http://www.arcamax.com/nonfiction/b-1722-1
True Stories About Dogs and Cats
TRUE STORIES ABOUT DOGS AND CATS
BY
MRS. FOLLEN
With Illustrations by Billings
TRUE STORIES ABOUT DOGS AND CATS.
In a pretty, quiet village in New England lived Mary Chilton. She was
a widow. She had two sons; and it was the occupation and the happiness
of her life to do all she could to make her boys good and happy. I
should say to help and teach them to be good and happy; for boys and
girls must make themselves good; and then, of course, they will be
happy; and no one can be made good or happy against his will.
I hear some boy or girl who reads this say, "How old were they, and
what were their names?" No boy can get along with another boy till he
knows his name and age, and so, that you may be sure that they were
real, live boys, I will tell you these important facts. The eldest was
called Frank, and was nine years old. His brother was called Harry,
and was seven. They were very much like other boys, somewhat disposed
to have their own way in every thing, and a little vexed when they
could not do as they pleased; sometimes really wishing to do right,
and be obedient, and make their mother happy.
The little fellows were fond of saying to their mother that when they
grew bigger they should take care of her; and the idea that she
depended upon them for her happiness often made them stop and think
when they were disposed to do a wrong thing.
When Harry said to Frank, "Mother will be so sorry if we do it," Frank
would stop and think, and that was enough.
Stop and think. Grand words, and worth attending to. I believe that,
if boys and girls would only keep these words well in mind, there
would be only a small number of really naughty children.
It was a custom with this good and faithful mother to have a little
talk with her boys, every night before their bed time, of what had
passed during the day. Sometimes she told them stories, sometimes they
repeated poetry.
The hours they passed in this way were the happiest in the whole day.
Some of their twilight talks and stories Mrs. Chilton wrote down,
thinking they might amuse some little cousins, who lived at a
distance. Perhaps some other little boys and girls may like to hear
them too.
One evening, early in November, when tea was over, and the tea things
were removed; when the nice hearth was swept clean, and the great wood
fire was blazing brightly, and sending forth its cheering light and
heat through the whole room, Frank and Harry had taken their
accustomed places, one on each side of their mother who was sitting on
the old-fashioned sofa. Each one appropriated a hand to himself, when
they both, almost in the same breath, said to her, "You promised us,
Mother, if we were good boys, to tell us a story this evening. Now,
have we not been good boys all day?"
"Yes, you have," she replied; "you have not quarrelled, and you have
got your lessons well; and I will gladly perform my promise. But I
hardly know whether I can remember or make up any story to tell you.
However, I will do my best. What sort of a story will you have?"
"I," said Frank, "should like a real good true story about a dog, or
any other animal."
"And I like a made-up story best," said Harry.
"I have an anecdote of a dog for you, Frank, which a friend related to
me the other day, and which I determined to remember to tell you, as I
recollected your love for dogs. The lady who told me the story is an
English woman. She was in the place where the thing happened, at the
very time, and knew the dog and his master.
An English gentleman had a small dog, I think a terrier; he took it
with him across the English Channel to Calais which, you know, is in
France. He had business there, and remained some time. One day his
poor little dog was severely treated by a French dog, much larger than
himself.
The little terrier knew that he could not punish the big French dog.
For some days you might see him with his head hanging down as well as
his tail, and a most melancholy expression in his face. At last, he
disappeared. His master, who was very fond of him, made every inquiry
after him. In vain--his little four-footed friend was nowhere to be
found.
One day, not long after, in walked the terrier, bringing with him a
dog much larger than himself. He and his big friend looked very busy
and important, as if they had on hand some weighty affair to transact.
They showed how seriously they were cogitating, by curling up their
tails even more than common.
The terrier, after receiving gratefully his master's caresses, and
taking care that his great friend should receive his full share of the
food which was given them, led the way, through the court yard, to the
front of the house. There they took their place, and sat for a long
time, looking as solemn as two judges hearing a cause, or two deacons
at church watching some troublesome boys.
It seems the little terrier had been to England, and told of the bad
treatment he had received from the large French dog, and had brought
over a great dog friend to avenge the insult.
Patiently they sat for some time, looking up street.
At length, the terrier began to prick up his ears, and, in dog
language, he told his big friend that the enemy was approaching. They
waited quietly till he was near them, and then they both sprang upon
the cowardly fellow, gave him a good drubbing, and sent him off with
his tail between his legs.
After this, the big English dog, without looking round to see what
they did, and said, and how they looked in France, wagging his tail
with great satisfaction, and perhaps saying to the little dog that he
could not understand French, and pitied him for having a master who
could endure living in a foreign land, especially France, his dogship
walked aboard a packet, and, with a solemn face and self- satisfied,
triumphant air, without paying his passage, and with his tail turned
towards France and the ship's company, placed himself in the forward
part of the vessel, and so returned to his native land.
"Hurrah for dogs!" cried Harry, clapping his hands. "I say they are as
good as men any day. They say, Mother, that the Indians believe their
dogs will go to heaven with them. Will they, Mother?"
"We know nothing of the future state of animals, Harry. We only know
that they are more gentle and intelligent the more kind we are to
them. The most savage animals are tamed by constant kindness. Who does
not remember Sir Walter Scott's pet pig? The reason why the pig was so
fond of his master was that Sir Walter had not treated him piggishly,
but humanely.
You have been told of Baron Trenck's spider. Men have had pet lions
and tigers. When I see a fine, gentle horse, or an intelligent, loving
dog, I find myself repeating Miss Barrett's beautiful words,- -
"Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle
fellow-creature."
Now I have a funny story for you of a dog and a hen which a friend
told me that she knew to be true.
A small dog had a litter of puppies in a barn close by a hen who was
sitting on her eggs, waiting patiently, as hens do, for the time when
her chickens should pop their pretty heads out of their shells into
this pleasant world.
The puppies, however, came first, and, as soon as they were born, she
left her nest, and insisted upon brooding them.
The little dog, no doubt, thought her very impertinent, and barked at
her, and tried to drive her away; but she would not go. They had
always been good friends, and the dog was unwilling to hurt her; and
so Mrs. Dog, after showing, in every way, her desire to get rid of her
troublesome acquaintance, and finding that Madame Hen would not budge
one inch, let her alone.
From that time, the hen brooded the puppies. She let their mother
suckle them, but the rest of the time took charge of them. The poor
dog mother felt cheated, but she went off and amused herself as well
as she could.
The poor chickens never showed their heads outside of their little
oval prison, for they missed the gentle warmth of their unnatural
mother's wings."
"She was a real funny hen," said Frank; "but she could not have had
much brains, not even so much as common hens, and that's little
enough; but, as for the dog, she must be as lazy as Dick Doolittle, to
be willing to have such a stupid nursery woman as a hen take care of
her own puppies. Dick lets Tom Jones do all his sums for him, but then
he never hides it, so we only laugh at him. He says, What's the use of
being named Doolittle and yet have to do much?
But, Mother, it is not bed time yet. Have you not some more stories of
animals"
"Yes, Frank; but Harry wants his story now. It is his turn to choose.'
"I can wait till to-morrow evening," said Harry; "and I like the dog
and hen stories very much."
"Harry shall have his turn, then, to-morrow," said Mrs. Chilton; "and
I will tell you some more stories of dogs, for I now remember some
more that are perfectly true.
You never know how intelligent an animal is till you treat it with
kindness. All animals are easily frightened by human beings, and fear
makes them stupid. Children naturally love animals, but sometimes a
foolish boy loves to show his power over them, and so learns to be
cruel.
A little boy of my acquaintance, when he was told that he might ask
some friends to pass his birthday with him, and was asked who should
be invited, named over all the dogs in the neighborhood, and was much
grieved when his choice was greeted with laughter.
I have seen a little fellow of three years of age with his hand in the
mouth of a large, hungry dog, trying to get a piece of bread out of
it, and the dog not resenting the liberty at all, but merely trying to
retain his share of the bread, and allowing the child to take a part.
We all know that dogs have chosen to die upon the graves of their
masters, refusing food even when it was brought to them. We look at
such animals as if we saw in them an angel in prison. We feel as if
such a nature could not die.
There is no doubt that dogs understand language. My friend, Mr. S. P.
Miles, who was remarkable for his tender love for animals, as well as
for many other noble and lovely qualities, told me some remarkable
facts which came under his own personal observation, and which I am,
therefore, sure are true, showing that intelligent dogs understand
language.
He said that in his father's house was an old dog, to whom they were
much attached, who however became liable to fits. The dog was very
fond of hunting, and the moment he saw any one take the gun, to go
into the woods, he would show his ecstasy by leaping about.
Mr. Miles's mother one day, when caressing the dog and lamenting that
he was subject to these fits, told her son that he had better shoot
him the next time that he went out hunting with him. A few days after,
Mr. Miles went hunting; but the moment he reached up for his gun,
which was laid up on hooks in the wall, the dog, instead of showing
joy by jumping about, ran directly to the good lady who had condemned
him to death, got under the table at which she was sitting, looked up
in her face, and would not move from that place. Never after could the
poor fellow be induced to go out with any one who had a gun in his
hand.
The same friend told me of a still more remarkable instance of
intelligence in a dog, though I confess it does not prove that this
dog had much conscience.
Mr. Miles said that he knew the man who owned the dog, and knew the
truth of the whole story. He said that a neighbor had an uncommonly
fine dog, well trained, and, as it seemed, perfect in all things.
One day, a man came and complained that the dog killed his sheep. The
owner said he was sure that it was impossible. Hero was so well
trained, he was always in his kennel at the right hour, and he knew
that he must not kill sheep. After a while, the neighbor came again
with the accusation. The dog was then tied in the barn. The man came
again with the same charge against the dog.
Hero's master now told the accuser that the dog was tied in the barn
on the very night when the sheep were killed. He now made much of his
dumb favorite from the feeling that he was unjustly suspected.
He was, however, much surprised when the owner of the sheep came again
and declared that he had seen his dog kill a sheep that very night;
that he knew the dog, and was sure of the fact. He, of course, thought
he must be mistaken; but said he would watch the dog. He did so.
At a certain hour of the night, when the dog supposed no one saw him,
the cunning fellow put up his two fore paws, pushed off the collar to
which a chain was attached, darted through the open window close by,
and made for the sheep pasture. He returned in good season, put his
nose into his collar, pushed it down into its place with his paws, and
lay down to sleep.
The master returned to his bed with the painful conviction that he
must kill his intelligent but unprincipled four-footed friend. It is
said nothing will cure a dog of the habit of sheep killing.
In the morning the sorrowful master went to the stable. As he
approached, he said, "O, Hero, how could you do so wrong? I must have
you killed." Quick as thought, the dog pushed his collar over his
ears, darted through the window, and flew like lightning away. No one
in that town ever saw him again.
Mr. Miles told me also that he knew a dog that would carry letters to
persons when told their names; and that no one dared touch the letter
but the person to whom it was directed. No bribe, no coaxing would
induce him to stop when going on these errands. If other dogs annoyed
him, he would not notice them, but run the faster, and take care to
chastise them at another time.
Creatures that show such intelligence, who can understand our
language, and are capable of what is best in our nature, that is, of
self-forgetting love, should be treated with the greatest tenderness.
We know not what they may be capable of till we have tried the
influence of constant justice and kindness. It is questionable whether
poor Hero could have been cured of his fault. But I would give all a
chance."