Kindness to Animals by Charlotte Elizabeth (i like reading txt) 📖

home. The Arab treats his horse like a child; gives it to eat of his own victuals, to drink of his own bowl of milk, and lets it sleep in the midst of his family. Of course, the animal becomes so fond of him, that it serves him for love, carries him through all dangers, and has often been known to defend him with its life. We cannot bring up our horses in this way, nor treat them as the wild Arab does; but knowing what sense, and feeling, and gratitude, and love, this noble creature can and does show, we ought to be always watching to avoid giving it unnecessary pain, and to persuade others to be equally kind.

I cannot tell you how it used to grieve my dumb boy, Jack, when he saw a horse ill-used; or how very kind he was to one that he had the care of. He would sooner have wanted food and drink himself, than have allowed his master's horse to feel hunger or thirst. He was very tender when rubbing it down, if there was any, sore place; and if the animal got cross or impatient, he would say to me in signs, "Poor horse not know: horse tired: soon go sleep, poor horse!" That was a very strong, spirited animal, and needed a steady hand to rein him in; but I often saw the dumb boy jump on his back, and with only the halter over his head, guide him where he chose. I never saw him give that horse a blow or a kick, in all the two years that he tended him. Jack was fourteen when he began, and sixteen when he left off being his groom. He was strong and healthy then; but at nineteen he died; and he told me that it made him very happy to think that he had never been cruel to any of God's poor creatures. But I must not say any more now about the noble horse. There is another animal, the natural companion of man, the dog, which comes next in value; for though it cannot take us on a long journey, or convey our goods from place to place, it stands sentry over us and our property, being not only a good servant, but a most intelligent, fond, and faithful friend. It does not need to be broke in, like the horse; it learns the ways and the wishes of those around it; and the more liberty you give it, the more eager it is to serve and please you. The dog deserves a chapter to himself, and shall have it.

 

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CHAPTER III (THE DOG)

 

There is a great deal of sorrow in the world: perhaps, through the goodness of God, you have been kept from suffering much yourselves, but you must have seen trouble among your friends and neighbours; sickness and death, perhaps. And it often happens that great distress comes on people, so as to keep them hungry and cold, for want of what would buy enough food and fuel. Besides this, how often the bad conduct of one in a family will make the rest unhappy! A single drunkard, or thief, or violent person, will bring shame and misery on all the rest. The world is full of troubles; but I do not think that we often find, even among those of our own nature, men, women, boys, and girls, not related to us, a person with so little selfishness as to be always sorry and sad when we are so, and because we are so. When we meet with any one so kind-hearted, we love that person, and would do a great deal to serve or oblige such a feeling friend.

Now, I always observed that a dog, when kindly treated and taken care of, will show his concern for the troubles of his master or mistress, in a wonderful way. Indeed, I never, in my life, had a dog that would not do so; and seeing this has convinced me that it is worse than cruel to treat a dog ill--it is most ungrateful. It does sometimes happen that a dog has a bad and violent temper, even from a puppy; and if very careful treatment does not soon cure this, I should say that such a dog ought to be destroyed, by a quick and easy death; not making the poor brute suffer for what it cannot help. But in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a dog's savageness is the fault of those who have brought him up: and few things are more wicked than to teach or encourage a dog to fight his own race, or to bark and fly at human beings. When the world was as God made it, there was no hatred in it, no quarrelling, no wish in any living creature to frighten or hurt any other living creatures; but when Adam became a sinner, his sin broke through all this beautiful order, and peace, and love, and set the animals against each other, and against himself. I am trying always to remember this; for when they alarm or distress me, and I am thinking to punish them, I ought not to forget what first made the brutes vicious, and brought so much suffering on them. It was man's sin alone: man should therefore do the best he can to make them amends; and not increase their misery, as he often does, by cruel severity. I think you will agree with me in this. Besides, it is a certain truth, that God's eye is upon us and on the animals about us, as much as it was on Adam and the living creatures that came to him to be named; and though we and they are much changed for the worse, yet the Lord God never does or can change. He is as righteous, as holy, as merciful, and as just to-day, as he was then. How often has Jack, when he saw a thoughtless boy hurting a dog, or any other animal, gone up to him, and said, on his fingers, in a very quiet, gentle, but earnest manner, "God see--God angry." He felt much for the dumb beast, suffering pain; but more for the boy who was forgetting that the Lord's hand would yet punish him, when he least expected it: for Jack very well knew that the Bible says, "He shall have judgment without mercy that hath showed no mercy."

Dogs have been a great amusement to me ever since I was a baby; and I never have been without one in the house when I could keep one. Ladies and gentlemen are not often willing to let their carpets be soiled by dogs; but the poor people, who are not troubled with carpets, make companions of them. I am writing this book in a room with a carpet and good furniture, but I have my two dogs with me. There is little Fiddy, the small spaniel, at my feet, where he has lain every day for eight years; and there is Bronti, the fine big Newfoundlander, lying, where do you think? Why the rogue has got upon the sofa, and when I shake my head at him, he wags his long tail, and turns up his large bright eyes to my face, as much as to say, "Pray let me stop here; it is so comfortable." But no, Bronti, you must walk down, my fine fellow, or some lady coming to see me may have her gown soiled, which would not be fair. We have no right to make our pets a plague to other people, and, perhaps, a means of injuring them too.

That was enough for Bronti; no need of a loud, cross, or threatening voice. He saw that I wished him to leave the sofa, and he wags his tail as contentedly on the carpet. I can manage him with a word, almost with a look, because he was born in the house, and has never been away from me; but master Fiddy was a year or two old when I had him, and some things he will do in spite of me. He will hunt a cat, kill a bird, and growl most furiously over a bone. Bronti has the same nature, but his love for us overcomes it all. He would live peaceably with a cat, it we had one; he will let the chickens and pigeons perch upon him, or walk between his feet; and last year I had half a dozen tame mice, which I used to let out upon him, when they would nestle in his warm coat, run races over and under him, and he would not move a limb, for fear of hurting one. As to a bone, he will allow me to take it out of his mouth at any time; and, what is more, he will readily give it up to Fiddy, whose little teeth can only nibble off the meat; and when he has done that, Bronti takes it, and munches the bone.

His mother was full grown when I had her, and she was very fierce: if any workman came to the house, unless her master or I was by to restrain her, she would put him in fear of his life; and would have bitten him too, if she could have seized him. We gave her away to a friend who would be kind to her, and keep her out of mischief; and we brought up a puppy for ourselves, this same Bronti. Now he is more than three years old; and though he will sometimes fight a big dog who affronts him in the street, he never frightened anybody who came to the house. He watches, and gives one single, deep, quiet bark, to let us know that there is a stranger; and seeing that we are satisfied, he sits with one ear thrown back, listening and watching. If he meets a workman in the house, he does not even growl; only keeps him in sight, following him about, but with such a sweet-tempered look, that the greatest coward, if honest, could not contrive to be afraid of him. I might leave a joint of meat under his care, if he were ever so hungry; he would not touch it, because he is truly honest: and as to his sense, you would hardly believe if I told you how sensible he is. When I am putting on my boots, he comes up to me, and looks very eagerly in my face; if I say "Yes," or, "Bronti shall go," he is just wild with joy, tearing about, barking, and making no small riot. If I say "No," or shake my head sorrowfully and say nothing, he steals away, lies down, and never attempts to follow me: but he gets on a chair, and Fiddy on a table, to see me go out at the gate; and then they both begin to cry and moan most piteously, so that nobody can comfort them.

On Sunday morning, Bronti looks very melancholy; how he knows the day I cannot tell. Of course, we all go to church, but he begins to be sad