It is a mistake to suppose that cats are unloving and selfish. When a cat loves no one, it is usually a proof that no one loves her. She responds warmly to gentle treatment, and often shows personal devotion in very striking ways.
Remember that it is unfair to call a cat cruel and to punish her for following out her own instincts. She knows nothing of the pain she inflicts, and is quite innocent of any cruel intention. Often a word or two of reproof is effectual, but it is useless to strike her or frighten her. She knows no reason why she should not catch birds as well as mice. If something she likes to eat is given to pussy the last thing at night, she will get into the habit of coming into the house for it. If she is kept in at night, she cannot disturb the early morning songs of your feathered friends. Care and watching will be needed to insure their peace and safety through the day. Especially must she be well fed and have an early breakfast when she has kittens to care for, or she will bring birds for them to eat.
Remember that a half-starved cat makes a poor mouser. When she is exhausted with hunger she loses the sense of smell, and with it all interest in catching mice.
Cats grow very fond of places as well as of people, and dread to change their homes. When a cat is to be taken to another house to live, she should be carried in a cat-basket with openings in the top so that she can have fresh air to breathe and can see what is going on. Holes may be made in a common basket, but the cover must be firmly fastened with a strong strap or cord. Once arrived at her new quarters, pussy should be shut up in a quiet room with food and water and a pan of dry earth. At dusk, when the outer doors are shut, she may be allowed to go into other rooms with some friendly guide. For two or three days she should be kept in the house, and great pains should be taken not to trouble or frighten her while she is learning to feel at home.
Remember, in handling a cat, that it hurts her to be lifted by her front paws alone. Her hind legs should be supported at the same time.
[Illustration: THE TRAVELING BASKET.]
Ribbons and collars are entirely out of place on a cat. They are likely to get caught on twigs and nails, and may even cause death. They certainly give no pleasure to the wearer. Harrison Weir, who has written a book about cats, calls especial attention to the danger of collars and ribbons.
There are so many cats in the world that if all the kittens were allowed to grow up, no good homes could be found for them. It is a hard thing for a kind-hearted person to do, but many little kittens must be killed or they would live to suffer. One kitten of every litter should be left to the mother cat. The others should be killed as soon as possible, but never in the mother's sight. Think how poor pussy would feel when she saw her babies drowned!
One of the greatest hardships that can come into a cat's life is to be left without a home. At the beach in winter and in the city in summer may be seen many homeless, starving, miserable cats, left there by their cruel owners. Once these cats were petted and well-fed. They know what it is to lie on soft cushions and to be caressed. Now, through no fault of their own, they are wanderers in an unfriendly world. Can any name too harsh be given to the men and women who turn adrift these timid, helpless creatures? Remember that it is a thousand times better to chloroform or drown the cat it is impossible to carry with you, than to let her take her chances in so wretched a life.
Cats are so nervous and sensitive, and so timid when taken away from home, that they must suffer very much when exhibited in cages at a cat show. It has frequently happened that cats have been made ill by the fright and confinement.
Cats and dogs sometimes take contagious diseases from each other, and if allowed to run at large they may carry the disease to children or to other pet animals. If our pets are ill they should not be turned out of doors, but should be kept by themselves in a comfortable, quiet room, taken good care of, and on no account should children be allowed to handle them. If we are ill with a contagious disease, our pets should not be allowed in the room with us.
[Illustration: "PLEASE GIVE ME SOME MORE!"]
To keep in good health, cats need to have access to fresh grass and clean water. They much enjoy being brushed with a brush that is not too stiff.
Remember that cats are delicate and easily injured about the head and should be handled carefully.
Agnes Repplier says: "Cats are extremely sensitive and dislike loud voices and bustling ways. They love repose, calmness, and grace."
There was once a cat that lived in a house in London. Her master owned a country home also, and twice a year pussy made the journey between the two houses. She always showed great interest and pleasure when the trunks were brought out and the packing cases were being filled.
She herself traveled in a comfortable basket with openings at the top, which had been bought expressly for her. Often her master lifted her out and held her in his lap for a while, so that the journey might not seem long to her.
One day, when the usual preparations were going on, pussy seemed very uneasy. She had a little baby kitten scarcely old enough to walk, and she was afraid the kitten would be left behind.
At last she spied a box half full of dresses.
"There!" thought Mrs. Pussy. "That is a fine place for my baby. I can hide it away under those dresses and it will be quite safe."
When the kitten was discovered, carefully tucked in among the silks and laces, you may be sure that a place was found for it in the cat's basket.
In a monastery in France lived a cat who always came to dinner when the big bell rang to call the monks. One day she happened to be shut up in a room alone when the bell rang, and the poor kitty had no dinner.
[Illustration: DRIVEN OUT By M Stocks]
As soon as she was set free she ran to look for her plate, but none was there. Presently the monastery bell was heard, and when the monks came to see what could be the matter, there was the cat hanging upon the bell rope, ringing for her dinner.
Another story is told, in the Popular Science Monthly, of a cat who knew the name of each member of the household. If she was asked about an absent one, she would look at his vacant seat and then at the speaker. If told to fetch him she would run upstairs to his room, take the handle of the door between her paws, mew at the keyhole, and wait to be let in.
A cat will often become especially attached to one member of a family. Dr. Gordon Stables, who has written a book about cats, tells a story of a cat named Muffle that belonged to him when he was a boy. She was so fond of him that when he went away to school she left the house and went into the woods to live. The boy came home frequently, and whenever he did so she came back to welcome him. Dr. Stables also tells a story of a cat who knew the footsteps of every member of the family, and before any one else could hear a sound she would hasten to the door. She also knew if a stranger knocked at the door, and would give a low growl.
A remarkable story is told in a French scientific paper. There was a certain cat named Cadi who lived in Roumania. The winter of 1880 was very cold, and her master, to save his fuel, often went without a fire.
One day Cadi mewed and mewed until her master followed her. She led him straight to the coal-box, on which she sat until he had filled a hod with coal. Then she led him to the wood-box, and finally back to his own cold room.
While the fire was being made Cadi rubbed against her master's knees with many caresses, and when at last it began to burn bright, she stretched herself before it, contented and happy.
A mother cat will go through fire and water to save her kittens, and she will fight most bravely to protect them. One poor cat, finding that she could not save her baby from the flames of a burning building, went back to die beside it, rather than escape alone.
[Illustration: FRIENDS.]
A BRAVE GIRL. [Footnote: Published by Ticknor & Fields, 1867.]
A little girl was once coming home from school across Boston Common, when she saw a party of noisy boys and dogs tormenting a poor kitten by the side of the frog pond. The little wretches would throw it into the water, and then laugh at its vain and frightened efforts to paddle out, while the dogs added to its fright by their ferocious barking. Belle was a bright-eyed, spirited little girl, and her whole soul was roused in indignation; she dashed in among the throng of boys and dogs, and rescued the poor half-drowned little animal. The boys, ashamed, slunk away, and little Belle held the poor, cold, shivering little creature, considering what to do for it. It was half dead already, and she knew that at home there was no room for another pet, for both cat and kitten never were wanting in their family. "Poor kitty!" she said, "you must die, but I will see that you are not tormented;" and she knelt bravely down and held the little thing under water, with the tears running down her own cheeks, till all its earthly sorrows were over, and the little cat was beyond the reach of dog or boy.
This was real, brave humanity. Many people call themselves tender- hearted, because they are unwilling to have a litter of kittens killed, and so they go and throw them over fences, and comfort themselves with the reflection that they will do well enough. What becomes of the poor little defenseless things? In nine cases out of ten they live a hunted, miserable life, crying from hunger, shivering with cold, harassed by cruel dogs, and tortured to make sport for brutal boys. How much kinder and more really humane to take upon ourselves the momentary suffering of causing the death of an animal than to turn our backs and leave it to drag out a life of torture and misery! HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
AUNT ESTHER'S RULE. [Footnote: Published by Ticknor & Fields, 1867]
One of Aunt Esther's rules for the care of animals was "Never frighten an animal for sport." I remember that I had a little white kitten, of which I was very fond, and one day I was amusing myself with making her walk up and down the key-board of the piano, and laughing to see her fright at the strange noises which came up under her feet. It never occurred to me that there was any cruelty in it, till Aunt Esther said to me: "My dear, you must never frighten an animal. I have suffered enough from fear to know that there is no suffering more dreadful; and a helpless animal, that cannot speak to tell its fright, and cannot understand an explanation of what alarms it, ought to move your pity." HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
[Illustration: THE LION AT HOME From a Painting by Rosa Bonheur]
A large lion was once to be seen in a cage in London. He was so big and fierce that many persons came to have a peep at him.
One day his keeper opened the cage door and put in a little black dog. Everybody wondered what the lion would do. As for the little dog, his heart beat fast with fright and he cowered against the side of the cage.
The lion looked down at the small, shrinking form, but he did not growl or roar. Perhaps he was lonely and glad to have a companion. In some way he must have told the dog that he need not be afraid, for presently the little fellow put out his tongue and lapped his huge friend on the lips.
After that they were very good friends, and the lion often allowed the little dog to tease him and pull his mane. When they were fed, the lion stood back like a true gentleman, and let the dog have his dinner first. He seemed to know that because he was so strong, he must be gentle to the weak and helpless.
Gerard, the great lion-tamer, once brought home from Africa a baby lion.He named it Hubert and for a time it was his pet and playmate.
When it grew large, Gerard sent it to Paris. The next year he went to France and visited his pet. The lion was in a cage, and when he saw his master, he began to quiver with excitement.
Gerard put his hand between the bars, and Hubert snuffed it eagerly.
"Hubert!" said the lion-tamer. "My old soldier!"
With a furious bound the lion sprang upon the bars. He stood close against the grating and filled the building with his roars of joy. His enormous tongue scraped his master's hand, while with his paws he vainly tried to caress him.
After a time he grew more quiet, but whenever Gerard turned to leave him, there were the same heart-breaking moans and roars.
Daily, Gerard spent hours in the same cage with his pet, and the two were very happy together.
Several years ago a lion and a lioness were in the menagerie at Paris. Their keeper, Mr. Felix, was taken ill one day, and could no longer attend to them. The duty of feeding them and keeping the cage clean fell upon a stranger to whom both lion and lioness took a strong dislike. The lion would sit, for hours, at the end of his cage, with bristling mane and flaming eyes. He refused all food from the hands of the new keeper and roared at him so furiously that no one dared to go near the cage.
Days went on and it was evident that something must be done or the lion would become seriously ill. Fortunately, Mr. Felix was getting well, and one morning, intending to surprise the lions, he crept softly to the cage and showed his face between the bars. In an instant the lion sprang forward, patting the man's arm with his great paws and showing the greatest delight. The lioness also ran to him, but the lion drove her back and seemed unwilling that Felix should show her any favor. Fearing that they might quarrel, the keeper entered the cage and caressed them by turns. The huge beasts obeyed him promptly as if eager to show how much they loved him, and peace and quiet were thus restored.
Rosa Bonheur, whose pictures of animals are among the most famous in the world, loved the wild creatures that she painted. At one time she had for a model a fierce lion named Nero who, after a while, had to be taken away to Paris.
The day came when he was to go. The horses that were to draw the great beast's cage to the city shivered with dread at the odor of the flesh- eater. Nero was quiet, but he looked sadly at his mistress, and his gold-yellow eyes seemed full of reproach.
[Illustration: ROSA BONHEUR.]
Months later the artist went to see him in one of the gardens of Paris.He was blind and dying.
"Oh, my poor Nero!" she said. "What have they done to you?"
The lion lifted up his huge head, and listened for a moment. Then, slowly and with pain, he crawled close to the bars of his cage, where she could stroke him. About the artist and her pet there were only rough men and women and boys of the city streets, but every man's hat came off, and there was not a dry eye in the crowd.
Rosa Bonheur did not confine her tenderness to dumb animals. In her prosperity she was kind to many poor artists who were working under hard and discouraging conditions. For years before her death she lived in a village on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau, and here she brought the wild animals, the tame pets and the human friends whom she loved, to share her cheerful, happy life.
Those who enjoy going to the circus or menagerie or to any show of wild animals ought to consider how they would like to be shut up as prisoners all their lives, and forced to do unnatural tricks. Some animal trainers try to make the public believe that tricks are taught by kindness and that the animals are comfortable and happy; but persons not in the business who have had an opportunity to watch trained animals behind the scenes say that there is a great deal of suffering among them. To all these questions we can apply the Golden Rule and deal with these creatures that are at men's mercy as we should wish to be dealt with if we were in their place.
[Illustration: THE KING OF BEASTS. From a Painting by Rosa Bonheur.]
I am a great lion, and one of the strongest animals in the world. I used to live far away in Africa, and when I roared, all who heard my voice were afraid.
I hunted to get food for myself and my little ones. I never killed for fun. It is only men who kill creatures and call it sport. Wild animals are not so savage as that.
You wonder that I am in this cage when I am so strong. I am afraid of men. They are wise and cruel. They made a trap and caught me. They have made these iron bars which are stronger than I am.
I have tried my best to get out. I am weary and homesick I need the wide plains, and the deep streams, and the fresh, sweet air of the forests.
Sometimes when I am asleep I dream of my old home. I forget the crowds who stare at me, and the smell of the sawdust, and the narrow, narrow cage. I think I am once again in the great, free, open country.
Then I spring up gladly, and there are only the iron bars and the low roof. I roar with pain and grief and my keeper comes to punish me with his sharp-pointed stick. When you see me in my cage, pity me, for I am very miserable.
[Illustration: THE SHIP OF THE DESERT]
The home of the camel is in Arabia. In that country there are many miles of sandy desert.
We use ships to carry goods and men across the sea; in Arabia the camel is used to carry goods and men across the sand. He carries heavy loads over the scorching deserts, and for this reason he is called the Ship of the Desert.
No horse or donkey could tread where the camel does. Their hoofs would sink in the loose, dry sand. But the foot of the camel is like a broad pad or cushion, and it spreads out as he puts it down, so that it neither slips nor sinks. It has also a very thick sole to protect it from the burning heat of the sand.
The camel is able to go for a long time without food or water. He can do this because he carries with him a supply of both. The hump on his back is a large lump of solid fat, which the camel is able, in some strange way, to use as food. He does not bite it or take it into his mouth, but it wastes away, and grows smaller and smaller, when he is making a long journey with little to eat. If the poor camel is starved, his back becomes quite flat.
The camel stores up a supply of water in his two stomachs, a part of which is lined with masses of cells. When the camel drinks, he fills these cells, keeping the water in them for future use so that he is not thirsty again for a long time.
The camel's sense of smell is very acute. It is said that he can detect water long before it is in sight.
When he is carrying a burden across the wild, barren places where no green thing grows, he is fed with a few dates, beans, or cakes. Sometimes he finds a dry, thorny plant to browse upon, but when other food is gone he must depend upon his hump.
In a caravan there are often thousands of camels. Without them, merchants could not send their goods across the desert, for no other animal could endure so long a journey under such conditions.
One day a workman, who was helping to build a new house, saw the driver of a large cart trying to back his horses into the yard. The cart was filled with a heavy load of wood, and though the two horses seemed to be patient and willing, they could move it but a little way. Then it would roll down upon their heels again.
The driver grew angry. He shouted at the horses and gave them cruel cuts with his whip. The horses stopped pushing and began to kick, without moving the cart at all.
By this time the workman had come up to the horses.
"Get down a minute," said he to the driver, "and let me see what I can do."
He went first to one horse and then to the other, stroking their necks and speaking kindly to them. Then he lifted off several heavy timbers and laid them on the ground. Finally he took from his dinner-pail a big red apple, which he cut in two, giving half to each horse.
When the horses had eaten the apple, the man mounted the cart and took up the reins.
"Come, now!" he said cheerily, giving the reins a little shake. "I am sure you can do it if you try once more. Now, then, there you go!"
The horses took new courage, and with all their might bent to their work. With a vigorous push and a great rattle of stones the cart went up into its place.
"It isn't easy to work when you are being scolded." said the workman, handing over the reins to the driver of the pair. "Try my way the next time. It pays."
The horse has been known as man's companion and helper from the earliest times. In Greek mythology horses play a very important part, as every one knows who has read the stories of Arion and the winged horse Pegasus. The most famous horse in history probably was Bucephalus (Bull Head), who belonged to Alexander the Great. Alexander was the son of Philip, king of Macedonia.
When the boy was about thirteen years of age, there was offered for sale to his father a superb white horse with a black mark, like a bull's head, on his forehead. His price was twenty thousand dollars. He was brought before the king, but no one was able to mount him. Philip was angry and was about to send the horse away when Alexander begged to be allowed to try.
He went up quietly to Bucephalus and stroked him for a few minutes with a steady, careful hand. As he did so he noticed that the horse was afraid of his own shadow dancing on the grass before him.
Turning the frightened animal with his face to the sun, the boy leaped lightly on his back, and using every means to soothe him, soon brought him under complete control.
Bucephalus became Alexander's constant companion. The horse was once taken prisoner by the barbarians against whom Alexander was fighting, but the concern shown by the great soldier was so serious that his favorite was promptly restored to him.
[Illustration: A NORMAN SIRE. By Rosa Bonheur.]
This famous horse died when he was thirty years old from wounds received on the field of battle. Alexander mourned his death as that of a dear friend and built a city as a monument to his memory.
Swift and Spurred On were horses that belonged to two Roman emperors. These horses were fed on almonds and raisins; they had ivory mangers and marble stalls; and one of them drank wine out of a golden pail. But I am sure they were too sensible to like such a life and would have preferred a handful of fresh grass and a drink of cold water.
There are many other horses whose names are known in history. There was Copenhagen, the Duke of Wellington's favorite charger, that carried him for ten hours through the battle of Waterloo. Copenhagen lived to a peaceful and honored old age, but he had a fancy for sponge cake and chocolate creams, and he died at last from eating too many sweets.
Then there was Roan Barbary, Richard the Second's favorite, and Agnes, who carried Mary, Queen of Scots. Washington's big white horse, whose picture you have often seen, was carefully tended and cherished as long as he lived.
In art the horse is the emblem of courage and generosity, and as we know him to-day he is not lacking in these noble traits.
It is quite safe to say that of all animals the horse best repays kind treatment. The better you treat him, the better horse he is, and the more work he can do.
Yet no animal is more frequently abused and neglected than the horse. He is left standing in the cold without a blanket or only partly covered; he is whipped by angry drivers; he is ill fed; and he is kept in a dark, close stable for days at a time.
A horse is often brave in facing a danger which he understands. He can be trained to go into dangerous places without shrinking. But it is well to remember that a horse learns only by seeing and smelling, and that a new sight which he does not understand will fill him with terror. He is steadfast before the danger he knows; he is timid as a deer before the danger he imagines.
It should be the business of any one having the care of a horse to let him examine everything that may frighten him. If a horse shies, lead him up gently to see and smell what he is afraid of. He may not dare to go near it the first time, but patience and kindness will teach him, while blows and angry words will only frighten him more.
A bit of paper blowing in the wind is enough to frighten many horses. Their eyes are not like ours, and often on coming out of a dark stable they are so blinded by the light that familiar things look strange to them. To pick up flying pieces of paper may prevent a serious accident.
[Illustration: THREE MEMBERS OF A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. By J. F. Herring.]
If a horse can be used without blinders, he will be more comfortable and can see better where he is going. He is not so likely to be frightened if he can see what is on each side of him.
Sometimes a horse will not cross water or bridges. It is of no use to whip him; he will only grow more frightened. The best plan is to wait until another horse comes along and goes over the bridge. Then the timid one sees that nothing dreadful happens, and he follows quietly.
A horse that is frightened in his stall will often refuse to be led out.If his harness is put on him, he rarely objects to following his master.
It is often difficult to get a horse out of a burning stable, but if a blanket or cloth is thrown over his head to cover his eyes, he can easily be led away from the fire.
In driving a horse, a poor driver often jerks and pulls the reins. This hardens the horse's mouth and makes it difficult to guide him properly. Horses learn very readily, and will soon obey their master's voice as quickly as the rein.
A horse should not be continually urged when he is doing his best. It only discourages him. He should have a chance to get his breath on reaching the top of a hill before he is started into a faster gait.
In hot weather flies are often a torture to a nervous horse. There are several good preparations for sale to rub on horses and cattle to keep off the flies. A fly net is also a great protection. A wet handkerchief, tied over the top of a horse's head, will sometimes prevent prostration from heat. In the south of France horses often wear hats in the summer, when they are in the hot sun. A wet sponge or a cabbage leaf is placed inside.
It is a mistake to think that a horse should not drink much water. If the body is over-heated it is always well to wait before drinking a great quantity of cold water, but while exercising, horses as well as men need to drink often.
Every time a horse has been out, his feet should be carefully lifted and brushed out. If a small stone gets fixed in the hollow part of the foot, it will soon make a horse lame. It is so simple and easy to take out the stones which a horse picks up in this way, that all boys and girls should learn how to do it, as soon as they are old enough.
The horse is very sensitive to the sound of the human voice. If the tone is loud and harsh he is frightened and irritated, while he is easily encouraged if it is quiet and friendly. Teamsters have a careless habit of shouting at their horses, which is unnecessary and unkind.
When a horse is balky see that the harness does not hurt him, and that the load is not too heavy for him to draw. Then try some simple encouragement, such as a friendly pat or a lump of sugar.
Lastly, the over-check rein is the cause of intense pain. The use of this rein is so common that it is well to know how painful and dangerous it is. A horse needs to put his head and neck down in order to draw a load well. The over-check is the direct cause of several diseases, and a horse often becomes knee-sprung from its use.
[Illustration: NATURAL AND COMFORTABLE.]
It is sometimes said that a horse looks better with his head in the air. Does not the horse on the right look quite as well as the other? He certainly seems much more comfortable and happy.
[Illustration: STRAINED AND MISERABLE.]
A horse driven with an over-check rein is more likely to fall, as he cannot see what is before him, and when he does stumble, he cannot recover his footing quickly. He can no longer move freely and gracefully, and no doubt he wishes that his master would care more about his comfort and well-being. Such a horse looks awkward and ill at ease, and would surely protest for himself if he could.
[Illustration: MARE AND COLT. By C. Steffeck.]
With forehead star, and silver tail,And three white feet to match,The gay, half-broken, sorrel colt,Which one of us could catch?
"I can!" said Dick, "I'm good for that";He slowly shook his empty hat;"She'll think 'tis full of corn," said he;"Stand back, and she will come to me."Her head the shy, proud creature raisedAs 'mid the daisy flowers she grazed;Then down the hill, across the brook,Delaying oft, her way she took;Then changed her pace, and, moving quick,She hurried on, and came to Dick."Ha! ha!" he cried, "I've caught you, Beck":And put the halter round her neck.
But soon there came another day,And, eager for a ride,"I'll go and catch the colt again,I can," said Dick with pride.
So up the stony pasture lane,And up the hill he trudged again;And when he saw the colt, as slowHe shook his old hat to and fro,"She'll think 'tis full of corn," he thought,"And I shall have her quickly caught.Beck! Beck!" he called; and at the sound,The restless beauty looked around,Then made a quick, impatient turn,And galloped off among the fern.And when beneath a tree she stopped,And leisurely some clover cropped,Dick followed after, but in vain;His hand was just upon her mane,When off she flew, as flies the wind,And, panting, he pressed on behind.Down through the brake, the brook across,O'er bushes, thistles, mounds of moss,Round and around the place they passed,Till breathless, Dick sat down at last;Threw by, provoked, his empty hat,—"The colt," he said, "remembers that!There's always trouble from deceit,I'll never try again to cheat."MARIAN DOUGLASS.
Nearly half a century ago, an American, named John Rarey, made a name for himself by taming one of the most unruly horses in the world.
This horse was named Cruiser. He belonged to an English nobleman, and was a race-horse of fine blood. Unfortunately he had a bad temper. No groom dared to venture into his stall, and one day, when he had been put into a public stable, it became necessary to take off the roof of the building to get him out. After this he was practically left to himself for three years. His huge bit was loaded with chains, and on his head was a large muzzle, lined inside and out with iron. No wonder that his temper grew worse and worse. When any one came near him he screamed with hate and fury.
Mr. Rarey had already met with such success in taming horses in his owncountry, that it was decided to let him see what he could do withCruiser. "Kindness, fearlessness and patience will subdue him," said theAmerican; "I am not afraid to try."
When the time came for the trial, and Mr. Rarey threw open the door as if there were nothing to fear, Cruiser was too much astonished to move. Before he had made up his mind what he should do, the "kindness, fearlessness and patience" of Mr. Rarey were at work. One of Cruiser's fore-feet was gently strapped backward in such a way that he could neither run nor kick. By another strap on the off fore-foot it was possible to draw up the other leg, and presently to bring the powerful creature down upon his knees. All the time this was going on, Mr. Rarey spoke quietly and encouragingly to him, until at last Cruiser felt that he had met a master and a friend.
In three hours Cruiser's owner was able to mount him, and Mr. Rarey's fortune was made, for the horse was a distinguished individual, whose return to society was hailed with joy. Queen Victoria expressed her pleasure at Cruiser's improvement and frequently came to see him and caress him.
Cruiser became the property of his tamer, and went with Mr. Rarey through the principal countries of Europe. Everywhere throngs came to see him and his still more wonderful master.
"My mission," said Mr. Rarey, "is to teach men that kindness, patience and firmness must be used in the management of horses. They are taught by gentleness and not by harshness."
Rarey gave free lectures to cabmen and truck-drivers wherever he went, and the crowned heads of Europe were glad to share the privilege of hearing and seeing him. Horses that had been frightened and angered by ill-usage became, under his treatment, mild and easily governed. The amount of good he accomplished it is not easy to estimate. He died before he was forty years old, but the lesson he taught is not wholly forgotten. Just before his death he said: "If I could only get back once more to the old farm, and put my arms round my dear horses' necks, I believe I should get well."
Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling!On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.
Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty!And thou know'st my water-skin is free:Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,And my strength and safety lie in thee.
Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye:Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,—Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.
Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses,Prancing with their diamond-studded reins;They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetnessWhen they course with thee the desert plains!
We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!And the splendor of the Pashas there;What's their pomp and riches? why, I would notTake them for a handful of thy hair!BAYARD TAYLOR.
[Illustration: After a painting by Sir Edwin Landseer]
Though late the master's voice is heard above,And slowly lag his footsteps on the stair,No hint of weariness to him ascendsFrom those who uncomplaining wait him there.
If patience, faithfulness and perfect loveAre ranked as noble virtues everywhere,May we not claim for these three loyal friendsA right in such nobility to share?
One hot afternoon Robert was playing under the maple tree. He was tired of his wagon and his train of cars, and he looked about for something else to play with. "Come here, Prince!" he said to his dog. "Let me put my hat on your head and play that you are a little boy."
Prince was sleepy and tired. He did not feel like playing that he was a little boy. He shook his head until the hat fell off, and Robert struck him with a stick. Then the poor dog ran away.
Under the rose-bush was Snowball, the cat, having a good nap.
"Oh, Snowball!" said Robert, "I will give you a ride." And he tried to put her into the tiny wagon.
Snowball did not care to ride. She scratched Robert and ran off as fast as she could go.
"What a naughty cat!" said Robert angrily.
"What a naughty boy!" said Robert's mamma, who had been watching him from the porch. "It was unkind to disturb Prince and Snowball as you did. I think you must go and stay by yourself a little while."
Robert ran upstairs, shut his door very hard, and threw himself upon his bed.
It seemed to him that he had been there only a minute when he heard voices. He looked up and found himself in the garden again. Near him several dogs and cats were talking. To his surprise he understood what they said.
Prince was speaking. "I am tired of living here," he said. "My little master does not treat me very well. This morning he took me with him when he went on his bicycle. I was tired out and very hot and thirsty when we came home, but he would not take the trouble to fill my pan of water. I asked him plainly for a drink of water, but he laughed at me and said he was busy."
"I scratched him to-day," said Snowball. "Perhaps that may teach him not to hurt me so often. He lifts me by one paw, and yesterday he swung me about by the tail. I am sure he doesn't know how much he hurts me."
"You are a brave cat to dare to scratch him," said a sober little kitten. "We have a baby at our house, and of course I can't scratch a baby. She pulls my fur and puts her fingers in my eyes. The other children catch me when I run away, and give me back to her."
"That is very unfair," said a dog who was walking about. "You must excuse me for walking while I talk, but I have been chained so long that I am quite stiff. Of course I run away when the chain is taken off. Who wouldn't?"
"But you have enough to eat," said a thin cat who sat under the tree and who was looking up longingly at the birds. "No one gives me anything to eat until I cry for it. Then I am scolded for making such a noise. I should be glad to catch mice, if there were any to be found in our house."
"Still, you have a home," said a faint voice. "It is something to be thankful for, if you have a place to sleep."
All turned to see where the voice came from. A forlorn cat came out timidly from the currant bushes. It made Robert's heart ache to look at her.
"You had a good home a few weeks ago," said Prince, "though I must say I hardly knew you when you came up. Do have some of my dinner. I am not hungry myself."
"Thank you," said the newcomer gratefully. "Yes, I had a good home, and the children were kind to me. They have gone to the seashore now, and the house is shut up. They are not coming back for weeks. I don't believe I can live till then. I wish I were dead. I should be thankful if somebody would be kind enough to kill me."
Her voice died out in a wail of despair.
Robert's eyes were full of tears, and he began to sob. Then he heard his mother say:
"Why, my boy, what are you dreaming about? Wake up, dear. It is almost supper time, and papa is coming up the street."
"Oh, mother!" said Robert, "I have had such a bad dream! I am sure I shall never be cruel to poor Snowball again."
[Illustration: A FARM YARD]
When Robert was ten years old, he spent several weeks on a farm. He had always lived in the city, and he was eager to know something of country life.
The farmer, Mr. Spencer, promised to teach Robert all that he could about the animals on the farm. The boy had not been long in his new home before he ran to the barn. There were three cows in the barn and two horses. They looked very comfortable and happy.
"What wide stalls they have!" said Robert, "and I never saw a cow in a box stall before."
"Yes," said James, who was milking the cows, "all these stalls are wide enough for the cows and horses to lie down whenever they like. Do you see, too, that the animals face the barn, instead of staring at a blank wall all day?"
"It must be more fun to look into the barn than at a few boards," saidRobert, "but I never thought of it before."
"They like to watch what is going on," said James, "and they have better air than they would in a close stall."
"What delicious milk we had last night!" said Robert, stooping to rubClover's head, to her great delight.
"Our cows give good milk," said James. "Mr. Spencer makes his cows happy, and he finds that it pays. Only last week he sent off a boy because he made the cows run on the way to the pasture. You know that injures the cows and spoils the milk."
"Do they go to pasture every day?" asked Robert.
"Yes," said Mr. Spencer, who came into the barn just then. "They go every day in summer, unless there is a heavy rain. Some cows take cold easily, and should never be out in a long storm. In winter, when it is not too cold, they have an hour or two in the cow-yard at noon. The barn is warm, and they have a good bedding of straw. In a cold barn, cows should be blanketed in freezing weather."
"Do cows eat anything but hay and grass?" asked Robert.
"Oh, yes!" said Mr. Spencer. "Cows need a variety in their food, and plenty of water to drink. My cows eat corn-stalks, carrots, mangel- wurzels, and sometimes bran and corn-meal mixed."
"How sleek they look!" said Robert.
"James cards and brushes them every day, to keep them in good condition."
"They seem very friendly," Robert went on. "Clover is not at all afraid of me."
"They have never been frightened or hurt," said Mr. Spencer, "and they are affectionate creatures. Cows are often homesick in a new home with a strange master, and they grow to love those who are kind to them. I knew a little boy who tried to comfort a cow for the loss of her calf. She was very unhappy and the boy did all that he could to show how much he pitied her. Soon the cow would follow him about the place. When he went away she was lonely, and when he came back she greeted him with evident delight."
"Is it easy to milk a cow?" asked Robert. "It looks easy."
Mr. Spencer laughed. "It is not so simple as it looks," he said, "but James will teach you, if you like. My cows never kick, but if you ever try to milk a cow that kicks, you must be very gentle with her. I have heard that a cloth wrung out in cold water and laid over her loins will keep her quiet when other methods fail."
"I will try to remember that," said Robert.
"Cows, like most animals, are kind to one another," said Mr. Spencer, seeing that Robert was interested in the pretty creatures. "I was at work in the barnyard one day when two cows came up the road to the gate. They seemed to be looking for something.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF FRIENDS.]
"It was a hot, dusty day, and suddenly the thought came to me that they were looking for some water. I opened the gate, and they went at once to the trough by the pump. When I had filled the trough they drank as if they were nearly choked with thirst.
"As soon as they were satisfied they went away, but in less than an hour they came back again, bringing three other cows with them. During all the hot weather these cows came to me every day for water. When I found out who their owner was I told him the story.
"'I am ashamed to think that my cows had to go away from home to find water to drink,' he said. 'In future I will see that they have fresh water in their own pasture.'"
On his way back to the house Robert met Mrs. Spencer carrying a large tin dish full of something which looked like hasty pudding. She turned as she saw Robert, and said pleasantly, "Do you want to help me feed the chickens?"
"I should like it very much, thank you," said Robert, and he followed Mrs. Spencer down behind the barn, where he saw several little houses opening into small hen-yards enclosed with wire netting.
"Why do you have all these little houses besides your large hen-house?" asked Robert.
"These little yards give the hens a chance to move about and scratch for their chickens. The old slat-coops were not half so comfortable as these. It is better, too, that the little chickens should be kept by themselves. They need to be fed often, and they cannot eat what the older ones like. In this way each brood is kept with its mother."
"Will you let me feed them?" asked Robert.
[Illustration: HEN AND CHICKENS.]
"Yes," said Mrs. Spencer. "You may put a large spoonful into every yard. It is better to give them a little at a time; then the food does not stay on the ground and get dirty and sour."
"What is this I am giving them?" asked Robert as the chickens ran and clustered round the food. "They seem to like it."
"It is Indian meal, thoroughly scalded," said Mrs. Spencer. "Raw or slightly scalded meal is likely to do them harm."
"Isn't it fun to watch them!" said Robert. "What else do chickens eat?"
"They eat a variety of things. The first food I gave these little chicks was stale bread-crumbs wet in warm water, and I mixed with that the yolk of one hard-boiled egg. Oatmeal would have been just as good as the bread-crumbs. I always keep a dish of fresh water, too, in their yard."
"What nice little houses you have for them!"
"They are good little houses, tight enough to keep out the rain and draughts, for hens and chickens must be kept warm and dry. It is important, too, that their houses and yards and nests should be very clean."
"My uncle said it was too much trouble to keep hens, and he sold his because they did not lay many eggs," said Robert.
"It is a great mistake to think that we can keep animals of any kind without some trouble. The horse, the cow, the dog, the cat, the pigs and hens, all need patient, thoughtful attention.
"If they are to be well and happy, and do the work for us that we demand of them, we must feed them well and wisely, keep them clean, give them fresh water every day, and a comfortable place to sleep in.
"Unless we are willing to do this, we have no right to keep for our pleasure any living creature. It is selfish to expect them to do all they can for us, when we give them as little as we can in return."
While Mrs. Spencer was saying this, Robert had finished feeding the chickens, and he was sitting on the grass in front of one yard admiring a white hen with ten lovely white chickens. "I think these are the prettiest little chickens I ever saw," he said, "and their mother seems very proud of them. Is the mother hen always fond of her chickens?"
"Almost always," Mrs. Spencer replied, "but this white hen you admire so much is a queer creature. If her chickens are not all white, she will not own them.
"We found it out in a strange way. In her last brood all the chickens were white but one. She was not kind to this one when it was little, and as it grew older she seemed to like it less and less.
"One day James saw her drive it away when the other chickens were going to bed under her wings at night, but he thought she would let it in to its shelter when the chickens she liked best were safe. The next morning when James went out to milk the cows, he had a great surprise.
"A half-grown kitten, which had come to us, was waiting to go into the barn with him and get the breakfast which James always gave it when he had milked. In company with this kitten was the poor little chicken that had been driven away by the hen."
"That was very strange!" said Robert.
"We thought so," answered Mrs. Spencer. "After this the kitten and the chicken became fast friends. They ate together, and slept together in the barn, and seemed very fond of each other."
"Did you ever know of another cat that was friendly with a hen or a chicken?" asked Robert.
"Yes. I remember that a cat which had been deserted, and had grown very wild, made friends with our hens. He often used to be seen feeding with them in the barnyard."
"I wonder the hens were not afraid of him."
"They seemed really to pity him and never tried to drive him away. At first, and for a long time, the cat was so wild he would not let any of the family come near him. I think he had been ill-treated. At last he learned that we were his friends, and he became very fond of us. We kept him until he died of old age."
"That speckled hen with eleven chickens looks gentle," said Robert.
"She is brave, too," said Mrs. Spencer. "Last summer, when she was roaming about with a brood of chickens, a large dog came into the yard through the gate, which happened to be open.
"The brave mother hen flew at him and came down on his back. She clung to him and pecked him with her sharp bill, until he ran howling out of the yard with the hen on his back."
"How far did she go with him?"
"She flew off as soon as he was fairly out of the yard and came clucking back to her chickens, her feathers all bristled up, as proud a hen as I ever saw. She is very fond of me. Just see this!"
Mrs. Spencer opened the door of the little house and called the speckled hen, who ran out clucking and calling her chickens after her. The whole brood crowded themselves into Mrs. Spencer's lap, as she sat on the grass beside the house.
Robert laughed merrily. "That is the funniest thing I ever saw a hen do!"
"I never before had one that would get into my lap," said Mrs. Spencer, "though my hens often eat out of my hand."
"I thought hens were too stupid to care for any one," said Robert.
"I believe it is possible to win the affection of any creature we have under our care," said Mrs. Spencer.
[Illustration: A HAPPY FAMILY.]
"Do you give meat to the hens?" asked Robert.
"They do not need meat in summer," said Mrs. Spencer, "because they catch bugs and grasshoppers. In the winter, if it seems to be necessary, it is possible to buy animal food that is prepared for the purpose.
"I give them potato peelings, or small potatoes mixed with some kind of meal, and in winter I always warm their food before I give it to them. A very good supper is whole grain, but in the morning it is better to give them soft food.
"They must have lime in some shape to form the eggshells. I give my hens burnt oyster shells, pounded fine, or clam shells. All the year they need some kind of green food; if they do not have this they are very likely to be sick."
"What do you mean by giving them green food?" asked Robert. "You cannot get grass in winter."
"That is true," said Mrs. Spencer, "but you can give them cabbage, which they like very much, or cooked vegetables. In the spring and summer they will enjoy the fresh clover. When they are allowed to have free range, they eat grasshoppers and crickets and do not need meat.
"All fowls must have some kind of grit with their grain food. Crushed stone, which can be bought, will supply this need. Fowls must have clean straw for their nests, and dry earth and plaster or lime must be put on the floor of the hen-house under the roosts. It is important also to sprinkle dry sulphur in the nests once in a while, to keep insects away.
"They like dry earth for their dust bath. Did you ever see a hen lying down in the dust, and throwing it all over herself? She enjoys this just as much as you enjoy going into the salt water, and she needs it as much as you need your bath."
"I should think a hen would find it hard to know her own chickens."
"Oh, no! The youngest chicken knows the voice of its mother, and the mother can tell the difference between the cry of her chickens and the voices of those which do not belong to her.
"It is interesting, also, to watch the rooster care for the hens. When he finds something particularly good, he calls them all around him, and often he will not eat a morsel until he sees that they are satisfied.
"Of course there are greedy roosters sometimes, as well as greedy boys and girls, but usually the rooster is good to the hens.
"Some thoughtless farmers carry live fowls with their heads hanging down. This is very cruel. Think how you would like being carried in that way. It is cruel also to crowd them into little hampers when they have to be carried to market.
"Fowls cannot be healthy if kept on the same ground year after year, for the earth becomes poisoned. They should be moved to new ground every year, and the soil occupied the year before used to grow grain, grass, and vegetables; then the fowls could be returned. Unless a movable coop is used it is a good plan to move the yard from one side of the hen- house to the other. If the fowls are diseased either through being kept on poisoned ground or as a result of crowding in taking them to market, their flesh cannot be wholesome for food.
"Fowls are sensitive, timid creatures, and should be treated with kindness. If one cannot take good care of them, it is far better to give up keeping hens and chickens."
"Can I help you about anything this morning?" asked Robert of James, as he strolled out into the barnyard after breakfast.
"I am going to feed the pigs," said James. "You may go with me if you like."
Robert did not seem very much pleased with this invitation, and, asJames looked surprised, he said:
"I do not like pigs, they are so dirty. Besides, they are always squealing, and they live in such a disagreeable place under the barn."
James smiled. "Come with me and see our pigs," he said; "perhaps you will like them better than you think."
James had a large wheelbarrow with him, and on the way he stopped in a fine field of clover and cut enough of it to fill the wheelbarrow to the very top. Robert helped him pile up the clover, and he would have liked to wheel the barrow, but it was too heavy for him.
They passed on into another field where Robert saw a row of little houses. Each little house had a yard inclosed by a board fence, which was not too high for Robert to look over.
In the first yard was a fine, large sow and six clean little pigs, four of them white, and the other two black and white. They were frisking around their mother and playing almost as prettily as young puppies. There was space enough in the yard to give them plenty of room for their frolic.
Robert was so delighted with them that he wanted to feed them, and James let him put an armful of the sweet clover into the yard. "I have fed them once this morning," said James. "They had their regular breakfast before I had mine, which was very early."
Robert went on to the next yard where a large hog was lying contentedly in the sun. He gave a cheerful grunt as if to say "thank you," when James threw some clover over the fence.
"Here, old fellow, are some acorns!" said James, as he took a handful from his pocket and flung them over into the clover pile. "That's right. Hunt them up!"
Robert laughed to see what a good time the hog was having. As he went on he saw that all the yards were clean and so were the pigs. There was a trough of fresh water in each yard, and another trough for the food.
"I thought all pigs were dirty," said Robert.
"No, indeed!" said James. "They like to be clean and to have room to run about. They need to root in the earth and roll in the mud, but they prefer clean earth and clean mud to the filthy stuff they often get."
"There's a great difference in mud," said Robert, in such a wise way that James laughed. "Pigs like sunshine, too," said he, "and when you have seen me give them a bath you will never say again that they like to be dirty. We wash them and brush them with a stiff brush, and they think it great fun."
"Do they eat anything but scraps from the kitchen?" was Robert's next question.
"Of course," said James. "They have milk, beets, potatoes, a little grain, with plenty of hay, and green or dry clover. I don't give them much corn because it makes them too fat. In those small troughs I keep a mixture of clay, salt, ashes, and charcoal so that the pigs can reach it easily. In winter I always warm their food for them and take great pains to keep their bedding warm and dry. I am not allowed to give them any food which isn't sweet and fresh. If I were careless about it I should lose my place directly. Mr. Spencer made me understand that when I came. He said that a dirty pig-pen was a disgrace to a farmer and a danger to the neighborhood."
"These pigs look as if they knew you," said Robert. "Do you think they do?"
"I know they do," said James. "They are as bright as any of the other animals I take care of. Don't you know the old Welsh saying, 'Happy is the man who is as wise as a pig'? When they are stupid it is because they have been ill-treated. If we lived in a dark, damp hole under a barn we might look a little dull, sometimes. Don't you think so, Robert?"