Our Friend the Dog | Page 6

still closed, already he believes in us: even before his birth, he has
given himself to man. But the word "friend" does not exactly depict his
affectionate worship. He loves us and reveres us as though we had
drawn him out of nothing. He is, before all, our creature full of
gratitude and more devoted than the apple of our eye. He is our
intimate and impassioned slave, whom nothing discourages, whom
nothing repels, whose ardent trust and love nothing can impair. He has
solved, in an admirable and touching manner, the terrifying problem
which human wisdom would have to solve if a divine race came to
occupy our globe. He has loyally, religiously, irrevocably recognized
man's superiority and has surrendered himself to him body and soul,
without after-thought, without any intention to go back, reserving of his
independence, his instinct and his character only the small part
indispensable to the continuation of the life prescribed by nature. With
an unquestioning certainty, an unconstraint and a simplicity that
surprise us a little, deeming us better and more powerful than all that
exists, he betrays, for our benefit, the whole of the animal kingdom to
which he belongs and, without scruple, denies his race, his kin, his
mother and his young.
[Illustration]
But he loves us not only in his consciousness and his intelligence: the
very instinct of his race, the entire unconsciousness of his species, it
appears, think only of us, dream only of being useful to us. To serve us
better, to adapt himself better to our different needs, he has adopted
every shape and been able infinitely to vary the faculties, the aptitudes
which he places at our disposal. Is he to aid us in the pursuit of game in
the plains? His legs lengthen inordinately, his muzzle tapers, his lungs
widen, he becomes swifter than the deer. Does our prey hide under
wood? The docile genius of the species, forestalling our desires,
presents us with the basset, a sort of almost footless serpent, which
steals into the closest thickets. Do we ask that he should drive our
flocks? The same compliant genius grants him the requisite size,
intelligence, energy and vigilance. Do we intend him to watch and

defend our house? His head becomes round and monstrous, in order
that his jaws may be more powerful, more formidable and more
tenacious. Are we taking him to the south? His hair grows shorter and
lighter, so that he may faithfully accompany us under the rays of a
hotter sun. Are we going up to the north? His feet grow larger, the
better to tread the snow; his fur thickens, in order that the cold may not
compel him to abandon us. Is he intended only for us to play with, to
amuse the leisure of our eyes, to adorn or enliven the home? He clothes
himself in a sovereign grace and elegance, he makes himself smaller
than a doll to sleep on our knees by the fireside, or even consents,
should our fancy demand it, to appear a little ridiculous to please us.
You shall not find, in nature's immense crucible, a single living being
that has shown a like suppleness, a similar abundance of forms, the
same prodigious faculty of accommodation to our wishes. This is
because, in the world which we know, among the different and
primitive geniuses that preside over the evolution of the several species,
there exists not one, excepting that of the dog, that ever gave a thought
to the presence of man.
It will, perhaps, be said that we have been able to transform almost as
profoundly some of our domestic animals: our hens, our pigeons, our
ducks, our cats, our horses, our rabbits, for instance. Yes, perhaps;
although such transformations are not comparable with those
undergone by the dog and although the kind of service which these
animals render us remains, so to speak, invariable. In any case, whether
this impression be purely imaginary or correspond with a reality, it
does not appear that we feel in these transformations the same unfailing
and preventing good will, the same sagacious and exclusive love. For
the rest, it is quite possible that the dog, or rather the inaccessible
genius of his race, troubles scarcely at all about us and that we have
merely known how to make use of various aptitudes offered by the
abundant chances of life. It matters not: as we know nothing of the
substance of things, we must needs cling to appearances; and it is sweet
to establish that, at least in appearance, there is on the planet where,
like unacknowledged kings, we live in solitary state, a being that loves
us.

However the case may stand with these appearances, it is none the less
certain that, in the aggregate of