, and started to his legs, with the pan hanging from the string in his mouth, and, after a few joyful capers around his friend, departed on his travels in the highest glee at his success.”
That the faculty of measuring the succession of time belongs to the dog, appears to be proved by many recorded incidents. Mr. Bell mentions a Newfoundland dog, kept at an inn in Dorsetshire, which "was accustomed every morning as the clock struck eight, to take in his mouth a certain basket, placed for the purpose, and containing a few pence, and to carry it across the street to a baker’s, who took out the money, and replaced it by a certain number of rolls. With these Neptune hastened back to the kitchen, and safely deposited his trust; but, what was well worthy of remark, he never attempted to take the basket, or even to approach it on Sunday mornings."[6]
Mr. Jesse adduces an instance of the accurate measurement of a much longer period. "There were two friends, one living in London, and the other at Guildford. These friends were on terms of great intimacy; and for many years it had been the custom for the London family to pass the Christmas at Guildford; and their uniform practice was to arrive to dinner the day before Christmas day, and to be accompanied by a large spaniel, who was as great a favourite with the visited as with the visitors. At the end of about seven years after this plan had been adhered to, the two families had an unfortunate misunderstanding, which occasioned an omission of the usual Christmas invitation. About an hour before dinner on the day before Christmas day, the Guildford gentleman, standing at his window, exclaimed to his wife, 'Well, my dear, the W——s have thought better of it, for I declare they are coming as usual, though we did not invite them; here comes Cæsar to announce them:' and the dog came trotting up to the door, and was admitted as usual to the parlour. The lady of the house gave orders to prepare beds, dinner waited an hour, but no guests arrived. Cæsar, after staying the exact number of days he had been accustomed to, set off for home, and reached it in safety. The correspondence which of necessity occurred, had the happy effect of renewing the intercourse of the estranged friends, and as long as Cesar lived, he paid the annual visit in company with his master and mistress."[7]
Accounts have been published, apparently veracious, of dogs which had been taught to articulate words. Much more indubitable is the fact that they understand the meaning of spoken language. Dr. Gall observes, "I have often spoken intentionally of objects which might interest my dog, taking care not to mention his name, or make any intonation or gesture which might awaken his attention. He, however, showed no less pleasure or sorrow, as it might be; and indeed, manifested by his behaviour, that he had perfectly understood the conversation which concerned him. I had taken a bitch from Vienna to Paris; in a very short time she comprehended French as well as German, of which I satisfied myself by repeating before her whole sentences in both languages.[8] Mr. Martin gives the following example of the same faculty:—"We have two dogs, a spaniel and a terrier, both of small size; and if, by way of trial, in the course of conversation, we say, in the ordinary tone of voice, and without looking at them, 'I am sure there must be a cat somewhere about the house,' they are instantly excited, and search in every place for the animal, to which they bear instinctive hatred."[9]
More curious still is the following anecdote:—"Lord Combermere’s mother (Lady Cotton,) had a terrier named Viper, whose memory was so retentive that it was only necessary to repeat to him once the name of any of the numerous visitors at Combermere, and he never afterwards forgot it. Mrs. H. came on a visit there on a Saturday. Lady Combermere took the dog up in her arms, and going up to Mrs. H. said, 'Viper, this is Mrs. H.' She then took him to another newly arrived lady, and said, 'Viper, this is Mrs. B.,' and no further notice was taken. Next morning, when they went to church, Viper was of the party. Lady Cotton put a prayer-book in his mouth, and told him to take it to Mrs. H., which he did, and he then carried one to Mrs. B., at his mistress’s order."[10]
Far more interesting than the docility by which the dog acquires by practice the power of doing certain strange and unexpected things, is a sort of inherent nobleness of character, and what we can scarcely refrain from calling moral excellence, which we see in many varieties. Anecdotes of devoted attachment and faithfulness in dogs are perhaps more common than many others; but these qualities sometimes assume unusual phases. How delicately chivalrous must have been the feelings of the animal thus alluded to:— "A gentleman had a remarkably fine Newfoundland dog, so innately gallant and polite, that unless ordered to remain at home, he invariably, unbidden, preceded his master's wife and sisters when they walked abroad, if they were unattended by a gentleman. He compelled every person he met,
NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
by a significant look or growl, to make way for them, but when a gentleman accompanied them he always walked behind. When with him, by night or by day, they were safe, for his courage was equal to his sagacity, and on the slightest signal from them of alarm, he was ready to give Battle. [11]
With the following touching example of faithful love even in death, and with Mr. Jesse’s reflection thereon, we close our history of this most interesting of animals. "The following anecdote of faithful attachment was communicated to me by a gentleman well known as a diplomatist. He had a small terrier which was much attached to him. On leaving this country for America, he placed the dog under the care of his sister, who resided in London. The dog at first was inconsolable, and could scarcely be persuaded to eat anything. At the end of three years his owner returned, and upon knocking at the door of his sister’s house, the dog knew his knock, ran down-stairs with the utmost eagerness, fondled his master with the greatest affection, and when he was in the sitting-room, the faithful animal jumped upon the piano-forte, that he might get as near to him as possible. The dog’s attachment remained to the last moment of his life. He was taken ill, and was placed in his master’s dressing-room, on one of his cloaks. When he could scarcely move, his kind protector met him endeavouring to crawl up-stairs. He took him up in his arms, placed him on his cloak, when the dog gave him a look of affection which could not be mistaken, and immediately died. There can be no doubt, I think, that this affectionate animal, in his endeavour to get up the steps to his master, was influenced by sensations of love and attachment which death alone could extinguish, and which the approach of death prompted him to shew. I delight in these testimonies of the affection of dogs to a kind master. They serve to prove what I have said elsewhere, that these animals were designed by an infinitely wise and good Being to be the companions and friends of man, clinging to him under every circumstance of poverty and distress. Their attachment, fidelity, and sagacity, should protect them from that ill-usage to which they are so constantly subjected."[12]
- ↑ W.C.L. Martin, "Hist. of the Dog," p. 221.
- ↑ Feral; i. e. wild, not by original condition, but by escape from domestication.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 152.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 49.
- ↑ Darwin’s Journal.
- ↑ Brit. Quad. p. 244.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 168.
- ↑ "Sur les Functions du Cerveau."
- ↑ The Dog, p. 99.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 163.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 151.
- ↑ Gleanings, p. 161.