Book: The Human Side of Animals

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He knew at once that they were also seeking venison for breakfast and he
determined to watch them. He concealed himself behind a clump of
bushes, and the wolves who had evidently already decided upon their mode
of attack began their manoeuvres: one remained stationary, while the
other five crept to the edge of the field and one by one took the most
advantageous positions, the fifth concealing himself in a deep furrow in
the centre of the field.

The sixth, which had made no previous movements, dashed at the
antelopes. The swift, graceful creatures, trusting in their incomparable
speed, tossed their heads as if in disdain of so small an enemy and
galloped away as though they were riding on the winds with their enemy
far behind. But as soon as they reached the edge of the field, one of
the hiding wolves sprang up and chased them in an opposite direction,
while his fatigued accomplice lay down to recuperate. Again the
light-heeled herd darted across the field, evidently hoping to escape on
the opposite side, but here again they met another crafty wolf who
chased them directly toward another of the pack. The chase had begun in
earnest, the persecuted antelopes were driven from place to place, a
fresh enemy springing up at every turn, till at last they became so
terrorised with fear that they crowded together in the center of the
field and began running around in diminishing circles.

During all this performance, the wolf which was hidden in a furrow in
the centre of the field had not moved, although the antelopes had passed
around and over him dozens of times. He well realised his time for
action had not yet come and crouched closer and closer awaiting a signal
from his fellow hunters to spring into their midst, and down one of the
weakened antelopes.

At this point Col. Campbell shot one of the wolves, and the other five
ran away and allowed the antelopes to escape. Surely no human
combination could have shown greater reason and concerted action than
was shown by the wolves under such conditions. Each had a particular
post assigned, and evidently some means of communication was used in
indicating their respective locations. Each had a definite part to play
in the complex scheme--so that their language quite evidently expressed
abstract ideas. That these ideas were carried out shows that the wolves
were capable not only of laying ambitious plans for capturing prey, but
of carrying them out as well.

"That beasts possess a language, which enables them to communicate their
ideas," says Thomas Gentry, "has been clearly shown. It is just as
apparent that they can act upon the ideas so conveyed. We have now to
see whether they can convey their ideas to man, and so bridge over the
gulf between the higher and the lower beings. Were there no means of
communicating ideas between man and animals, domestication would be
impossible. Every one who has possessed and cared for some favourite
animal must have observed that they can do so. Their own language
becomes, in many instances, intelligible to man. Just as a child that is
unable to pronounce words, can express its meaning by intimation, so a
dog can do the same by its different modes of barking. There is the bark
of joy or welcome, when the animal sees its master, or anticipates a
walk with him; the furious bark of anger, if the dog suspects that any
one is likely to injure himself or master, and the bark of terror when
the dog is suddenly frightened at something which he cannot understand.
Supposing, now, that his master could not see the dog, but could only
hear his bark, would he not know perfectly well the ideas which were
passing through the animal's mind?"

There is no doubt that animals understand something of our human
language. They may not be able to comprehend the exact words used, but
it is evident they get the meaning to a certain extent. I once had a
small Mexican dog sent me from Mexico; he seemed not to understand what
was said to him, until a friend called who spoke to him in Spanish,
whereupon he showed his delight and became at once a friend to the man
who spoke his own language.

The Rev. J. G. Wood tells the following incident, which forcibly
illustrates the ability possessed by animals to commune with each other.
"While I was living in the country with a friend, a most interesting
incident was observed in the history of the dog. My friend had several
dogs, of which two had a special attachment to, and an understanding
with, each other. The one was a Scotch terrier, gentle and ready to
fraternise with all honest comers. The other was as large as a mastiff,
and looked like a compound between the mastiff and the large rough
stag-hound. He was fierce, and required some acquaintance before you
knew what faithfulness and kindness lay beneath his rough and
savage-looking exterior. The one was gay and lively, the other, stern
and thoughtful.

"These two dogs were often observed to go to a certain point together,
when the small one remained behind at a corner of a large field, while
the mastiff took a round by the side of the field, which ran up-hill for
nearly a mile, and led to a wood on the left. Game abounded in those
districts and the object of the dogs' arrangement was soon seen. The
terrier would start a hare, and chase it up the hill towards the large
wood at the summit, where they arrived somewhat tired. At this point,
the large dog, who was fresh and had rested after his walk, darted after
the animal, which he usually captured. They then ate the hare between
them and returned home. This course had been systematically carried on
some time before it was fully understood."

Every animal has a definite language which is quite sufficient to
express the desires and emotions of its nature, and to make them
intelligible, not only to its own species, but also to other animals and
sometimes to human beings. Those which do not actually speak by means of
a voice, make signs or mimic understood things so as to be perfectly
intelligible. If animals had no language, they could not instruct their
young. The young of animals in a civilised country are far wiser than
the old ones in wild, uninhabited countries. This can be explained only
by the knowledge which the young receive from their parents.

It is not uncommon for animals belonging to widely different species to
speak the same language, and thus become great friends. A friend in
Texas once owned a cow whose sole companion was a small black goat. One
day the young goat followed the cow home from her grazing place, and
from that time on they were constant companions, even occupying the same
stall in winter, sharing the same food, and always sleeping near each
other.

If one shoots a monkey in South Africa, and wounds it, allowing it to
escape, there usually come droves of its kinspeople, screaming and
chattering the most diabolical language, seeking to revenge the wrong
done their tribe. Nothing demonstrates plainer that they have a common
language; otherwise, how could they understand that one of their number
had been wounded? It is because of the communication of ideas by a
common language among animals that hunters so fear to allow a wounded
animal to escape at the beginning of their hunting season in certain
localities. A wounded bear who escapes, for example, will spoil the
entire season for hunters by spreading the alarm among his people.

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

ROOSEVELT'S COLOBUS. THESE HORSE-TAILED MONKEYS CHATTER TOGETHER IN A
LANGUAGE EXCLUSIVELY THEIR OWN, YET THEY SEEM TO HAVE NO DIFFICULTY IN
MAKING THEMSELVES UNDERSTOOD BY OTHER MONKEY-TRIBES.]

[Illustration: A TAMED DEER OF TEXAS, WHOSE CONSTANT COMPANION AND
PLAYMATE WAS A RABBIT DOG. BETWEEN THE TWO THERE DEVELOPED, NECESSARILY,
A COMMON LANGUAGE.]

Near our country home in Texas my sister found a very young red deer one
morning just outside the garden, and bringing it into the yard, soon had
a wonderful pet in this dainty spotted child of the woods. We knew that
its mother was not far away, and so we placed salt and food just where
the baby was found, to attract the mother's attention. In a few days,
we saw the mother, and shortly afterwards five grown deer were seen
eating the food we had placed for the mother. Evidently the news had
been carried through the pine forests that it was safe for deer to come
near our home. My sister's pet grew rapidly, and became a great friend
of our yard dog. They often played by running races together, the deer
would leap over the fence and the dog would chase him with great
delight. Surely, they must have had a spoken common language!

No one claims that in the language of animals there are principles of
construction such as we find in the human languages. The term Barbarian
means those whose language is only a "bar-bar," and this is really all
that the sound of an unknown tongue implied to the cultured Athenians.
The neighing of horses, the howling of dogs and wolves, the mewing of
cats, the bleating of sheep, the lowing of cows, the chattering of
monkeys and baboons is nothing more nor less than their language. And it
is quite as intelligible to us as is the chattering of the Hottentots of
Africa. Because we do not speak the languages of our animal friends does
not take away from the genuineness of the languages; we might as well
claim that because our horse does not comprehend what we are saying,
that we are not speaking a language!

Animals and men, under normal conditions, have been friends and
companions since the beginning of time; and in order that they may
convey ideas to each other, it is necessary for them to have some sort
of means of communication.

As a matter of fact, animal language is quite often intelligible to man.
Their language might be likened to that of a young child that cannot
pronounce distinctly the words we commonly use; and yet we get the
meaning from the intonation and gesture.

Any man who has ever owned a horse understands the meanings of his
various actions and vocal expressions. There is the neigh of joy, upon
returning home after a hard day's work, the neigh of distress, when he
has strayed from his companions, the neigh of salutation that passes
between two horses when they meet, and the neigh of terror when enemies
are near. There is also the neigh of affection that is often given to
his master when they first meet in the morning. Thus, spoken words are
not necessary to express elemental feelings.

Elephants readily understand most of the words uttered by their masters.
Menault tells of an elephant that was employed to pile up heavy logs.
The manager, suspecting the keeper of stealing the grain set aside for
the elephant, accused him of theft, which he denied most vehemently in
the presence of the elephant. The result was remarkable. The animal
suddenly laid hold of a large wrapper which the man wore round his
waist, and tearing it open, let out some quarts of rice which the fellow
had stowed away under the voluminous covering.

Animals have the power to make themselves understood by man, especially
when they are in distress and wish man to help them. And they often
combine to help one another. I was on a sheep ranch in western Texas
once when one of the sheep came bleating up to the camp late in the
afternoon. She uttered the most distressing calls. A friend, whom I was
visiting, assured me that something unusual was wrong. Together we
followed the sheep back to where she had been feeding in the pasture,
she going forward in short spurts and continually looking back to see if
we were coming. She finally led us to an old well, and we heard the
plaintive voice of her young lamb that had fallen in. As the well had no
water in it, and was only about six feet deep, we secured a ladder and
in a few minutes the lamb was restored to its mother. She seemed
delighted at the successful outcome of the accident. She had come and
told us her troubles and got aid.

Cats are gifted linguists. By mewing they can just as plainly express a
desire to have a door opened or closed as if they requested it in so
many words. A friend has furnished me with an interesting account of her
cat's ability to make herself understood. It seems that the cat, with
her three small kittens, at one time slept in a box prepared for her in
the kitchen. But one night when it was particularly cold, some one left
the kitchen window open, and late in the night the cat went to her
mistress's bed and mewed continuously until her mistress arose and went
to the kitchen and closed the window. The cat was perfectly satisfied,
as she had made her great need understood.

The ability that animals have to make their own language understood by
man is not the only linguistic power they possess; as already mentioned,
they are also capable of understanding something of human speech. There
is no doubt that all domesticated animals understand the human language;
the horse, dog, ox, and sheep comprehend a large part of what is said to
them, though of course they may not understand the precise words used.

I once owned a rabbit dog, "Nimrod," and if he never understood another
word of the English language, there is no doubt that he knew what the
word "rabbit" meant. No matter in what manner or way I used the word,
Nimrod was ready for a hunt, and yelped with glee at the thought of the
chase that he was to have. I tested him over and over again by saying
"rabbit hunt" gently; it thrilled him with delight, and while he was not
very well educated in other things, he always lived up to his name.

The Rev. J. G. Wood speaks of the great individuality of character which
he has observed in dogs, and that they unquestionably understand the
human language. "There was in my pet greyhound 'Brenda,' there was in my
dear lurcher 'Smoker,' and there is now in my dear lurcher 'Bar,' and in
my three setters 'Chance,' 'Quail,' and 'Quince,' a refinement of
feeling and sagacity infinitely beyond that existing in multitudes of
the human race, whether inhabiting the deserts or the realms of
civilisation.

"I cannot better define it than by saying that, if I give these dogs a
hastily angered word in my room, though they have never been beaten,
they will, with an expression of the most dejected sorrow, go into a
corner behind some chair, sofa, or table, and lie there. Perhaps I may
have been guilty of a hasty rebuke to them for jogging my table or elbow
while I was writing, and then continued to write on. Some time after,
not having seen my companions lying on the rug before the fire, I have
remembered the circumstance, and, in a tone of voice to which they are
used, I have said, 'There, you are forgiven.' In an instant the
greyhound Brenda would fly into my lap, and cover me with kisses, her
heart tumultuously beating. After she grew old, her joy at my return
home after a long absence has at times nearly killed her; and when I was
away, the bed she loved best was one of my old shooting-jackets, but
never when I was at home."

The impassable gulf which the writers of old created between mankind and
the animal kingdom was based mainly upon the belief that animals had no
language, but this has been proved a mistake and no longer exists. In
the light of modern knowledge and a better understanding of the
marvellous theory of evolution, we are thoroughly convinced that there
is no break whatever in the long chain of living beings. Man has no art,
has developed no thing whatever, no mode of language or communication,
that is not to be found in some degree among animals. They are capable
of feeling the same emotions as human beings, and are therefore subject
to the same general laws of life. No science has been more beneficial
than psychology in proving that they are human in all ways; no discovery
made by the human mind is so poetical and of such value as that which
leads mankind to recognise some part of himself in every part of
Nature, even in the language of animals.

This knowledge of all life is recognised by thinking men the world over,
removing forever that artificial barrier by which, in his ignorance and
prejudice, he has separated himself from his lower brothers, the
animals, denying unto them even a means of intelligent communication.
This recognition of the existence of a common language will go far
toward establishing the universal brotherhood of all living creatures.




VIII

IN THEIR BOUDOIRS, HOSPITALS AND CHURCHES


_"Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
On the sick or wounded bison,
But another vulture, watching
From his high aerial look-out,
Sees the downward plunge and follows,
And a third pursues the second,
Coming from the invisible ether,
First a speck and then a vulture
Till the air is dark with pinions."_


Many animals show a surprising knowledge of medical and sanitary laws,
but these laws vary in the different species as much as they do among
humans. Animals are divided into as many classes and social castes as
are mankind; and those that have advanced beyond the nomadic life, and
have fixed homes with servants and luxuries, naturally are more refined
in the matter of their personal care.

Science may yet prove that the old legend of the mermaid sitting on a
rock, with a glass and comb in her hand, was not so far from truth as
we imagine. No doubt, the bright-eyed seals looked like sea-maidens to
many ancient mariners. The originator of the mermaid stories had
possibly seen seals making their toilettes. These beautiful and
affectionate human-like creatures of the water, wear, attached to their
front flipper, a handsome comb-like protuberance. When they rest on the
rocks, they use this little comb to brush the fur on their faces; and
the Northern fur-seals, when the weather is warm, use their flippers as
fans. The secret of teaching seals to play tambourines is due to their
desire to comb their fur and fan themselves!

Members of the cat family are, perhaps, the cleanest of all animals,
with the exception of some of the opossums. Lions, panthers, and pumas
dress themselves very much as the domestic cat performs her toilette.
They use their feet, dipped in water, as wash cloths, and their tongues
as combs and brushes. Hares also use their feet to wash their faces, and
this they do very often, to keep their exquisite hair in perfect
condition. Dogs enjoy wiping their coats against green grass and shrubs.

Certain animals are so fastidious that they have community
beauty-parlours! Goats, deer, giraffes, and antelopes, for example, are
very particular about their personal neatness and cleanliness, and they
come together to assist each other in making toilettes. One of the
reasons that animals suffer so much in captivity, especially when alone,
is that they have no one to help them dress, and some of them, such as
the giraffe, cannot reach all parts of their bodies. I have seen a young
guinea pig that had been rescued from a mud puddle being cleaned by both
of his parents. Water-loving animals, like the beavers, seemingly take
great pride in their toilettes, and in this respect they show more human
traits than any other animal.

It is a general belief that animals are quite care-free, and that when
they awake in the morning there is nothing for them to do but play or
wander about. This is a mistaken belief, for they have to dress
themselves, and this not only means a bath in many cases, but a
smoothing out of their fur and hair. Some are shy and seek the darkest
places to dress themselves, others, like the dog and cat, seek the
hearth. Every one has possibly seen a cow and horse licking each other,
and it is generally believed that this implies special friendship
between the two, but this idea is incorrect; it only implies mutual aid
in making their toilettes. They have a beauty parlour, and thus aid each
other. In no way are animals better prepared to teach man than in their
methods of personal cleanliness, and this means health. Their
utilisation of clay, dust, mud, water, and even sunshine to keep their
health, far exceeds that of mankind. In fact, man's first knowledge of
simple, natural health remedies came from animals. This wisdom they have
acquired by ages of instinct and reason, for theirs has been the normal
life, whereas man's is often abnormal. Each animal is his own
specialist. However, when an animal becomes too ill to doctor himself,
he is treated by another. I have seen a horse licking the wound of one
of his fellows to stop the pain.

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

WATER-LOVING ANIMALS, LIKE THE BEAVERS, SEEMINGLY TAKE GREAT PRIDE IN
THEIR TOILETTES. THEIR FUR IS ALWAYS SLEEK AND CLEAN.]

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

GREAT FOREST PIGS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. LIKE THE COMMON DOMESTICATED HOGS,
THEY WILL SEEK A CLAY BATH TO HEAL THEIR WOUNDS.]

Animals know better than man what kind of food they need, for the simple
reason that their tastes are natural, while man has allowed his to
become perverted. In times of sickness absurd practices have been
observed. Ice-cream and buttermilk, for example, were for ages refused
to typhoid fever patients, while to-day they are generally used under
such circumstances. But the natural desire for sour and cold things was
always in evidence; animals have always depended upon these desires.

Among them are skilled dietitians, who restrict their diet in case of
illness, keep quiet, avoid all excitement, seek restful places where
there is plenty of fresh air and clean water. If a dog loses his
appetite, he eats "dog grass," while a sick cat delights in catnip.
Deer, goats, cows, and sheep, when sick seek various medicinal herbs.
When deer or cattle have rheumatism, they invariably seek a health
resort where they may bathe in a sulphur spring and drink of the healing
mineral waters. They also know the full value of lying in the warm sun.

Cats are skilled physicians, and have various home remedies, such as
dipping a feverish foot into cold water, or lying before a warm fire, if
they have a cold. Many animals know how to treat a sore eye--by lying in
the dark, and repeatedly licking their paws and placing them over the
afflicted member.

How wonderful would the human race become, if it had the strength of a
lion, the power of a bear, the wisdom of an elephant, the cleverness of
a fox, and the health of the wild boar! But these qualities are found
chiefly among the animals because of the marvellous knowledge of the
laws of health and self-preservation.

John Wesley claimed, in his directions on the art of keeping well, that
many of the medicines which were used among the common people of his
time were first discovered by watching animals in their medical
practices to cure their ills and pains. "If they heal animals, they will
also heal men," he claimed. The American Indians learned most of their
cures from watching animals, especially the cure of such diseases as
fever, rheumatism, dysentery, and snake-bites. A rheumatic old wolf
would bathe in the warm waters of a sulphur spring; a sick and feverish
deer would eat the fresh leaves of healing ferns, while a wounded hog or
bear would always seek a red-clay bath to heal the wounds. Sick dogs
will invariably eat certain weeds, and an unwell cat will seek healing
mints and grasses.

Old hunters tell us that a deer after having been chased for several
hours by dogs, and after having escaped them by swimming a cold stream,
will, upon reaching safety, lie down in the ice and snow. If a man did
such a thing, he would immediately die. But not so with the deer, for he
will arise about every hour and move around to exercise himself, and on
the morrow he is perfectly well. The same animal, shut up in a warm barn
for the night, as has many times been demonstrated with circus animals,
will be dead by morning.

From this natural method of healing, mankind may learn much, and
especially as it pertains to the treatment of extreme heat, cold,
exhaustion, and paralysis of the muscles, and most especially sores and
wounds. I have seen a wounded hog that had been badly bitten by a dog,
wallow in rich red mud to stop the flow of blood.

It is a common practice for a raccoon actually to amputate a diseased
leg, or one that has been wounded by a gunshot, and wash the stub in
cool flowing water. When it is healing, he licks it with his tongue to
massage it, and also to stop the pain and reduce the swelling. This
wisdom is often classed by the unknowing under the term instinct,
whereas it displays no less skill and knowledge than that of our modern
surgery. The intelligence of the raccoon stands very high in the animal
world.

Foxes, when caught in a trap, will very often gnaw off a limb. This
requires a special power and a moral energy that few men possess.

William J. Long, in the _Outlook_, tells of an unusual proof of animal
surgery in the case of an old muskrat that had cut off both of his
forelegs, probably at different times, and had grown very wise in
avoiding man-made traps, and when found, had covered the wound with a
sticky vegetable gum from a pine tree. "An old Indian who lives and
hunts on Vancouver Island told me recently," said Mr. Long, "that he had
several times caught beaver that had previously cut their legs off to
escape from traps, and that two of them had covered the wounds thickly
with gum, as the muskrat had done. Last spring the same Indian caught a
bear in a deadfall. On the animal's side was a long rip from some other
bear's claw, and the wound had been smeared thickly with soft spruce
resin. This last experience corresponds closely with one of my own. I
shot a bear years ago in northern New Brunswick that had received a
gunshot wound, which had raked him badly and then penetrated the leg. He
had plugged the wound carefully with clay, evidently to stop the
bleeding, and then had covered the broken skin with sticky mud from the
river's brink, to keep the flies away from the wound and give it a
chance to heal undisturbed. It is noteworthy here that the bear uses
either gum or clay indifferently, while the beaver and muskrat seem to
know enough to avoid the clay, which would be quickly washed off in the
water."

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