Minnie's Pet Dog

CHAPTER I.

TINEY AND LEO

I have given an account of Minnie’s pet parrot, and of Minnie’s pet cat. In this volume I shall give the reader an account of her pet dog, Tiney, with anecdotes of other dogs.

Tiney was a spaniel. He had long, pendent ears, black, expressive eyes, a short, well-rounded mouth, and long, silky hair. He was an affectionate little fellow, who attached himself to every body in the house. He was on the most friendly terms with Fidelle, often eating sociably with her from the same plate. In summer, when Minnie liked to play on the lawn, Tiney might be seen running here and there in obedience to his young mistress, picking up a ball or stick, and bringing it to her in his teeth.

If the truth must be told, Tiney was a dog that loved his own ease. In the winter he liked to lie on the hearth rug in front of the glowing fire, one eye partly open, to be sure that Fidelle, who was fond of playing with his tail, committed no indignities with it.

Sometimes Minnie used to get out of patience with him for being so sleepy; but her mother told her it was in consequence of his eating so heartily, and taking no more exercise; and then the little girl would drag him off out of doors, often sadly against his will, and entice him into a frolic.

It was curious to see Tiney with Leo. The spaniel held the great dog in awe, and never but once was known to go to the stable to see him.

The circumstances that led to this visit were very curious, and I must relate them.

When Tiney first saw Leo, he was only a puppy, and I suppose was frightened at the sight of so large a dog. He began to bark at him with all his might. Mr. Lee wished to have them become friends; but this did not appear so easy, for Leo, after looking disdainfully at the pup, walked away with great dignity.

After this, whenever Tiney saw him, he began to bark, or rather to growl; but Leo never took the least notice of him.

Tiney, however, was fond of running to the gate to see what dogs were passing by. In this way, he formed many acquaintances, and some very bad ones.

An express-man used to pass the house two or three times a week, and was always accompanied by a large mastiff, a savage-looking dog, with a deep bass voice.

One day, when the express-man’s wagon was going by, Tiney began to jump up before the horses’ mouths and bark. The man spoke to the mastiff, who at once flew at the spaniel, and shook him thoroughly.

Tiney cried out piteously, and walked back to the house a sadder if not a wiser dog.

But he did not forget. On the day when the express-man passed again, he paid the visit, I have mentioned, to Leo, and in some way made him understand that he wanted to engage his services.

Leo agreed to revenge the insult that had been offered the little fellow. When the mastiff came by, they were ready for him. Tiney did the barking, while his defender caught the mastiff, and whipped him severely.

Leo and Tiney then returned to the house together, when the spaniel showed his gratitude by running back and forth before his friend, and giving several short barks. But what was most remarkable was the fact, that after this they returned to their old footing, Leo never condescending to take any notice of his smaller companion, and Tiney giving an occasional growl when he saw him approach.

When Minnie was in her eighth year, her parents went on a journey into a distant state, and she accompanied them; but though she pleaded to take Tiney with her, it was not allowed.

The next summer preparations were made for another journey, and there was much conversation about it in the family circle.

One morning, when they were discussing the time of their being absent, Mrs. Lee noticed that Tiney appeared very uneasy. He jumped repeatedly into her lap, and from that to the floor, rubbing his sides against her feet.

“What can Tiney want?” she said aloud. “I’m sure he is trying to make me understand something.”

“O, I wish he could go!” cried Minnie. “You know how sad he was when we were gone before.”

The spaniel, on hearing these words, gave a joyful bark, moving his tail back and forth in an excited manner, and then looked wishfully in her face.

“He seems to understand what we say,” the lady went on, glancing with some surprise at her husband.

“I have no doubt of it,” he answered, smiling. “Here, Tiney! here, sir!”

The dog obeyed.

“Do you know, Tiney,” he asked, “that we are going away?”

No reply.

“Would you like to go with us in the carriage?”

Tiney gave a short, quick bark.

“I’m afraid that would not do,” added the gentleman, shaking his head. “I fear you would be too much trouble.”

No more was said, and the dog went across the room, his tail hanging between his legs, and remained quietly on the corner of the sofa. They noticed that he watched every movement closely, and that, if Minnie left the room, he seemed uneasy till she returned.

“It is very strange that he can understand,” remarked Mrs. Lee. “See, he is not asleep, though he pretends to be; he is listening to what we say.”

Minnie laughed aloud. “It is too funny!” she exclaimed.

“I have heard of many cases,” remarked her father, “where it was evident that dogs understood well certain words uttered in their presence.”

“O, father,” urged Minnie, “do please tell them to me.”

He looked at his watch, and then began: —

“A gentleman by the name of Taylor was once travelling in Spain. He arrived early one evening at a village inn, and sat down before a stove to dry his boots. Close by him was a dog, which watched him very attentively.

“What can you give me for supper?” the gentleman inquired of the hostess.

“‘Some eggs,’ was the reply.

“‘No; they are too mawkish.’

“‘A rabbit?’

“‘That is too indigestible.’

“The attention of the dog seemed to become more and more directed to the conversation.

“‘Some ham?’ the woman added.

“‘No,’ said Mr. Taylor; ‘that would make me too thirsty.’

“‘Some pigeons?’

“The dog here stood up.

“‘No; there is no nourishment in them.’

“‘A fowl?’ said the hostess, on which the dog started hastily out of the room.

“‘What is the matter with your dog?’ asked the gentleman, noticing a smile on the woman’s face.

“‘O, nothing at all,’ was her reply; ‘he only wishes to escape his work. He is anxious to know what you decide upon; for if you say a fowl, he is sure he will have to turn the spit.’”

Both Mrs. Lee and Minnie laughed heartily at this anecdote.

“That story reminds me of Dr. Kane’s old dog Grim,” said Mrs. Lee. “He was a curious old fellow.”

“O, will you please tell me about it, mamma?” cried Minnie.

“Yes, my dear. He was very aged; his teeth, almost gone; and his limbs, once so nimble, now covered with warts and ringbones.

“In the intense cold of the arctic regions Grim suffered much, and at last, by a system of patient watching at the door of the deck-house, together with a curious wag of his tail, pleading for admittance, he was allowed a place in the warm room, and used Dr. Kane’s seal-skin coat as a bed for weeks together.

“Somehow or other, when the dogs were being harnessed into their sledges for a journey, old Grim was sure to be missing; and one time, when he was detected hiding in a barrel, to avoid the labor of drawing the sledge, he began to limp badly, as if he were very lame.

“‘Poor fellow,’ said one of the men, ‘he must be left at home.’

“Strange to say, he was lame ever after, except when the team was off from the ship.

“Run and get the book about animals, on the third shelf in the library,” said Mr. Lee, “and I will read you a story.”

Minnie flew to obey him, and Tiney, wagging his tail, slowly followed, but came back presently, and resumed his place on the sofa.

CHAPTER II.

BOSE AND THE WIG

“Here,” said Mr. Lee, “is an account Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, gives of his dog Hector.

“‘I am sure,’ he says, ‘that the dog comprehends a good deal that is said in the family; and that his attention and impatience become manifest whenever any thing is said about either him, the sheep, or the cat.

“‘One evening I said to my mother, “I am going to Bowerhope for a fortnight; but I shall not take Hector with me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the other dogs, or breeding some kind of an uproar.”

“‘My mother answered me, promptly, “I am glad of it; I like best to have him at home.”

“‘Nothing more was said on the subject. The next morning was rainy, and I did not start till after breakfast. When I was ready, I ordered a servant to shut Hector up for a few hours, that he might not follow me. The servant presently reported that the dog was nowhere to be found.

“‘When I reached St. Mary’s Lock, I found the river so swollen, I had to get across in a boat; and yet, when I arrived at Bowerhope, I found Hector, very wet, sitting on a knoll, impatiently awaiting me.’”

“In Bath, England, there were at one time a large number of dogs employed in cooking-houses, to turn the spits used in roasting fowls. These animals were fond of following the crowd on the Sabbath, and collecting together, during divine service, in the Abbey Church.

“On one occasion, the clergyman happened to use the word ‘spit,’ which reminded the dogs of their neglected duties, and, seized with remorse, they all ran home in a hurry.”

“Why, father,” cried Minnie, much astonished, “I should not think the people would let so many dogs go to church.”

“Perhaps they could not prevent it,” he answered, laughing. “Dogs are often fond of accompanying their owners to church. I remember Leo tried it several times when I first bought him. He seemed to understand perfectly well when Sunday came, and, as he knew I did not approve of his intruding, he would run off and creep into the pew without leave.”

“And did he keep still, father?”

“Yes; I never knew him to make much noise, except as he occasionally turned himself over, but I was in constant fear of his doing so, and determined to break up the habit.

“Early one Sabbath morning, before the ringing of the first bell for church, I went out to the stable to tell John to shut him up before he took out the carriage. He said he had not seen him for an hour or more. When I alighted at the door of the church, there was Leo, waiting to follow me up the aisle.

“The next week I thought I would be in season, and had Leo shut up on Saturday. He cried incessantly, when the bells rang on Sunday; but I told John not to let him out until after our return from the evening service.

“When Saturday came again, Leo took the precaution to be off, and enjoyed a whole day of church going, coming in and scratching at the door of the pew to gain my attention.

“I felt almost guilty, when I reflected on his desire to keep the Sabbath. I think he came to know which was the sermon and which the prayer, for during the latter he invariably stood up. It was only by persevering effort that I convinced him his church-going propensity could not be allowed. But now, though you know he often accompanies me when I ride on horseback, and follows the carriage when we all go, he never attempts to do so on the Sabbath.”

“I remember,” said Mrs. Lee, “when I was a young girl, visiting a lady who had a beautiful spaniel, of whom she made a great pet. When she went out to ride, Doll expected to go with her as a matter of course; and if the weather was cold, the dog was wrapped in embroidered blankets, like a baby.

“One Sabbath day we were preparing to go to church, and I wondered whether Doll would go too; or, if not, how she would bear the disappointment.

“To my astonishment the spaniel, though she whined a little, made no effort to accompany us by running here and there, as usual, and uttering short, joyful barks. She sat at the window gazing earnestly after us, but making no attempt to follow.

“‘She knows well enough,’ said the lady, ‘that she must not go to church, though I cannot imagine how she tells when Sunday comes.’

“There’s a curious story,” remarked Mr. Lee, “often told of a number of dogs in a village in Bohemia. These animals, including a large mastiff, belonging to a nobleman in the place, had a practice of going regularly to church.

“This at last excited the attention of the town authorities, and at a meeting of the court, a magistrate, who presided, said in a loud, decided tone, —

“‘No dogs shall be allowed in church; let me not see one of them in future!’”

“The mastiff was present, and seemed to listen with attention. Nor without effect; for on the ensuing Sunday he rose early, and ran round the village, barking at all the dogs. He then took his station near the door of the church; and when a dog came up, unmindful of his prohibition, he instantly killed him. Ever after he took on him this post of sentinel before the church, but not once was he known to enter it.”

“What a queer dog!” exclaimed Minnie, “and how strange that he should have known what the magistrate said!”

Mr. Lee laughed. “Do you remember,” he asked, turning to his wife, “the story we heard long ago of that old gentleman in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, who had such a knowing dog?”

“Yes, I remember. Minnie will be interested to hear that.”

“O, yes, father!”

“It seems his dog was so intelligent that he could do almost every thing but talk. Among other things, he was in the constant habit of attending church with his master. The old gentleman wore a wig, and having purchased a new one, donned it for the first time on Sunday morning, leaving the old one hanging on a chair in his bed room.

“It happened that Bose had been taking a nap that morning in the garden, and did not awake in time to accompany his master to church. He entered the house, and perceived at once that he was late; but on seeing the wig, he imagined it had been forgotten, and catching it in his teeth, before he could be stopped, disappeared with it into the street.

“The old gentleman’s feelings may be imagined, when, in the commencement of the sermon, he saw Bose quietly trotting along the aisle, in full view of all the congregation, with the wig in his mouth, not stopping till he reached the familiar pew.”

“I fancy the good man wished his dog had remained at home,” said Mrs. Lee, laughing heartily; while Minnie, who did not seem exactly to understand, exclaimed, —

“I thought, mamma, that wigs were fastened on like hair. I’m sure aunt Mary never takes hers off.”

Mr. Lee suddenly started up. “This is not doing my business,” he exclaimed. “If I don’t look out sharp, I shall miss an appointment. Run, Minnie, to the barn, and tell John to put the black mare into the buggy as quickly as possible.”

Before he had put on his boots, she came back, out of breath, calling out, —

“John has harnessed, father; so you can go at once.”

Soon after he had gone, Mrs. Lee went up stairs to make farther preparations for their journey. She had already directed Anne, a woman who had long been in the family, to put Minnie’s dresses into a trunk. What was her surprise, when she entered the room, to see Tiney sitting on them, the trunk being left open!

Poor creature! He had taken this method to ascertain the moment of their leaving, probably that he might follow them, as he was sure they would not go without Minnie’s clothes.

CHAPTER III.

LEO AND THE MONKEY

Leo had two very strong friends at the stable, with whom he passed much of his time. These were some large pigs, occupying a nice, warm pen on the south side of the barn.

When Leo left his own house to make them a visit, they received him with a grunt of welcome. One cold night, the hostler went, at a late hour, into the stable with his lantern, to see that all the animals were comfortably bedded. As he approached the pig-pen, he was surprised to hear a loud snoring, unlike the noise pigs make in their sleep. He entered cautiously, fearing a straggler had sought shelter there. This fear was quickly changed to mirth, however, as he saw Leo lying on his back between the two pigs, his feet extending some distance below them, while they were pressed closely up to his body, to impart to him as much as possible of their warmth.

A few weeks after this, one of the pigs was carried away by the butcher to be killed. Leo mourned for his friend, and paid redoubled attention to the one who was left, as if to make up to him for the loss of his companion.

I don’t know that I have described Leo.

He was a large, shaggy dog, of the Newfoundland breed, black as jet, with a white tip to his bushy tail, and three white feet.

Leo’s eyes were very bright, and his whole countenance remarkably intelligent. He was a most useful animal about the stable, always giving notice by a loud, fierce bark, when a stranger, and particularly an ill-dressed one, tried to enter. He was good-natured, too, and was never but once known to bite or seriously injure any person.

One day, the hostler, having gone into the city, left Leo in charge of the stable, as usual. About noon, a man entered and began to walk around.

After a few loud, prolonged barks, which brought no one to his aid, Leo concluded he must take care of the man himself. Every step that the stranger went he followed him, not molesting him in any way until the man took down a handsome fur robe from the shelf, and secreted it in the hay, near the window. He then proceeded to leave, when Leo caught him and held him fast.

Nearly an hour later, when the hostler returned, they were still in this position, the robber frightened almost out of his wits, and not daring to move lest the dog should kill him.

Being closely questioned by the hostler, he acknowledged his theft, and said that he had intended to come in the night and take away the robe, which he knew was valuable, by removing the window.

While he was talking, Leo watched him narrowly, and then followed him from the barn, growling continually.

Leo was very fond of his young mistress, whom in her babyhood, he had many times carried on his back around the gravelled walks near the house.

Minnie was fond of him too, and sometimes put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

When he saw her coming, he always ran to meet her, wagging his tail with pleasure.

But there was one member of the family Leo did not like at all, and no inducements which his master could urge would bring him on even decently friendly terms with him.

This was Jacko, the monkey, who by his grinning and chattering, and uncouth gestures, so disgusted the great dog, that he kept as far from his cage as possible.

One morning, about three months after Minnie’s cousin Ida had come to reside with them, the little girl was taken suddenly ill. When she was partially recovered, it was curious to see her sitting bolstered up in bed, with so many pets around her.

First, there was Poll, hopping up and down from her perch to the floor of the cage, chattering continually between her fits of coughing, “I’m sick! I’m sick! O, what a cold!” and then, changing her tone, “better now! better to-day!”

On the bed were Fidelle and Tiney, the latter nestled closely under his little mistress’s arm.

By the side of the couch, with his fore paws resting on the white counterpane, stood Leo, grave and dignified, seeming to realize more than any of them what a sad thing it was for Minnie to be lying there, instead of running over the grounds as usual.

Just at this moment, Anne came into the room bringing Jacko, who began to grin and chatter with delight.

Mrs. Lee directed the woman to fasten the monkey’s chain tightly to the post of the bedstead, and let him have his liberty; but she soon regretted having done so, for Leo, who had bristled up the moment Jacko came in, with a deep growl sprang upon him, and would have torn him in pieces, had not the united force of several persons present caught the little fellow away, and shut him in a closet.

The excitement proved too much for Minnie, and she began to sob hysterically.

Leo came to lick her hand, apparently aware that he had done wrong, but she cried out, —

“Go away, you naughty dog. I don’t love you at all now.”

Leo was presently sent from the room. Jacko, after overturning every thing in the closet, was returned to his cage, and then, in order to soothe the little girl, Mrs. Lee proposed that Ida should bring the book, and read some anecdotes about dogs.

The first one she read was this: —

“Rev. James Simpson, of Edinburgh, had a large Newfoundland dog. At one time he resided at Libberton, about two miles out of the city, in a pleasant house surrounded with a garden.

“One sacrament Sunday, the servant, who was left at home in charge of the house, thought it a good opportunity to entertain her friends, as her master and mistress were not likely to return home till after the evening service, about nine o’clock.

“The company assembled, and wandered together over the house and grounds, the dog accompanying them wherever they went in the most attentive manner, and seeming greatly pleased.

“As the time approached for Mr. and Mrs. Simpson to return, the party prepared to separate, and at last proceeded to do so; but the dog, the instant they went to the door, interposed.

“Planting himself firmly before the entrance, he would not allow one of them to touch the handle. While they were quiet, he offered no force; but the moment they attempted to move, he became furious; and with deep, angry growls and a menacing manner, drove them back into the kitchen, where he kept them till the arrival of his master and mistress.

“The surprise of the good clergyman and his wife may be imagined, when, on entering the house, they found a party assembled there at so late an hour, and the dog standing sentinel over them.

“Being thus detected, the guilty servant acknowledged her crime, when her friends were allowed to depart, after being admonished by the worthy divine in regard to the proper use of the Sabbath.

“Soon after this, Mr. Simpson was obliged to leave his country residence on account of his children’s education, and remove into Edinburgh. Speaking one day to a friend, he said, ‘I regret extremely that I shall be obliged to part with my faithful dog, as he is too large to be kept in a city house.’

“The animal was present, and heard him say this, and must have understood what was meant, for he disappeared that very evening, and was never afterwards heard from.”

Minnie was silent a few minutes when her cousin ceased reading, and then said, half crying, —

“I’m afraid Leo will go away, for I told him I did not love him.”

Ida gayly approached the window, expecting to see the dog, as usual at this hour, sunning himself in front of the stable; but as she did not, she offered to go and find him. She had scarcely reached the hall when she met him coming up the stairs. He looked wishfully in her face, and then went to Minnie’s door, and began to scratch upon it.

Ida opened it, wondering what he wanted, when Leo, with his tail between his legs as if conscious he had done wrong, went directly to the couch, and putting his cold nose into Minnie’s hand, asked, as well as he could, to be forgiven for his offence.

“I do love you, Leo,” she exclaimed, caressing him; “you’re a real good dog; and you won’t hurt Jacko again. Poor Jacko!”

On hearing these words, Leo began to wag his tail joyfully, and then, putting his paws on the bed, licked the hand she playfully held out to him.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FAITHFUL DOGS

“O, cousin Minnie,” cried Ida, “here are some beautiful stories. Let me read them to you.”

“An English terrier was brought up in a family where there was a little girl, with whom he was a great favorite. For hours together they amused each other, the dog readily yielding obedience to every wish of his little friend. One day, however, when they were at play in the nursery, the mother was startled by a quick snarl from the terrier, expressive of temper and violence.