The Character of Dogs

The civilisation, the manners, and the morals of dog-kind[1] are to a
great extent subordinated to those of his ancestral master, man. This
animal, in many ways so superior, has accepted a position of
inferiority, shares the domestic life, and humours the caprices of the
tyrant. But the potentate, like the British in India, pays small
regard to the character of his willing client, judges him with
listless glances, and condemns him in a byword. Listless have been the
looks of his admirers, who have exhausted idle terms of praise, and
buried the poor soul below exaggerations. And yet more idle and, if
possible, more unintelligent has been the attitude of his express
detractors; those who are very fond of dogs "but in their proper
place"; who say "poo' fellow, poo' fellow," and are themselves far
poorer; who whet the knife of the vivisectionist or heat his oven;[2]
who are not ashamed to admire "the creature's instinct"; and flying
far beyond folly, have dared to resuscitate the theory of animal
machines. The "dog's instinct" and the "automaton-dog," in this age of
psychology and science, sound like strange anachronisms. An automaton
he certainly is; a machine working independently of his control, the
heart like the mill-wheel, keeping all in motion, and the
consciousness, like a person shut in the mill garret, enjoying the
view out of the window and shaken by the thunder of the stones; an
automaton in one corner of which a living spirit is confined: an
automaton like man. Instinct again he certainly possesses. Inherited
aptitudes are his, inherited frailties. Some things he at once views
and understands, as though he were awakened from a sleep, as though he
came "trailing clouds of glory."[3] But with him, as with man, the
field of instinct is limited; its utterances are obscure and
occasional; and about the far larger part of life both the dog and his
master must conduct their steps by deduction and observation.

The leading distinction[4] between dog and man, after and perhaps
before the different duration of their lives, is that the one can
speak and that the other cannot. The absence of the power of speech
confines the dog in the development of his intellect. It hinders him
from many speculations, for words are the beginning of metaphysic. At
the same blow it saves him from many superstitions, and his silence
has won for him a higher name for virtue than his conduct justifies.
The faults of the dog[5] are many. He is vainer than man, singularly
greedy of notice, singularly intolerant of ridicule, suspicious like
the deaf, jealous to the degree of frenzy, and radically devoid of
truth. The day of an intelligent small dog is passed in the