everything to the ladies and go without yourself" is game-cocketiquette. Presently he spied "Danger" lying in the stall with his headon his two fore-paws.
"Oh! you're there, are you?" said King Jock, holding his head to theground, and keening up with one eye at the poor dog. "Didn't notice yebefore. It ain't so light as it might be."
Danger gave one apologetic wag of his tail. "Pretty fellow you are,ain't ye?" continued the cock, edging a bit nearer.
"Eh? Why don't you speak?"
"Ho! ho! it's chained ye are, is it? I've a good mind to let you haveit on that ugly patched face of yours. And, by my halidom, I will too.Who ran through the yard yesterday and scared the senses out of half myharem? Take that, and that, and that. Try to bite, would you? Thenyou'll have another; there! and there!"
Poor Danger's head was covered with round lumps as big as half marbles,and each lump had a spur-hole. Cock Jock had made good practice, whichhe had much reason to repent, for one day Master Danger broke loose, andwent straight away to look for his enemy. Jock possessed a tail thatany cock might have been proud of, but after his encounter with Dangerhis pride had a fall, for in his speedy flight he got stuck in a hedge,and the dog tore every feather out, and would have eaten his way into,and probably through, King Jock himself, if the twig hadn't snapped, andthe bird escaped. After that King Jock was content to treatbull-terriers with quiet disdain.
Dogs know much of what is said to them, especially if you do not speaktoo fast, for, if you do, they get nervous, and forget their English.It is, in my opinion, better not to alter your form of speech, nor thetone of your voice, when talking to a dog. My old friend Tyro, ahalf-bred collie, but most beautiful animal, understood and was in thehabit of being talked to in three languages, to say nothing of broadScotch, namely, English, Gaelic, and Latin--no, not dog Latin, by yourleave, sir, but the real Simon Pure and Ciceronic. I don't mean toassert that he could appreciate the beauties of the Bucolics, norHoratian love lays if read to him; but he would listen respectfully, andhe would obey ordinary orders when couched in the Roman tongue. Everyanimal that had hair and ran was, to Tyro, a cat; every animal that hadfeathers was a crow, and these he qualified by size. In a flock ofsheep, for instance, if you asked him to chase out the _big_ "cat," itwas a ram, who got no peace till he came your way; if, in a flock offowls, you had asked him to chase out the _big_ "crow," it was the cockwho had to fly; if you said the wee crow, a bantam or hen would be thevictim. An ordinary cat was simply a cat, and if you asked him to goand find one, it would be about the barn-yards or stables he wouldsearch. But if you told him to go and find a "grub-cat," it was off tothe hills he would be, and if you listened you would presently hear himin chase, and he would seldom return without a grub-cat, that meant acat that could be eaten--i.e., a hare or rabbit. He knew when told togo and take a drink of water; but, at sea, the ocean all around him waspointed out to him as the big drink of water. In course of time he grewfond of the sea, though the commotion in the water and the breakers musthave been strange and puzzling to him; but if at any time he was told togo and take a look at the big drink of water, he would put his twofore-paws on the bulwarks and watch the waves for many minutes at atime.
"I have often heard you speak of your dog Tyro, Gordon," said Frank;"can't you tell us his history?"
"I will, with pleasure," I replied. "He was _the_ dog of my studentdays. I never loved a dog more, I never loved one so much, with theexception perhaps of Theodore Nero--or you, Aileen, for I see youglancing up at me. No, you needn't sigh so."
But about Tyro. Here is his story:--He was bred from a pure Scottishcollie, the father a powerful retriever (Irish). "Bah!" some one mayhere say, "only a mongrel," a class of dogs whose praises few care tosing, and whose virtues are written in water. A watch-dog of the rightsort was Tyro; and from the day when his brown eyes first rested on me,for twelve long years, by sea and land, I never had a more lovingcompanion or trusty friend. He was a large and very strong dog,feathered like a Newfoundland, but with hair so soft and long andglossy, as to gain for him in his native village the epithet of "silkendog." In colour he was black-and-tan, with snow-white gauntlets andshirt-front. His face was very remarkable, his eyes bright and tender,giving him, with his long, silky ears, almost the expression of abeautiful girl. Being good-mannered, kind, and always properly groomed,he was universally admired, and respected by high and low. He was,indeed, patted by peers and petted by peasants, never objected to infirst-class railway cars or steamer saloons, and the most fastidious ofhotel waiters did not hesitate to admit him, while he lounged daintilyon sofa or ottoman, with the _sang froid_ of one who had a right. Tyrocame into my possession a round-pawed fun-and-mischief-loving puppy.His first playmate was a barn-door fowl, of the male persuasion, who hadgained free access to the kitchen on the plea of being a young female indelicate health; which little piece of deceit, on being discovered byhis one day having forgot himself so far as to crow, cost "Maggie," thename he impudently went by, his head. Very dull indeed was poor Tyro onthe following day, but when the same evening he found Maggie's head andneck heartlessly exposed on the dunghill, his grief knew no bounds.Slowly he brought it to the kitchen, and with a heavy sigh deposited iton the hearthstone-corner, and all the night and part of next day it was"waked," the pup refusing all food, and flashing his teeth meaningly atwhosoever attempted to remove it, until sleep at last soothed hissorrow. I took to the dog after that, and never repented it, for hesaved my life, of which anon. Shortly after his "childish sorrow," Tyrohad a difference of opinion with a cat, and got rather severely handled,and this I think it was that led him, when a grown dog, to a confusionof ideas regarding these animals, _plus_ hares and rabbits; "when takento be well shaken," was his motto, adding "wherever seen," so he slewthem indiscriminately. This cat-killing propensity was exceedinglyreprehensible, but the habit once formed never could be cured; althoughI, stimulated by the loss of guinea after guinea, whipped him for it,and many an old crone--deprived of her pet--has scolded him in English,Irish, and Scotch, all with the same effect.
Talking of cats, however, there was _one_ to whom Tyro condescendinglyforgave the sin of existing. It so fell out that, in a fight with astaghound, he was wounded in a large artery, and was fast bleeding todeath, because no one dared to go near him, until a certain sturdyeccentric woman, very fond of our family, came upon the scene. Shequickly enveloped her arms with towels, to save herself from bites, andthus armed, thumbed the artery for two hours; then dressing it withcobwebs, saved the dog's life. Tyro became, when well, a constantvisitor at the woman's cottage; he actually came to love her, oftenbrought her the hares he killed, and, best favour of all to the oldmaid, considerately permitted her cat to live during his royal pleasure;but, if he met the cat abroad, he changed his direction, and inside henever let his eyes rest upon her.
When Tyro came of age, twenty-one (months), he thought it was high timeto select a profession, for hitherto he had led a rather roving life.One thing determined him. My father's shepherd's toothless old colliedied, and having duly mourned for her loss, he--the shepherd--one daybrought home another to fill up the death-vacancy. She was black, andvery shaggy, had youth and beauty on her side, pearly teeth, hair thatshone like burnished silver, and, in short, was quite a charmingshepherdess--so, at least, thought Tyro; and what more natural than thathe should fall in love with her? So he did. In her idle hours theygambolled together on the gowny braes, brushed the bells from the purpleheather and the dewdrops from the grass, chased the hares, bullied thecat, barked and larked, and, in short, behaved entirely like a pair ofengaged lovers of the canine class; and then said Tyro to himself, "Mymother was a shepherdess, _I_ will be a shepherd, and thus enjoy thecompany of my beloved `Phillis' for ever, and perhaps a day or twolonger." And no young gentleman ever gave himself with more energy to achosen profession than did Tyro. He was up with the lark--the bird thatpicks up the worm--and away to the hill and the moor. To his faults theshepherd was most indulgent
for a few days; but when Tyro, in hisover-zeal, attempted to play the wolf, he was, very properly, punished."What an indignity! Before one's Phillis too!" Tyro turned tail andtrotted sulkily home. "Bother the sheep!" he must have thought; at anyrate, he took a dire revenge--not on the shepherd, _his_ acquaintance hemerely cut, and he even continued to share the crib with his littleensnarer--but on the sheep-fold.
A neighbouring farmer's dog, of no particular breed, was in the habit ofmeeting Tyro at summer gloaming, in a wood equidistant from theirrespective homes. They then shook tails, and trotted off side by side.Being a very early riser, I used often to see Tyro coming home in
Aileen Aroon, A Memoir Page 23