He took a particular fancy for one of the Edinburgh postmen, whose duty it was, besides delivering letters, to carry a letter-bag from one receiving-house to another. This bag he used to give Bass to carry. The dog accompanied him on his rounds, but invariably parted with him opposite the gate of the Convent of Saint Margaret, and returned home.
On one occasion the postman, being ill, sent another man in his place. Bass went up to the stranger, who naturally retired before so formidable-looking a dog. Bass followed, showing a determination to have the post-bag. The man did all he could to keep possession of it; but at length Bass, seeing that it was not likely to be given to him, raised himself on his hind-legs, and putting a great forepaw on each of the man’s shoulders, laid him flat on his back in the road, then quietly picking up the bag, proceeded peaceably on his wonted way. The man followed, ineffectually attempting to coax the dog to give up the bag. At the first house at which he arrived, the people comforted him by telling him that the dog always carried the bag. Bass walked with the man to all the houses at which he delivered letters, and along the road, till he came to the gate of Saint Margaret’s, where he dropped the bag and returned home.
Accounts exist of the services rendered by these noble dogs of Saint Bernard in saving life among the snowy regions of the Alps. It is recounted that one of these dogs preserved twenty-two lives. He at length lost his own in an avalanche, when those he was endeavoring to assist also perished.
The Dog and the Newspaper
Several dogs have been taught to go to the post-office for their masters’ newspapers, or to receive them from the newsman.
A neighbor of mine, who was fond of telling good stories—which he did not always, perhaps, expect his guests to believe—used to give an account of the cleverness of one of his dogs. The dog went regularly every morning into the neighboring town for the Times, and brought it back before breakfast. This was a fact.
On one occasion the dog returned without a paper—so my neighbor used to tell the story. His master sent him back again, when he once more appeared with no paper in his mouth. On this the owner ordered his cob, and rode into the town to inquire of the postmaster why the paper had not come. “Sir,” answered the postmaster, “your Times did not arrive this morning; but when I offered the dog the Morning Post he refused to receive it.”
The Steady Pointer
It is wonderful how completely dogs can be trained to the performance of their duties.
A well-practiced pointer was about to leap over a rail, when she perceived a nest of partridges close to her nose.
Had she moved an inch she would have frightened them away. There she stood for more than two hours, with her legs on the upper bar, awaiting the arrival of the sportsman. For some time she was not discovered, and not till he appeared would she quit her post, when, the birds rising, some of them were shot; but the steady pointer was so stiff when thus relieved that she could scarcely move.
Here is an example which my young readers should endeavor to follow when they have a duty, however irksome, to perform. Remain steadily at your post; let nothing draw you away. Do not say, I have stopped at work long enough, I am sick of it. When tempted to give up, remember the steady pointer.
The Young Doctor and Pincher
One of the cleverest and most amusing of dogs was Pincher, a rough Scotch terrier belonging to Mrs. Lee’s brother. (See Mrs. Lee’s Anecdotes of Animals.) The boy had a great fancy to be a doctor. Having manufactured a variety of surgical instruments out of flint stones, he pretended to perform with them operations on Pincher, who would lie perfectly still while his teeth were drawn, his limbs set, his veins opened, or his wounds bandaged.
The pretended doctor, finally copying the process practiced on pigs, used to cut up his favorite entirely. The dog was laid on the table, when he stuck out his legs as stiffly as possible. Preparations were first made for cutting off his head; and immediately the flint was passed across the throat it fell on one side, and remained so completely without motion that it might have been thought the dog fancied it was really off. Each leg in succession was then operated on, and as the instrument passed round them the dog made them fall, putting them as close as possible to the body. When the operation was concluded, the boy used to exclaim, “Jump up, good dog;” and Pincher, bounding off the table, would shake himself to life again.
Sirrah, the Ettrick Shepherd’s Dog
Sirrah, fortunately for his fame, possessed a master in James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, well able to recount his history. Hogg bought Sirrah of a drover for a guinea, observing, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn appearance, a sort of sullen intelligence in his countenance. Though he had never turned a sheep in his life, as soon as he discovered it was his duty to do, so he began with eagerness and anxiety to learn his evolutions. He would try every way deliberately till he found out what his master wanted him to do; and when once he understood a direction he never forgot it again or mistook it.
Often, when hard pressed in accomplishing a task he was put to, he had expedients for the moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty. On one occasion about seven hundred lambs which were under Hogg’s care at weaning-time broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions across the neighboring hills, in spite of all he and an assistant could do to keep them together. The night was so dark that Sirrah could not be seen, but the faithful animal had heard his master lament their absence in words which set him at once on the alert, and without more ado he had silently gone off in quest of the recreant flock. In vain Hogg and his assistant spent the whole night in searching for their lost charge; and they were on their way home to inform their master of their loss, when they discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking round for some relief, but still true to his charge. Believing that it was one only of the divisions, what was their astonishment when they discovered the whole flock, and not one lamb a-wanting! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark it is impossible to say. The charge was left to him from midnight till the rising sun, and if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to assist him they could not have effected it with greater propriety.
Hogg relates many other anecdotes of Sirrah. On one occasion he brought back a wild ewe which no one could catch from amid numerous flocks of sheep. He showed great indignation when the ewe, being brought home, was set at liberty among the other sheep of his master. He had understood that the animal was to be kept by itself, and that he was to be the instrument of keeping it so; and he considered himself insulted by the ewe being allowed to go among other sheep, after he had been required to make such exertion, and had made it so successfully, to keep it separate.
A single shepherd and his dog, says Hogg, will accomplish more in collecting Highland sheep from a farm than twenty shepherds could do without dogs. Without the shepherd’s dog, the whole of the mountainous land in Scotland would not be worth sixpence. It would require more hands to gather a flock of sheep from the hills into their folds, and drive them to market, than the profits of the whole flock would be capable of maintaining.
Here we have an example of a dull, unattractive-looking dog becoming of the very utmost canine usefulness. I have known many an apparently dull boy, by perseveringly endeavoring to learn what he has had to do, and then steadily pursuing the course marked out for him, rise far above his quick and so-called clever but careless companions. I do not say, Work for the purpose of rising, but, Work because it is right. Remember Sirrah. Learn your duty, and do it, however disagreeable it may seem.
The Dog and the Fowls
A House-Dog whose kennel was in a farmyard used to have his mess of food brought to him daily in a tin can, and placed before his abode. No sooner had the cook disappeared, than the poultry were in the habit of collecting round and abstracting the contents of the can. The dog—a good-natured animal—bore their pilfering for some time without complaining; but at length, as they carri
ed off more than he considered fair, he warned them away by growling and exhibiting his teeth. Notwithstanding this, they again returned to the can, when the dog, instead of seizing some of his persecutors, lifted the can in his mouth, and conveyed it within his kennel, where he finished his meal in peace, while the cocks and hens stood watching without, afraid to enter.
Depend on it, you will often find the means of avoiding annoyances much after the method pursued by that sensible house-dog, without retaliating on those who annoy you. If you cannot otherwise pacify them, remove the cause of dispute out of sight.
Barbekark, the Greenland Dog
The dog is the companion of the savage, as well as the civilized man, in all parts of the world. He accompanies the wretched Fuegan in his hunts, partaking somewhat of the character of his master; and is the friend and assistant of the Esquimaux in the Arctic regions. The Esquimaux dogs, though hardly treated, show great affection for their masters, and frequently exhibit much sagacity.
Captain Hall, the Arctic explorer, had a Greenland dog called Barbekark. One day they were out hunting on the frozen, snow-covered sea, when a herd of deer appeared in sight. Chase was given. One was wounded, but not killed, and off went the herd as fleet as the wind, now turning in one direction, now in another, among the ice-hummocks. The rest of the dogs followed in their tracks. Barbekark, however, was seen to strike away in a direct line over the snow, regardless of the animals’ footsteps. On and on went Barbekark, straight for a spot which brought him close upon the deer. The latter immediately changed their course, and so did Barbekark, hot in pursuit of them. At length the hunters, unable longer to endure the cold, were compelled to return to the ship, believing that the deer had escaped.
At midday Barbekark appeared on board, with blood round his mouth and over his body. It was supposed that he had fallen in with the deer, but not that he could possibly have killed one. He, however, showed by his actions that he wished to draw the attention of the crew to the quarter where he had been chasing. He kept whining, going first to one, then to another, now running towards the gangway steps, then back again. At last, one of the men having to visit the wreck of a vessel which lay near, Barbekark followed; but seeing that the man went no further, off went Barbekark to the northwest by himself. On this, some of the crew, convinced that he must have killed a deer, put on their thick coats and followed him. They proceeded nearly three miles, when they found Barbekark and the other Greenland dogs seated upon their haunches round a deer lying dead before them. The throat of the poor animal had been cut with Barbekark’s teeth as effectually as by the knife of a white man or Esquimaux, and a piece of the tongue had been bitten out.
As soon as the sailors appeared, Barbekark jumped from his watchful position, and ran to meet them with manifestations of delight, looking up at them, as much as to say: “I have done the best I could; I have killed the deer, and eaten just one luscious mouthful. And now I give up the animal to you, and merely ask for myself and companions, who have been faithfully guarding the prize, such portion as you yourselves may disdain.” Several crows were pecking away at the carcass, but Barbekark and they were always on good terms. Sometimes, indeed, he allowed them to rest upon his back; and consequently he did not drive them away.
On another occasion a party of the explorers were out with a sleigh and dogs, and among them was Barbekark. They were caught in a fearful gale, the snow beating in their faces. Esquimaux dogs are often unmanageable when an attempt is made to force them in the teeth of a storm; and so it now proved. The leader lost his way and confused the rest. The men as well as the dogs were becoming blinded. The leading dog directed the team towards some islands; but on approaching them it was seen that Barbekark was struggling to make a different route. Happily, he was allowed to have his own way, and in a short time he led the party directly to the ship.
The Esquimaux Dog Smile
Captain Hall had another dog, Smile by name, the noblest looking, the best leader, and seal and bear dog, ever met with. One day he was out with dogs and sleigh where the ice was still firm, when suddenly a seal was noticed ahead. In an instant the dogs were dashing towards the prey, drawing the sledge after them at a marvelous rate, led by Smile. The seal for a moment seemed frightened, and kept on the ice a second or two too long; for just as he plunged, Smile caught him by the tail and nippers. The seal struggled violently, and so did Smile, making the sledge caper about merrily; but in a moment more the other dogs laid hold, and aided in dragging the seal out of his hole on to the ice, when Smile took it in charge. The prize was secured entirely by the dogs, indeed, without any aid from the men.
THE BEST FRIEND, by Meribah Philbrick Abbott [Poem]
If I was sad, then he had grief, as well—
Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw,
Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw
More than my halting, human speech could tell;
Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate—
Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.
If I made merry—then how he would strive
To show his joy; “Good master, let’s to play,
The world is ours,” that gladsome bark would say;
“Just yours and mine—’tis fun to be alive!”
Our world…four walls above the city’s din,
My crutch the bar that ever held us in.
Whate’er my mood—the fretful word, or sweet,
The swift command, the wheedling undertone,
His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone,
His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:
Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,
Ye taught me trust when man’s dull logic failed.
GRAB A KNIFE AND SAVE A LIFE, by Mark E. Burgess
I held the scalpel poised over the naked skin of the dog as I simultaneously held my breath. All of my veterinary courses covering anatomy, anesthesiology, and the principles of surgery had culminated in this moment. My heart was pounding and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with dry cotton. In addition, the adrenaline rushing through my body had strangely heightened all my senses. I could clearly hear the rhythmic click and hiss of the gas anesthetic machine to my left, as the female Golden Retriever on the table breathed oxygen and halothane gas in and out, in and out through the black rubber tubes connecting patient to machine. Cutting through the soft rush of her respirations was the sharp, high-pitched “beep, beep, beep” of the cardiac monitor, assuring me that my patient’s heartbeat was strong and steady.
The seven-month-old dog was lying on her back, belly shaved smooth and scrubbed with povidone iodine soap, which had left its characteristic yellow-brown stain on her skin. Leather cords resembling long boot laces held her wrists and ankles tied spread-eagled to the stainless steel table. The dog’s prone body was mostly covered by a sky-blue paper surgical drape. A long narrow hole had been cut in the drape’s middle to expose the area of skin I was about to incise.
Looking down, I saw the clean, mirror-bright surface of the scalpel blade glittering in my grip. The tiny reflections it cast were jumping and jittering over the surface of the drape, mercilessly exposing the fact that my hand was trembling just a little.
The heat of the two focused surgical lights bore down on my head and shoulders from close above. I hadn’t even begun the procedure, and already moisture was trickling down the back of my neck and under the collar of my scrub top. The green cotton surgical cap and gown felt oppressively heavy, and the stifling mask that covered my face forced me to re-breathe my own oxygen-poor air. With a healthy dose of tension added to the mix, I found myself perspiring like a mobster in a tax audit. Funny I had never foreseen these distractions when imagining being a surgeon.
I took a deep breath and glanced around me. My three student team members clustered close about the table, each with their assigned duties. My surgical assistant Jason Thomas, also gowned, stood directly across from me, ready to hand me instruments and w
ipe up any flowing blood (hopefully not mine). Danielle Peterson, the “anesthetist,” stood to my left near the machine; her job was monitoring the patient’s stability and depth of anesthesia. The fourth member of our team sat in a chair to my right. Dan Alderman had the uninspiring task of studiously taking surgical notes for the patient’s chart. His head was bent over as he jotted something in the small notepad on his lap. Right about now I was envying him his low-key role in this little venture. As for me, I had the dubious honor of being designated head surgeon for today’s procedure, which was the challenging and groundbreaking surgery known as the dog spay.
All around the huge instruction arena similar scenarios were playing out. Eight surgery tables stood arrayed there, each with an anesthetized male or female dog, each with its complement of four rigidly alert veterinary students in caps, masks, and green surgical clothing, attempting their first procedures on living, breathing patients. Eight tense tableaux vividly outlined in bright islands of halogen lighting. In our third year of veterinary school the moment we had all yearned for was upon us—and it seemed way too soon.
One could feel the apprehension as a palpable cloud hanging over the room. I sincerely believe that if someone had broken wind right then, half a dozen students would have hit the floor in dead faints. Thankfully, the only blood pressure monitors in this room were being used on the patients, and not the people tending to them.
My scalpel seemed frozen in place and I desperately searched for something to take my mind off the task at hand. “Where do you suppose they get the dogs for these surgeries?” I asked as I gazed around at my teammates.
Danielle looked up from her post at the anesthetic machine and responded, “They come from the local animal shelter.”
“Oh, really?” I glanced over at her, surprised. “How did they manage that?”
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