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their smell

a strange, unknown odor. This at once puts him on his guard and excites his enmity. There is little speculation in the eye of a dog, but his nose is keen and analytical.

The dog, through his long intercourse with man, has become charged with our human quality, as steel is charged by a magnet. Yet I am told that a tame wolf or a tame fox fawns and wags his tail and tries to lick his master's face, the same as the dog. At any rate, the dog does many things that we can name only in terms applicable to ourselves. My dog coaxes me to go for a walk, he coaxes me to get upon my lap, he coaxes for the food I am eating. When I upbraid him, he looks repentant and humiliated. When I whip him, he cries, when I praise him, he bounds, when I greet him in the morning, he whines with joy. It is not the words that count with him, it is the tone of the voice.

When I start out for a walk, he waits and dances about till he sees which way I am going. It seems as if he must at such times have some sort of mental process similar to my own under like circumstances. Or is his whole behavior automatic - his attitude of eagerness, expectancy, inquiry, and all? as automatic as the wagging of his tail when he is pleased, or as his bristling up when he is angry? It evinces some sort of mental action, but the nature of it is hard to divine. When he sits looking vaguely out upon the landscape, or rests his chin upon his paws

and gazes into the fire, I wish I knew if there were anything like currents of thought, or reminiscences, or anticipations passing through his mind. When I speak sternly to him and he cowers down or throws himself on his back and puts up his paws pleadingly, I wish I knew just the state of his mind then. One day my dog deserted me while I was hunting, and when I returned, and before I had spoken a word to him, he came creeping up to me in the most abject way, threw himself over, and put up his pleading paws, as if begging forgiveness. Was he? We should call it that in a person. Yet I remember that I upbraided him when he first showed the inclination to desert me, and that fact may account for his subsequent behavior.

When you speak to your dog in a certain way, why does he come up to you and put out his front legs and stretch, and then stretch his hind legs, and maybe open his mouth and gape? Is it an affectation, or a little embarrassment because he does not know what you are saying? All dogs do it. The human traits of the dog are very obvious. One time I drove many miles through the country with my small mongrel black and tan dog Lark with me, often on the seat by my side. When he was in the wagon and other dogs came out and barked at us, Lark was very brave and answered back defiantly and threateningly; but when he was upon the ground and other dogs came out, Lark was as meek

and non-resisting as a Quaker. Then let me take him up out of harm's way, and see how his tone would change, and what a setting-out he would give those dogs!

I do not believe that animals ever commit suicide. I do not believe that they have any notions of death, or take any note of time, or ever put up any "bluff game," or ever deliberate together, or form plans, or forecast the seasons. They may practice deception, as when a bird feigns lameness or paralysis to decoy you away from her nest, but this of course is instinctive and not conscious deception. There is on occasion something that suggests coöperation among them, as when wolves hunt in relays, as they are said to do, or when they hunt in couples, one engaging the quarry in front, while the other assaults it from the rear; or when quail roost upon the ground in a ring, their tails to the centre, their heads outward; or when cattle or horses form a circle when attacked in the open by wild beasts, the cattle with their heads outward, and the horses with their heels. Of course all this is instinctive, and not the result of deliberation. The horse always turns his tail to the storm as well, and cows and steers, if I remember rightly, turn their heads.

A family of beavers work together in building their dam, but whether or not they combine their strength upon any one object and thus achieve unitedly what they could not singly, I do not know.

Of course among the bees there is coöperation and division of labor, but how much conscious intelligence enters into the matter is beyond finding


Leadership among the animals, when it occurs, as among savage tribes, usually falls to the strong, to the most capable. And such leaders are selfelected: there is nothing like a democracy in the animal world. Troops of wild horses are said always to have a leader, and it is probable that bands of elk and reindeer do also. Flocks of migrating geese and swans are supposed to be led by the strongest old males; but among our flocking small birds I have never been able to discover anything like leadership. The whole flock acts as a unit, and performs its astonishing evolutions without leaders or signals. In my youth, upon the farm, I observed that in a dairy of cows there was always one master cow, one to whose authoritative sniff, or gesture, or thrust, all others yielded, and she was usually the most quiet and peaceful cow in the herd.

The male animal, as compared with the female, is usually the more aggressive and domineering, except among birds of prey, where the reverse is true. Roosevelt says that a band of antelope, as of elk and deer, is ordinarily led by an old doe, but that when danger threatens, a buck may spring to the leadership.

In the breeding season the pronghorn buck has

his harems

all the does he can steal or cajole or capture from his rivals. "I have seen a comparatively young buck," says Roosevelt, "who had appropriated a doe, hustle her hastily out of the country as soon as he saw another antelope in the neighborhood; while on the other hand, a big buck, already with a good herd of does, will do his best to appropriate any other that comes in sight."

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On the seal islands of Alaska we saw many old bull seals with their harems about them a dozen or more demure-looking females resting upon low bowlders, while their lord and master sat perched above them on a higher rock. The defeated males, too young or too old to hold their own against their rivals, hung in ill-humored dejection about the neighborhood. I have read that on the Pampas in South America, wild stallions will capture and hurry away domestic mares, if they have a chance.

Animals are undoubtedly capable of feeling what we call worry and anxiety just as distinctly as they feel alarm or joy, only, of course, these emotions are much more complex in man. How the mother bird seems to worry as you near her nest or her young; how uneasy the cow is when separated from her calf, or the dog when he has lost his master! Do these dumb kindred of ours experience doubts and longings and suspicions and disappointments and hopes deferred just as we do? - the same in kind, if not in degree?

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