The red book of animal stories/Two Big Dogs and a Little One
TWO BIG DOGS AND A LITTLE ONE
Nobody who has ever been the master of a huge, good-natured, silent Newfoundland dog, could bear to have a little fretful, yapping creature as his daily companion, however beautiful it might be. A Newfoundland is large and awkward; he waddles along in a very ungraceful manner, and he will probably never think of moving for visitors, if he takes a fancy to stretch his great body on your doorstep; but he is so strong that the most timid woman would feel quite safe in his care, and so silent that one growl from him rouses the soundest sleeper to a sense of danger. He has webbed feet, and can swim like a duck, and in many places he is almost as good as a life-boat.
Big though he is, a Newfoundland dog is full of life and spirits; full, too, of affection for his master, whom he is always anxious to help and defend. He is easily taught, and untiring in his efforts to carry out his master's wishes, never interfering or quarrelling unless he (or still more, his master) is first attacked, but always on the look out for danger to those whom he loves.
In their own country, Newfoundland dogs play the part that oxen do in Italy, or horses elsewhere. And more; for, wherever they know the road, they can be trusted to draw their carts or sledges piled with wood or hay without being watched by a driver. When they arrive at home they are given their dinner, generally of dried fish, which they much prefer to any other dainties, and then, if necessary, they are ready to undertake the post of night-watchman, or to do anything else that their masters wish.
One weakness, however, Newfoundland dogs have, and that is a love of sheep's blood, which renders it dangerous to keep them in sheep-breeding districts.
A story is told of a man who brought a pure-bred puppy from the north of the island of Newfoundland to his own home, at a place called Harbour Grace. The pup soon became a great favourite with everybody, and especially with the children, and in his leisure moments, when his work was done, was generally to be found in their company. Even the cats rather liked him—he was so big that most likely they didn't think he was a dog at all—he never interfered with anything they did, and was always polite. But the moment he saw a sheep he became another creature. He would chase it until he ran it down, and would even drive it over the cliffs into the sea, and jump in after it! That is, he would jump in if he did not consider the leap too dangerous, for Newfoundland dogs are very cautious. If he did, he would scramble round by an easier road, and reach his prey some other way.
But the puppy, young as he was, was so cunning, that it was often a matter of difficulty to detect his crimes, and so good and useful in other respects, that his master had often not the heart to punish him for them. Besides, as the man felt, it was the nature of the creature, and no amount of punishment would ever alter that. The dog must either go, or the man must, as far as he could, keep the sheep out of his way, and when he could not, suffer in silence! Still, let him be as careful as he might, the sheep and the dog could not always be kept separate, and then something dreadful always happened. For some time the master thought, however, that Fowler was really cured of his bad habits, for he would pass three young sheep that had been bought without taking the slightest notice of them, never even casting a glance in their direction as he went by, or giving a single lash to his tail. All went smoothly till unluckily one night the servant, whose business it was to shut up the sheep in then shed, and the dog in his own premises, forgot all about it, and the next morning when the sun rose, three dead bodies were found stretched in the yard, with just one little wound in their throats, where the blood had been sucked. The murderer meanwhile was doing his daily work, as cheerfully and patiently as if he had nothing on his mind at all.
Now and then, however, Fowler showed that he had a conscience. Some geese, which had once been wild, lived on the farm, and one of them was very fond of his master, and would even go out to walk with him about the place, strutting side by side with Fowler. They seemed to be the best of friends, and nobody gave a thought to the fact that, next to sheep and dried fish, Newfoundlands love poultry. But they were soon reminded of it. As in the case of the sheep, the geese were one night left at large, by accident. Next morning neither goose nor dog appeared to go their rounds with their master, and search was made. A few white feathers were found in a field outside the grounds, and after some time Fowler was discovered behind a woodstack in the yard, looking, for once, very much ashamed of himself. His master called the dog to follow him, and led him to the field, where the scattered feathers were pointed out to him. Fowler looked once at the man who had detected his crime, then, with a howl of regret rushed away from the field, and no persuasions would get him near his master for many days after.
Of course, most of the stories about Newfoundland dogs have to do with rescue from drowning, for these animals, from their great size and skill in swimming, are more useful in saving life than any man. But here are some very clever tricks of a dog that belonged, a great many years ago, to a Mr. Mclntyre in Edinburgh, that have nothing to do either with water or sheep.
This Newfoundland, whose name was Dandie, could pick out his own master's hat from any number of others, and his knife from a heap on the floor. He could even, we are told, detect among a pack, thrown carelessly down, the card chosen by his master. On one occasion he picked up a shilling that had been accidentally dropped by a gentleman present, and concealed it in his mouth, sitting quietly in a corner all the time, and paying no attention to what was going on. At last, when the whole room had been searched, his master said, 'Dandie, find me that shilling, and I will give you a biscuit,' and Dandie jumped straight upon the table, and laid the shilling in front of the owner. Like the dog in the 'Arabian Nights' (only that dog really was a man), Dandie could go out and do his own shopping. His friends, who were many, used to allow him a penny a day, and he took the money regularly to a baker's shop, and bought bread for himself. One day the penny was forgotten by one of these gentlemen, and when Dandie went up to him in the street, he was obliged to confess it. 'But come to me when I go back,' he said, 'and you shall have it.' Some hours after, he heard a great noise at his door, and sent to see what was the matter. It was Dandie, come for his penny. In order to find out what the dog would do, the gentleman gave him a bad one. This the 'Arabian Nights' dog would have found out at once; but people had always behaved well to Dandie, and he was too polite to suspect anything wrong. He went off with his penny to the baker, who refused, of course, to give him the bread. Upon this, Dandie returned to the house he had come from, knocked at the door again, and, when it was opened, laid the penny at the gentleman's feet, with a look that told of the contempt that was passing in his mind. From that day he never took the slightest notice of the man who had made fun of him.
But, after all, it is not only big animals that are of use in the world, as the lion found out when the net that held him was gnawed through by a mouse. Little dogs can be very brave, and very clever, too, as the following tale will show.
No one would ever imagine in looking at the small, short-legged King Charles spaniel that he would be the dog to prevent murder. His long silky ears, which are generally either black, or red and white, hang down on each side of a round, soft little face, very pretty in a lady's drawing-room, but not giving the idea of much intelligence. King Charles II., to be sure, was very fond of this breed, and seldom went out without eight or ten of them hovering about his heels in the Mall; but then he was a person who set great store by beauty, and was apt to value things and people accordingly.
However, here is a true story, in which the tiny King Charles was quite as clever as the best Newfoundland or collie that ever lived.
About the beginning of this century a lady named Mrs. Osburn was occupying a large lonely house in a country place a few miles from London. One day she drove into town to receive a large sum of money which Parliament had voted to her for the discovery of a medicine which was expected to be very useful, and instead of putting it into the bank, as a wise woman would have done, she brought it back in her carriage to her own house. The long day in town had tired her a good deal, and she soon made up her mind to go early to bed and sleep off her fatigues. She was just stepping into bed when a little King Charles, who always slept in her room, became greatly excited, and when she lay down tugged hard at the bed-clothes, nearly pulling them off her in its struggles. She told him several times to lie down, but he paid no attention, only pulling and dragging the harder. At length, finding it impossible to rouse her in any other way, he jumped on to the bed itself, took the clothes in his teeth, and drew them carefully backwards. Then Mrs. Osburn, sleepy though she was, began to think there must be some reason for the dog's very odd behaviour, as he was generally remarkably quiet in his ways. So she got up, put on her petticoat, and took out of a cupboard a pair of pistols, which she always kept ready loaded and knew how to use. She then left her room and went downstairs to see if anything was the matter. No sooner had she reached the floor below than she saw her coachman, fully dressed and holding a candle, coming down the servants' staircase. Without stopping to ask him any questions, she raised her pistol, and informed him that unless he went back up the stairs that moment she would fire. The coachman, who had reason to know that his mistress always meant what she said, and who was, besides, frightened at the discovery of his intentions, obeyed at once, and the lady, feeling that sleep was impossible that night, sat down in a room close by to think what she had better do next. Suddenly she heard a sound of low voices coming towards her, and pushing up the window leaned out and fired her pistol in the direction of the noise. Dead silence followed, and, after waiting and listening some time, she heard no more. Then she made a tour of all the lower rooms, and finding everything secure there, went back to her own, taking the King Charles with her and locking the door behind her. In the morning, as soon as it was light, she got up and went into the garden to the place from which the voices had come; there she discovered drops of blood, and followed their track till they were lost at a wall at the other end of the garden. She then ordered her carriage—we are not told if it was the same coachman who drove her—and taking the money with her, this time carried it safely to the bank. She then called on Sir John Fielding and asked his advice on the matter. He advised her to dismiss the coachman at once, and to leave the affair in his hands to have it thoroughly inquired into. But nothing more was ever found out; and the only thing that was clearly proved to the satisfaction of everybody was that if it had not been for the little King Charles the lady would have certainly been robbed, and most likely murdered.