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A True Watch-dog[Aug. 5, 1893.] The "dog" letter in the Spectator of July 15th is wonderfully like my experience, some years ago, with my little red Blenheim, Frisk. She always slept in a basket, close to the hall door. One night she dashed up the stairs, loudly barking, ran first to my eldest sister's room, then through a swing-door to another sister's room, barking outside each door, then upstairs again to my room at the top of the house, where she remained barking till I got up and opened it, when she ran in, still barking, and waited till I was ready to go down with her. She scampered on before me, I following close, and when we both reached the hall she dashed still barking to the door, to show me whence her alarm had arisen. It was the policeman turning the handle of the door from the outside to see if it was properly closed! One night, a long time after the first adventure, I was wakened by a quiet scratch at the door of my room. No barking this time; but, tiresome as it was to be disturbed on a cold night, I got up and opened the door, and was conscious in the darkness that Frisk was standing there. "Come in, Frisk," said I. But no movement; Frisk stood waiting. "Come in, Frisk," I repeated, somewhat sharply. No movement, no bark! Then, being sure that something must be wrong, I lighted a candle, and there stood Frisk outside the door, never offering to come in. She trotted quietly down before me, not speaking a word. When we were both through the swing-door, and at the head of the stairs, I saw that the inner door to the hall was open, and also that of the morning-room, from which shone a bright light. My heart went pit-a-pat for a moment; then seeing Frisk run quietly down the stairs, I followed her, when she calmly jumped into her basket again, and I, venturing into the morning-room, found that my brother-in-law had left the lamp burning by mistake--a proceeding which Frisk plainly knew was wrong, and had therefore come upstairs to inform me, but had not thought it necessary to disturb the rest of the household this time! She had come straight up to my room without disturbing any one else, to tell me of the irregularity of a light burning when every one was in bed, and that being done, jumped into bed again, conscious of having performed her duty. GEORGINA A. MARSH-CALDWELL. [Aug. 12, 1893.] I can give an instance as convincing as that of Miss Marsh-Caldwell of the way in which a true watch-dog will measure the extent of his duties. I lived for many years opposite a wood, in which the game at first was preserved. I had a dog named Prin, who had begun by being a gardener's dog, but having caught the distemper and been unskilfully treated by his master he remained nearly blind, and was left on my hands by the man when he quitted my service. The dog was a great coward, but good-tempered and affectionate, and the partial loss of sight seemed to have developed greatly the senses both of hearing and smell, so that he was recognised as a capital watch-dog. He was promoted to the kitchen, and would have been promoted to the drawing-room but for the obstreperousness of his affection, which seemed to know no bounds if he was admitted even into the hall. I slept at that time in a room over the kitchen, fronting the road. One night I was awakened by Prin growling, and, after a time, giving a snappish bark underneath me. I got out of bed and throwing up the sash, listened at the window, where, after a time, I heard slight noises, which convinced me that some one or more persons were hiding in the shrubbery between the house and the road, whom I supposed to be burglars. I called out, "Who's there?" without, of course, eliciting any answer, and, after a time, I heard the click of the further gate (there being two, one opposite my house, the other opposite its semi-detached neighbour, and out of my sight), after which all was quiet. But I had noticed that from the moment of my getting out of bed Prin had not uttered a sound. The same thing happened seven or eight times, and always in the same way, Prin growling or barking till he heard me get out of bed, and then holding his tongue, as feeling that he had fulfilled his duty in warning his master, and that all responsibility now devolved upon me. The secret of the matter I discovered to be that poachers, with no burglarious intentions towards me, used the shrubbery as a hiding-place before getting over the opposite paling into the wood. One other instance of Prin's sagacity I will also mention. I had a black cat, with white breast, named Toffy, between whom and Prin there was peace, though not affection. There was also another black cat, with white breast, that prowled about, an outlaw cat, who made free with my chickens when he could! It was a bitter winter, and the snow had lain already for days on the ground. I was walking one Sunday morning in my garden, Prin being out with me. He quitted me to go under a laurel-hedge bounding a shrubbery, and presently began barking loudly. I went towards him, and saw a white-breasted cat sitting stretched under the laurels, with front paws doubled under him, which I took to be Toffy asleep. I scolded Prin for disturbing Toffy, and he stopped barking, but remained on the spot whilst I continued my walk. Presently--say two or three minutes after--I heard him barking still more loudly than before, and so persistently that I returned to the spot. Noticing that the cat had never moved through all the noise, I crept up under the bushes, and found that it was not Toffy asleep, but the outlaw cat, dead--evidently of cold. Thus my poor purblind watch-dog had--(1) barked to draw my attention to what appeared to him an unusual phenomenon; (2), held his tongue in deference to my (supposed) superior wisdom, when I told him he was making a mistake; (3), not being, however, satisfied in his mind, remained to investigate till he was convinced he had not been mistaken; (4), called my attention to the facts still more instantly till I was satisfied of them for myself. Could homo sapiens have done more? J. M. L. [Aug. 12, 1893.] I am reminded by the anecdote related in the Spectator of July 15th, "A Canine Guardian," of the sagacity of a favourite Scotch terrier which was displayed some years ago. I was dressing one morning, and my bedroom-door was ajar. Standing at my dressing-table, I was surprised to see Fan come up to me, frisking about, and looking eagerly into my face, whether from pleasure or not I could not tell. I spoke to and stroked her, but she was in no way soothed, and she ran out of the room evidently much excited. In she came again, more earnestly trying to tell me what she wanted, rushing up to me and again to the door, plainly begging me to follow her, which I did, into the next room, where breakfast was laid. I at once saw what she had easily felt was out of order--the kettle was boiling over, and the water pouring from the spout had drenched the hearth. Hence her discomfort, and her effort to tell me of the disaster. Having brought me on the scene, she seemed perfectly content. C. A. T. [Aug. 12, 1893.] Not long ago I was passing a barn-yard in this place, and stood to look over the gate at a pretty half-grown lamb standing alone outside the barn. But the sight of me so enraged a fierce, shaggy grey dog tied up to his kennel between the lamb and me, that he barked himself nearly into fits, showing all his teeth, and straining so furiously at his chain as to make me quite nervous lest it should give way. In the meantime, I struck such terror into the heart of the lamb that it fled across the yard to place itself under the protection of the dog, and stood close by his side, whilst he barked and danced with fury. As I drew a little nearer, the lamb backed right into the kennel, and when, after I had made a circuit in order to watch the further movements of this strange pair of friends from behind a tree, I saw their two faces cautiously looking out together, cheek-by-jowl, whilst the dog's anger was being reduced to subsiding splutters of resentment. He was not a collie, but a very large sort of poodle. C. S. Next: Collies At Work Previous: Guardian Dogs
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