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Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too, The

<h1>THE ADVENTURES of a DOG,</h1> <h2>AND A GOOD DOG TOO</h2> <h3>BY ALFRED ELWES</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>PREFACE.</h2> I love dogs. Who does not? It is a natural feeling to love those who love us; and dogs were always fond of me. Thousands can say the same; and I shall therefore find plenty of sympathy while unfolding my dog's tale. This attachment of mine to the canine family in general, and their affection towards myself, have induced me, like the Vizier in the "Arabian Nights," of happy memory, to devote some time to the study of their language. Its idiom is not so difficult as many would suppose. There is a simplicity about it that often shames the dialects of man; which have been so altered and refined that we discover people often saying one thing when they mean exactly the reverse. Nothing of the sort is visible in the great canine tongue. Whether the tone in which it is uttered be gruff or polished, sharp or insinuating, it is at least sincere. Mankind would often be puzzled how to use it. Like many others, its meaning is assisted by gestures of the body, and, above all, by the expression of the eye. If ever language had its seat in that organ, as phrenologists pretend, it lies in the eye of the dog. Yet, a good portion finds its way to his tail. The motion of that eloquent member is full of meaning. There is the slow wag of anger; the gentle wag of contentment; the brisker wag of joy: and what can be more mutely expressive than the limp states of sorrow, humility, and fear? If the tongue of the dog present such distinctive traits, the qualities of the animal himself are not less striking. Although the dispositions of dogs are as various as their forms—although education, connections, the society they keep, have all their influence—to the credit of their name be it said, a dog never sullies his mouth with an untruth. His emotions of pleasure are genuine, never forced. His grief is not the semblance of woe, but comes from the heart. His devotion is unmixed with other feelings. It is single, unselfish, profound. Prosperity affects it not; adversity cannot make it swerve. Ingratitude, that saddest of human vices, is unknown to the dog. He does not forget past favours, but, when attached by benefits received, his love endures through life. But I shall have never done with reciting the praises of this noble animal; the subject is inexhaustible. My purpose now has narrower limits. From the archives of the city of Caneville, I lately drew the materials of a Bear's Biography. From the same source I now derive my "Adventures of a Dog." My task has been less that of a composer than a translator, for a feline editoress, a Miss Minette Gattina, had already performed her part. This latter animal appears, however, to have been so learned a cat—one may say so deep a puss—that she had furnished more notes than there was original matter. Another peculiarity which distinguished her labours was the obscurity of her style; I call it a peculiarity, and not a defect, because I am not quite certain whether the difficulty of getting at her meaning lay in her mode of expressing herself or my deficiency in the delicacies of her language. I think myself a tolerable linguist, yet have too great a respect for puss to say that any fault is attributable to her. The same feeling has, naturally, made me careful in rendering those portions which were exclusively her own. I have preferred letting her say little to allowing her to express anything she did not intend. Her notes, which, doubtless, drew many a purr of approval from her own breast, and many a wag of approbation from the tails of her choice acquaintance, I have preferred leaving out altogether; and I have so curtailed the labours of her paw, and the workings of her brain, as to condense into half-a-dozen pages her little volume of introduction. The autobiography itself, most luckily, required no alteration. It is the work of a simple mind, detailing the events of a simple but not uneventful life. Whether I have succeeded in conveying to my readers' intelligence the impression which this Dog's Adventures made on mine, they alone can decide. A. E. Lyndhurst Road,     Peckham. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> BY MISS MINETTE GATTINA. It may seem peculiar to any but an inhabitant of this renowned city of Caneville, that one of our nation should venture on the task of bringing to the notice of the world the memoir I have undertaken to edit. But, besides that in this favoured place animals of all kinds learn to dwell in tolerable harmony together, the subject of this biography had so endeared himself to all classes and to every tribe by his kindness of heart, noble devotion, and other dog-like qualities, that there was not a cat, in spite of the supposed natural antipathy existing between the great feline and canine races, who would not have set up her back and fought to the last gasp in defence of this dear old fellow. Many a time has he saved me from the rough treatment of rude and ill-conducted curs, when I have been returning from a concert, or tripping quietly home after a pleasant chat with a friend. Often and often, when a kitten, has he carried me on his back through the streets, in order that I might not wet my velvet slippers on a rainy day: and once, ah! well do I remember it, he did me even greater service; for a wicked Tom of our race, who had often annoyed me with his attentions, had actually formed a plan of carrying me off to some foreign land, and would have succeeded too, if dear Doggy had not got scent of the affair, and pounced on that treacherous Tom just as he was on the point of executing his odious project. I can speak of these things now without the slightest fear of being accused of vanity. If I say my eyes were beautifully round and green, they are so no longer. If I boast of the former lightness of my step, it drags, alas! but too heavily now. If I dwell on the sweetness of my voice and melody of my purr at one period, little can be said in their favour at the present day, and I feel therefore less scruple in dilating on the elegance of my figure, and the taste of my toilette, as, when speaking of them, I seem to be referring to another individual Puss, with whom the actual snuffy old Tabby has little or no connection. But, it will be said, these last matters have not much to do with the object I have in hand. I must not attempt to palm off on my readers any adventures of my own under the shadow of a dog. I must rather allow my Cat's-paw to perform the office for which it has become noted, namely, that of aiding in the recovery of what its owner is not intended to participate. I must endeavour to place before the world of Caneville, to be thence transmitted to the less civilized portions of the globe, those incidents in our Dog's life which he has been too modest to relate himself, in order that after-generations may fully appreciate all the goodness of his character. To greatness, he had no pretension, although few animals are aware how close is the relation between these two qualities. I think I see the dear old Dog now, as it has been often my privilege to behold him, seated in his large arm-chair, his hair quite silvered with age, shading his thoughtful, yet kindly face, his pipe in his paw, his faithful old friend by his side, and surrounded by a group of attentive listeners of both sexes, who seemed to hang upon every word of wisdom as it dropped from his mouth; all these spring to my mind when I recal his image, and if I were a painter I think I should have no difficulty in presenting to my readers this pleasant "family party." The very room in which these meetings were held comes as strongly to my recollection as the various young and old dogs who were wont to assemble there. Plainly furnished, it yet boasted some articles of luxury; works of statuary and painting, presented to old Job by those who admired his goodness, or had been the objects of his devotion. One of these, a statuette representing a fast little dog upon a tasteful pedestal, used often to excite my curiosity, the more because Job showed no inclination to gratify it. I managed, however, at last to get at the incident which made Job the possessor of this comical little figure, and as the circumstance worthily illustrates his character, I will relate it as the anecdote was told to me. It was once a fashion in Caneville, encouraged by puppies of the superior classes, to indulge in habits of so strange a nature as to meet on stated occasions for the express purpose of trying their skill and strength in set combats; and although the most frightful consequences often ensued, these assemblies were still held until put down by the sharp tooth of the law. The results which ensued were not merely dangerous to life, but created such a quarrelsome disposition, that many of these dogs were never happy but when fighting; and the force granted them by nature for self-defence was too often used most wantonly to the annoyance of their neighbours. It one day happened that Job was sitting quietly on a steep bank of the river where it runs into the wood at some distance from the city, at one moment watching the birds as they skimmed over the water, at another following the movements of a large fish, just distinguishable from the height, as it rose at the flies that dropped upon the stream; when three dogs, among the most celebrated fighters of the time, passed by that way. Two of them were of the common class, about the size and weight of Job; the other was a young puppy of good family, whose tastes had unfortunately led him into such low society. Seeing the mild expression of Job's face, and confident in their own prowess, they resolved to amuse themselves at his expense, and to this end drew near to him. Unobserved by their intended victim, with a rapid motion they endeavoured to push him head foremost into the river, Master Puppy having dexterously seized hold of his tail to make the somersault more complete. Job, although thus unexpectedly set upon from behind, was enabled, by the exertion of great strength, to defeat the object of his assailants. In the struggle which ensued, his adversaries discovered that, in spite of their boasted skill, they had more than found their match. One of them got rolled over into the stream, out of which he managed to crawl with considerable difficulty half a mile lower down; the second took to his heels, with his coat torn, and his person otherwise disordered; and the fashionable Pup, to his great horror, found himself seized in the formidable jaws of the unoffending but own angry dog. Imagine how much his terror was increased when Job, carrying him, as I would a mouse, to the edge of the precipitous bank, held him sheer over the roaring river. The poor fellow could not swim, he had a perfect antipathy to the water, and he felt himself at that moment on the point of being consigned to certain death without a chance of safety. But he did not know the noble heart of the animal he had offended. Job let him feel for a few dreadful seconds the danger to which he had been so thoughtlessly and in joke about to consign himself, and then placed him in safety on the bank, with the admonition to reflect for the future on the probable result of his diversions before he indulged in them, and to consider whether, although amusing to himself, such games might not be fatal to the animals on whom they were played off. The shivering puppy was too much alarmed at the time to attend either to the magnanimity of his antagonist or the wisdom of his advice, but they were evidently not lost upon him. Many can bear testimony to the change which that hour wrought in his character; and some weeks after the event, Job received that statue of his little adversary, which had so often struck me, executed by a native artist, with a long letter in verse, a beautiful specimen of doggrel; indeed, gifts both equally creditable to the sculptor and the writer, and most honourable to the animal in whose favour they had been executed. My task will scarce be thought complete without a few words concerning the personal appearance of my old friend; although, perhaps, few things could be more difficult for me to describe. Dogs and cats are apt to admire such very different forms of beauty, that the former often call beautiful what we think just the reverse. He was tall, strong, and rather stout, with a large bushy tail, which waved with every emotion of his mind, for he rarely disguised his feelings. His features were considered regular, though large, his eyes being particularly bright and full, and the upper part of his head was broad and high. But none who knew Job ever thought of his being handsome or otherwise. You seemed to love him for something more than you could see, something which had little to do with face, or body, or tail, and yet appeared in them all, and shone clearly out of his eyes; I mean the spirit of goodness, which made him so remarkable, and was so much a part of Job, that I do believe a lock of his hair worn near one's own heart would help to make it beat more kindly to one's fellow creatures. This idea may be considered too fanciful, too cat-like, but I believe it notwithstanding. Such was the Dog whose autobiography I have great pleasure in presenting to the world. Many may object to the unpolished style in which his memoirs are clothed, but all who knew him will easily pardon every want of elegance in his language; and those who had not the honour of his acquaintance, will learn to appreciate his character from the plain spirit of truth which breathes in every line he wrote. I again affirm that I need make no apology for attaching my name to that of one so worthy the esteem of his co-dogs, ay, and co-cats too; for in spite of the differences which have so often raised up a barrier between the members of his race and ours, not even the noblest among us could be degraded by raising a "mew" to the honour of such a thoroughly honest dog. MINETTE GATTINA.     The Upper Mews,     Caneville. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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