A TRUE AND MOST INTERESTING STORY.
By Harry L. Lightfoot
[Harry L. Lightfoot, in Our Dumb Animals.] In the winter of 1900 the writer, who is the owner of a handsome Newfoundland dog named “Duke,” returned in the evening from the village and was met at the entrance to the driveway by the dog, who tried frantically to jump into the sleigh, but was not allowed to. On reaching the barn and alighting from the sleigh, the dog licked my hands and prevented my unharnessing the horses for some minutes, as he insisted upon reaching my face and jumping up to my shoulders, barking furiously and unheeding a few sharp words which I spoke to him. I was compelled to put him in the barn, where he moaned piteously behind the closed doors. When I entered with the horses he jumped up and kissed each on the nose and then gave me all his attention, following me into each stall and licking my hands as I was in the act of blanketing the horses. This duty finished, I took up the water bucket, opened the door and started for the spring, some distance from the stable, the dog pulling strongly on one side of the handle, trying, as I afterwards discovered, to lead me from the beaten path to the spring. Dropping the bucket on the snow, with the intention of examining the dog by the lantern to see if there was anything wrong with him, as he was acting so entirely foreign to his usual behaviour, he immediately started off over the embankment carrying the pail and refused to return when I called loudly to him in a rough manner.11Finally he dropped the bucket and continued alone farther down the pasture, only returning to me and barking loudly. I caressed him and spoke gently, so that he seemed quite delighted until I retraced my steps, when the barking commenced again. After completing my errand I went back to the house followed by “Duke,” who entered with me, strictly against my rules, as he has his own quarters. In the house he howled and cried continually until I was forced to go down-stairs and let him out, and in twenty minutes he commenced howling again and kept it up at intervals during the night. Upon rising in the morning I was met at the door by the dog, who was covered with snow, and as he resumed the same method as on the night previous, I allowed him to take my hand in his mouth, as he persisted in getting hold of it, and started with him across the snow where he had made a regularly beaten path during the night to the edge of the woods beyond the spring. Seeing these tracks I realized something was wrong, as he left me, running on ahead, barking and wagging his tail as if he were delighted. He stopped suddenly and ceased his noise and laid down upon the snow, and when I reached him he was resting alongside of my favorite cat, which had been caught by the front foot in a fox trap. The dog, it appears, had kept the cat warm during the night, only leaving it to visit the house with the intention of arousing me, which was unavailing. Taking the cat out of the trap up to the house and placing it before the fire, the dog assisted in drying the cat with his tongue and licked the injured paw for some minutes at a time. Offering the cat some warm milk, which she refused, “Duke” lapped up a little and with his tongue put some of the milk to the cat’s mouth, whereupon she started in herself and he barked with delight and watched her daily until she was able to go outdoors. This little anecdote, which is absolutely true in every detail, shows the wonderful sagaciousness of a beautiful animal.