Minnie's Pet Dog
“Alarmed for her child, she rushed to the dog and drove him angrily away; but after the closest examination, she could find no trace of injury inflicted on the little girl, and she soon, forgot both the outcry and alarm.
“Meantime poor Fido had not ventured from the corner where he had been driven in disgrace, but remained for a long time pensive and quiet in his retreat. At last, when his little playmate began to look round for him, he came slowly forward to the mother of his companion, and sitting directly before her, with a touch of his paw solicited her attention.
“‘What is it, Fido?’ she asked.
“He rose gently, and placed something on the carpet at her feet.
“It was a pin, which she lifted up and examined, every motion closely watched by the dog. His pleading eye was too obvious to be misunderstood, and by questioning the child, the whole was soon explained. The pin had come in her way, and, in the fun of childhood, she had tried to make a pin-cushion of Fido’s nose. The snarl was caused by pain, and the snap following removed the dangerous weapon from unsafe hands.
“The lady patted the dog, calling him ‘good Fido,’ when he at once turned to his favorite, to assure her of his forgiveness, and to ask that they might be friends again. And so they were ever after.”
“That is a very good story,” said Minnie, smiling. “I wish you would read another one as good.”
“Here is one,” responded Ida, having cast her eye over it, “which is rather sad.”
“A gentleman named Llewelyn had a fine hunter, which he called Gelert. One day, the dog refused to accompany his master to the chase, which made him very angry.
“Gelert always kept sentinel at night at the door of his bedchamber, and, on his return from the chase, Llewelyn met the dog coming from the room, covered with blood. He entered in great haste, alarmed for the safety of his child, when he found the bed overturned, and the coverlet stained with gore. In an agony of apprehension, he called aloud to his boy, but received no answer, and rashly concluded that the babe had been killed by Gelert.
“Without stopping to reflect upon the fondness the animal had always manifested for the child, he ran his sword through the poor creature’s body.
“Roused from his slumber by Gelert’s dying yell, the infant awoke, when the father, advancing, found to his heart-rending remorse, a gaunt wolf, torn and bleeding, tremendous even in death, lying on the floor near the tender nursling. The faithful dog had seen the wolf prowling about, and, refusing to accompany his master to the chase, of which he was extremely fond, placed himself near the couch of the boy, and in the end saved his life, though, as it proved, at the sacrifice of his own.
“Llewelyn, who never could forgive himself, afterwards built a chapel, and raised a tomb to the memory of his faithful dog, who fell a victim to a momentary passion. This tomb is still called Beth-Gelert, or the tomb of Gelert; multitudes have there heard the account of his bravery and his untimely death.”
“How very sorry he must have been!” exclaimed Minnie, tears filling her eyes.
“Read that account of the Stockholm dog,” said Mrs. Lee.
“Yes, aunt; but first here is a story of the fidelity of a dog, which is very affecting.”
“A French merchant, having some money due from a correspondent, set out on horseback, accompanied by his dog, on purpose to receive it. Having settled the business to his satisfaction, he tied the bag of money before him, and began to return home. His faithful dog, as if he entered into his master’s feelings, frisked round the horse, barked, and jumped, and seemed to participate in his joy.
“After riding some miles, the merchant alighted to repose himself under an agreeable shade, taking the bag of money in his hand, and laying it down by his side under a hedge, when, upon remounting, he unfortunately forgot it.
“The dog perceived his want of recollection, and wishing to rectify it, ran to fetch the bag; but it was too heavy for him to drag along. He then ran to his master, and by crying, barking, and howling, tried to remind him of his mistake.
“Unfortunately, the merchant did not understand his language; but the assiduous creature persevered in his efforts, and after trying to stop the horse in vain, at last began to bite his heels.
“The gentleman, absorbed in some reverie, wholly misunderstood his animal’s expostulations, and entertained the alarming apprehension that he had suddenly gone mad. Full of this suspicion, in crossing a brook, he turned back to see whether the dog stopped to drink. The faithful creature was too anxious concerning his master’s business to think of it, but continued to bark and bite with greater violence than before.
“‘Mercy!’ cried the affrighted merchant, ‘it must be so? My poor dog is certainly mad. What shall I do? I must kill him, lest some greater misfortune befall me; but with what regret! O, could I find any one to perform this cruel office for me! But there is no time to lose; I myself may become a victim if I spare him.’
“With these words he drew a pistol from his pocket; and with a trembling hand took aim at his faithful servant. He turned away in agony as he fired; but his aim was too sure. The poor animal fell wounded, and weltering in his blood, still endeavored to crawl toward his master, as if to tax him with ingratitude. The merchant could not bear the sight: he spurred on his horse with a heart full of sorrow, and lamented that he had taken a journey which had cost him so dear. Still the money never entered his mind; he only thought of his poor dog, and tried to console himself with the reflection that he had prevented a greater evil than he had suffered a calamity by despatching a mad animal. But even this thought did not quiet him.
“‘I am most unfortunate,’ said he to himself; ‘I had almost rather have lost my money than my dog.’
“Saying this, he put out his hand to grasp his treasure. It was missing; no bag was to be found. In one instant his eyes were opened to his rashness and folly. ‘Wretch that I am!’ he cried; ‘I alone am to blame. I could not understand the caution which my innocent and most faithful friend gave me; and I have sacrificed him for his zeal. He only wished to inform me of my mistake; and he has paid for his fidelity with his life!’
“Instantly he turned his horse, and went off at full gallop to the place where he had stopped. He saw with half averted eyes the scene where the tragedy was acted; he perceived the traces of blood as he proceeded; he was oppressed and distracted; but in vain he looked for his dog; he was not to be seen on the road.
“At last he arrived at the spot where he had alighted. But here his heart bled afresh. He was entirely overcome. The poor dog, unable to follow his dear but cruel master, had determined to consecrate his last moments to his service. He had crawled, all bloody as he was, to the forgotten bag, and in the agonies of death, he lay watching beside it.
“As soon as he saw his master, he testified his joy by wagging his tail. He could do no more; he tried to rise, but his strength was gone. The vital tide was ebbing fast; and even the caresses of his master could not prolong his life for a few moments. He stretched out his tongue to lick the hand that was now fondling him in the agonies of regret, as if to seal forgiveness of the deed that had deprived him of life. He then cast a look of love on his master, and closed his eyes in death.”
CHAPTER V.
CANICHE AND THE TRAVELLER
Mr. Lee returned one day from the city with a party of friends who had been invited to visit them. They were all seated at the tea table, when a quick ringing of one of the chamber bells attracted their attention.
The gentleman glanced at his wife, who at once noticed that all the family were present at the table, and only answered by the words, “Who can it be?”
“It is Maria or Emily Otis, from the city,” he answered, smiling. “They came, I suspect, in the noon train, and have taken this method to announce their arrival.”
At this moment the bell was rung again, and more furiously than before.
Minnie sprang up, and ran from the room. She reached the chamber just as a servant was opening the door. What was their surprise, instead of the expected guest, to see Tiney standing on his hind feet pulling the bell rope! He had accidentally been shut into the chamber, and took this means to get out.
The child ran down with the news, and Tiney, who followed her, was quite the hero of the occasion.
After dinner, the conversation turned upon the intelligence and fidelity of dogs, when one of the gentlemen related the following singular incident, which he said was strictly true: —
“An English officer, who was in Paris somewhere near the year 1815, was once crossing one of the bridges over the Seine, when a poodle dog rubbed against his boots, which had just been polished, dirtying them so much that he was obliged to go to a man stationed on the bridge to clean them.
“The same circumstance having occurred more than once, his curiosity was excited, and he watched the dog. He saw him roll himself in the mud of the river, and then station himself where he could see a person with well-polished boots, against which he contrived to rub himself.
“Finding that the shoe-black was the owner of the poodle, he taxed him with the artifice; and after a little hesitation, he confessed that he had taught the dog the trick, in order to procure customers for himself.
“The officer, being much surprised at the dog’s sagacity, purchased him at a high price, and carried him to England. He kept him tied up in London some time, and then released him. The poodle remained with him a day or two, and then made his escape. A fortnight afterwards, he was found with his former master, pursuing his old trade of dirtying gentlemen’s boots on the bridge.”
“Your story, which is a capital one,” remarked another gentleman of the company, “reminds me of something I read lately, which, if not well vouched for, I should scarcely have credited.
“A man by the name of Edward Cook, after having lived some time with his brother in Northumberland, came to the United States, bringing with him a pointer dog, which he lost soon afterwards, while shooting in the woods near Baltimore.
“Some time after, his brother and sister, who continued to reside in Northumberland, were alarmed at hearing a dog in the night. They arose, admitted it to the house, and found, to their surprise, it was the same their brother had taken with him to America. The dog lived with them until Mr. Edward Cook returned, when they mutually recognized each other.
“They were never able to trace by what vessel the dog had left America, or in what part of England it had been landed.”
“One of the best stories I have heard of the sagacity of a dog,” remarked a lady, “was the account of Caniche, which, if not familiar to you, is well worth repeating.”
Mr. Lee begged her to favor the company with the story, when she began.
“Once upon a time, Dumont, a tradesman of the Rue St. Denis, in Paris, was walking with a friend, when he offered to lay a wager with the latter, that, if he were to hide a six-livre piece in the dust, his dog would discover it, and bring it to him. The wager was accepted, and the piece of money secreted, after being carefully marked.
“When the two had proceeded some distance from the spot, M. Dumont said to his dog that he had lost something, and ordered him to seek it. Caniche immediately turned back, and her master and companion pursued their walk to the Rue St. Denis.
“Meanwhile, a traveller, who happened to be just then returning in a small chaise from Vincennes, perceived the piece of money which his horse had kicked from its hiding place. He alighted, took it up, and drove to his inn.
“Caniche, after a careful search, had just reached the spot in pursuit of the lost piece, when the stranger picked it up. She at once set off after the chaise, went into the inn, and stuck close to the traveller. Having scented out the coin in the pocket of the latter, which she had been ordered to bring back, she leaped up incessantly at and about him. The traveller, supposing him to be some dog that had been lost by her master, regarded these movements as marks of fondness, and, as the animal was handsome, determined to keep her. He gave her a good supper, and, on retiring to bed, took her with him to his chamber. No sooner had he pulled off his pantaloons than they were seized by the dog: the owner, conceiving that she wanted to play with them, took them away again. The animal then began to bark at the door, which the traveller opened, under the idea that the dog wanted to go out. Caniche snatched up the pantaloons, and away she flew, the traveller posting after her, dressed only in his night shirt. Anxiety for the fate of a purse full of gold Napoleons of forty francs each gave redoubled quickness to his steps.
“Caniche, having a good start, ran full speed to her master’s house, where the stranger arrived a moment afterward, breathless and enraged. He accused the dog of robbing him.
“‘Sir,’ said the master, ‘my dog is a very faithful creature; and if she has run away with your pantaloons, it is because you have in them money which does not belong to you.’
“The traveller became still more exasperated.
“‘Compose yourself, sir,’ rejoined the other, smiling: ‘without doubt there is in your purse a six-livre piece, with such and such marks, which you have picked up in the Boulevard St. Antoine, and which I threw down there with the firm conviction that my dog would bring it back again. This is the cause of the robbery which she has committed upon you.’
“The stranger’s rage now yielded to astonishment; he delivered the six-livre piece to the owner, and could not forbear caressing the dog which had given him so much uneasiness and such an unpleasant chase.”
“There is no doubt,” remarked Mr. Lee, “that the character and intellectual faculties of the dog are more strongly developed than those of any other quadruped, on account of his being the constant companion of man. It is a pleasing thought, the more that is known of his fidelity, faithfulness, and sagacity, the more he will be appreciated, and the better, therefore, his treatment is likely to be.”
CHAPTER VI.
THE SHEPHERD’S DOG
“Mother,” cried Minnie, one morning, “will you tell me about the dogs people used to have in old times, when the Bible was written? Father read about the dog with the flocks.”
“Yes, dear. The shepherds had dogs whose duty seemed only to be to guard the flock from the attacks of wild beasts, and, like the Spanish sheep dog of the present day, had nothing to do with the management of sheep. Indeed, he seems to have been regarded with great dislike by the Jews, and, if not carefully watched, was more destructive to the sheep than the beast of whose approach he was to give warning. When he was not on duty, he was regarded as a great pest and destroyer.
“Among the Arabs, travellers in the East say, this is the character of them all; they are cruel, bloodthirsty, always hungry, and never satisfied. His look is savage, and his appearance disagreeable. The Moors grant him a corner in their tent, but that is all; they never caress him, never throw him any thing to eat. To this treatment must the indifference of dogs to their masters be ascribed.
“The Spanish sheep dogs are used entirely for the defence of the flock against wolves. In case of attack, the sheep fly to them, and gather round them as friends and protectors. They are also taught, if a sheep lags behind unobserved by the shepherds, to stay with it, and defend it until some one returns for it.
“In later times man has made a companion of this faithful animal, and the dog well reciprocates the kindness. The Scotch sheep dog, or colley, has no superior, scarcely an equal, in managing a flock. The Ettrick Shepherd says, that a single shepherd, with one of these colleys, will accomplish more in gathering a flock of sheep from a Highland farm than twenty shepherds could do without it. Neither hunger, fatigue, nor the worst treatment, will draw him from his master’s side, and he will follow him through every hardship without murmur or repining.
“Mr. Hogg also gives an account of his own colley, ‘Sirrah,’ who had one night a flock of lambs under his care. They became frightened at something, and ran in all directions, scattering among the hills.
“‘Sirrah,’ exclaimed Mr. Hogg, in despair, ‘they’re a’ awa’!’
“The dog dashed off through the darkness. After spending, with his assistants, the whole night in a fruitless search after the fugitives, the shepherd commenced his return home. Coming to a deep ravine, they found Sirrah in charge of what, as they supposed, was one of the scattered divisions; but what was their joyful surprise to find that not one of the flock was missing!”
“O,” cried Minnie, “wasn’t he a good fellow!”
“Yes, dear; and the English sheep dog is also remarkable for its docility and faithfulness. It is larger and more powerful than the colley; and they are so useful to their employers that a writer says it would be almost impossible to conduct the markets without them. If you were to visit the Smithfield market in London, on Monday or Friday, you would see them at their work. Vast droves of sheep and other animals are brought from the country for the supply of the great metropolis, and are here crowded into the smallest possible space. Of course each owner wishes his flock kept from mingling with others; and this business devolves on his dog. If one sheep slips away, by a motion of the hand, or one word of command, the master signifies his desire, and the truant is instantly sought and returned, the dog always holding it by the side of the head, so as not to bruise the body. His eye is continually on his master’s countenance, anxious to learn his wishes, or on the particular flock he has in charge. As difficulties multiply, his sagacity becomes almost human, and he seems to know every individual belonging to his flock.”
Minnie listened to this account with great interest; but now she started up, her whole countenance blazing with excitement, and exclaiming, “Father, you’ll need a dog, you know, for your sheep. If you’ll buy an English shepherd pup, I’ll let Nannie take care of it, and train it for you.”
“Thank you, love,” said her father, patting her head fondly; “but I’m afraid Nannie is scarcely capable of such business. I’ll tell you a story of a remarkable Spanish shepherd dog which came to America from England. His name was Arrogante, and he was an animal of prodigious power. There was nothing affectionate or joyous about him. He never forgave an injury or an insult. He was proud and reserved, but not quarrelsome. Little curs would often run up to him, or seize his long, bushy tail; but he seldom condescended to notice them: when he did, he soon made an end of them.
“Arrogante was honest, faithful, and courageous. He was a strictly temperance dog, and would allow no one on the premises who was what is called worse for liquor. Many a time, according to his own confession, the bailiff who usually fed Arrogante was obliged to sleep on the ground outside the farm because he came home unsteady from too much drinking.
“On one occasion a couple of sailors, wishing to take advantage of the tide, came unexpectedly to the farm, soon after midnight, to take away some potatoes they had purchased from Mr. Rotch. But Arrogante would not consent to what he considered unlawful proceedings. He forced the men into an empty cart, and kept them there till morning. Once or twice they tried to put a foot over the side of the cart, but were convinced if they persevered the dog would kill them. They lost the tide, and were greatly disappointed, but, like honest fellows, confessed the fault was their own.
“A gentleman who, I am sorry to say, was fond of spirituous liquors, lived near the farm, and often passed near the stable where Arrogante had his headquarters. This gentleman was regularly introduced to him, and warned by his master against ever provoking him. Returning home, late one Saturday evening, on horseback, from a convivial meeting, as he galloped past the stable he met Arrogante, and wantonly struck at him with a hunting whip. He was a large man, and rode a powerful horse, which was going at full speed, so that he escaped before the astonished dog recovered from his surprise.
“The next morning the gentleman was on his way to church mounted as before. Arrogante, who was watching for him, at once knew the tread of his horse, and stood grimly awaiting his insulter. When the gentleman had approached within a few yards, the dog gave a spring, and met him in the air, in a deadly aim at his throat. Nothing but the sudden jump of the very active horse saved the rider’s throat and his life; but so narrowly had he escaped, that he felt the gnashing teeth of the frenzied brute scrape down his dress, where they came in contact with, and closed upon, his watch, tearing it away with the adjacent clothing, and chewing it into atoms. The cause of this terrible onset not being disclosed at the time, Mr. Rotch, though convinced that Arrogante had not been the aggressor, felt obliged to have him shot.”
CHAPTER VII.
THE INTELLIGENT POODLES
“You promised, cousin Ida, to read about the Stockholm dog.”
“I will, Minnie; but uncle George has something to tell you.”
“Read it now, Ida,” said Mr. Lee, “and I will relate my stories afterward.”
“A captain of an English merchant vessel arrived in the port of Stockholm, in Sweden, and was soon afterward seized with an illness, of which he died. At the time of his death, he had on board a fine, large Newfoundland dog, which was fondly attached to him. On the day of the captain’s funeral, Neptune was allowed to follow his poor master to the grave; and, after the funeral ceremony had been performed, the officers and crew made every exertion to induce the dog to follow them to the ship, but all in vain; and their endeavors to catch him proving fruitless, they left him in the churchyard.
“During the short time the ship remained in port, Neptune might be seen at all times lying with his head on the grave, and every day the sailors brought him his food; but he was so vigilant on these occasions that they never could get near him, to take him back to the ship, and they were obliged to sail without him.
“The neighboring Swedish inhabitants, in admiration of the extraordinary attachment displayed by this animal to his late master, made arrangements among themselves to supply him with his daily food; and, as the weather soon became extremely cold, a subscription was made, to build him a comfortable doghouse, which was placed near the grave.
“It was affecting to see how earnestly Neptune gazed into every new-made grave, proving that he cherished the hope of seeing his beloved master again.
“He remained on the grave for several years, and came to be called the dog of Stockholm, when, one day, he was found dead at his post.”
“I love Neptune,” faltered Minnie, wiping her eyes. “I wish I could have seen him there. But, father, what did you say you had to tell me?”
“I found two remarkable stories of the exhibition of dogs, which I thought would interest you; and so I took the pains to borrow the book for your benefit.
“The first was an account of two pointers, Braque and Philax, exhibited in London by Mr. Leonard, a French gentleman of great wealth, who had instructed his dogs for his own amusement. He was earnest in stating that it only required gentle, persevering effort to teach them almost any thing.
“The dogs were in vigorous health, and having bowed gracefully to the company, seated themselves on the hearth rug, side by side. Mr. Leonard spoke to his dogs in French, in his usual low tone, and ordered one of them to walk, the other to lie down, to run, to gallop, to halt, to crouch, all of which they did as promptly and correctly as the most docile children.
“He then placed six cards, of different colors, on the floor, and, sitting with his back to the dogs, directed one to pick up the blue card and the other the white, varying his orders rapidly, and speaking in such a manner that it was impossible they could have executed his commands if they had not a perfect knowledge of his words.
“For instance, he said, ‘Philax, take the blue card, and give it to Braque; and, Braque, take the red card and give it to Philax;’ and these orders were instantly executed.
