The Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too

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The Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too, by

Alfred Elwes This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too
Author: Alfred Elwes
Release Date: March 4, 2007 [EBook #20741]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE
ADVENTURES OF A DOG,
AND A GOOD DOG TOO
BY ALFRED ELWES
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: A FAMILY PARTY]

THE
ADVENTURES OF A DOG,
AND A GOOD DOG TOO.
BY ALFRED ELWES,
AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURES OF A BEAR," "OCEAN AND HER RULERS," ETC., ETC.
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON WEIR.
LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND CO., FARRINGDON STREET, AND 18, BEEKMAN STREET, NEW YORK.
1857.
LONDON: THOMAS HARRILD, PRINTER, 11, SALISBURY SQUARE, FLEET STREET.

CONTENTS.
PAGE INTRODUCTION BY MISS MINETTE GATTINA 7 EARLY DAYS 12 CHANGES 18 UPS AND DOWNS 25 THE INUNDATION 37 PAINS AND PLEASURES 46 DUTY 55

ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE A FAMILY PARTY (FRONTISPIECE) 8 LADY BULL 17 GOOD DOG! 22 A CANINE BUTCHER 36 AFLOAT 45 A WORTHY SUBJECT 54 A SEVERE BLOW 60 CONSOLATION 62

PREFACE.
I love dogs. Who does not? It is a natural feeling to love those who love us; and dogs were always fond of me. Thousands can say the same; and I shall therefore find plenty of sympathy while unfolding my dog's tale.
This attachment of mine to the canine family in general, and their affection towards myself, have induced me, like the Vizier in the "Arabian Nights," of happy memory, to devote some time to the study of their language. Its idiom is not so difficult as many would suppose. There is a simplicity about it that often shames the dialects of man; which have been so altered and refined that we discover people often saying one thing when they mean exactly the reverse. Nothing of the sort is visible in the great canine tongue. Whether the tone in which it is uttered be gruff or polished, sharp or insinuating, it is at least sincere. Mankind would often be puzzled how to use it.
Like many others, its meaning is assisted by gestures of the body, and, above all, by the expression of the eye. If ever language had its seat in that organ, as phrenologists pretend, it lies in the eye of the dog. Yet, a good portion finds its way to his tail. The motion of that eloquent member is full of meaning. There is the slow wag of anger; the gentle wag of contentment; the brisker wag of joy: and what can be more mutely expressive than the limp states of sorrow, humility, and fear?
If the tongue of the dog present such distinctive traits, the qualities of the animal himself are not less striking. Although the dispositions of dogs are as various as their forms--although education, connections, the society they keep, have all their influence--to the credit of their name be it said, a dog never sullies his mouth with an untruth. His emotions of pleasure are genuine, never forced. His grief is not the semblance of woe, but comes from the heart. His devotion is unmixed with other feelings. It is single, unselfish, profound. Prosperity affects it not; adversity cannot make it swerve. Ingratitude, that saddest of human vices, is unknown to the dog. He does not forget past favours, but, when attached by benefits received, his love endures through life. But I shall have never done with reciting the praises of this noble animal; the subject is inexhaustible. My purpose now has narrower limits.
From the archives of the city of Caneville, I lately drew the materials of a Bear's Biography. From the same source I now derive my "Adventures of a Dog." My task has been less that of a composer than a translator, for a feline editoress, a Miss Minette Gattina, had already performed her part. This latter animal appears, however, to have been so learned a cat--one may say so deep a puss--that she had furnished more notes than there was original matter. Another peculiarity which distinguished her labours was the obscurity of her style; I call it a peculiarity, and not a defect, because I am not quite certain whether the difficulty of getting at her meaning lay in her mode of expressing herself or my deficiency in the delicacies of her language. I think myself a tolerable linguist, yet have too great a respect for puss to say that any fault is attributable to her.
The same feeling has, naturally, made me careful in rendering