A Dog that knew the Hours.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 462, 12 April 1890, Page 3

A Dog that knew the Hours.

By Thomas W. Knox. (Copyrighted, 1889, by the Author.) Stories about dogs that know the days of the week are not at all uncommon. Here is one of them : On a farm in the Catskills a dog was employed to run the machine which propelled the churn. The work was nob to his liking and he was inclined to shirk it whenever he could. Wednesday was the regular ‘churning day,’ and one Wednesday morning a few weeks after Jack had been broken into business he could not be found. His disappearance was thought to be accidental, and, as the churning could not be postponed without deranging the plans of the household, it was performed without him. He did nob come until nightfall, and had evidently passed the day in the woods.

On the following Wednesday he was again missing, and again the work was performed without his aid. Nobody suspected him of playing truant to escape work, but when the third Wednesday came with Jack again invisible, his owners ‘caught on.’ The churning was postponed till the following day ; while Jack was at his breakfast on Thursday, the churn was put in readiness. When he was called and led in its direction his tail foil, and his countenance indicated his disgust-. After that the churning was performed at irregular intervals, and the dog’s absence on Wednesday, which was kept up for several weeks, did nob avail to excuse him.

Another story of this kind concerns two dogs that went to a meat market on Saturday night, when a kind-hearted butcher used to feed them upon meat that he could not keep over Sunday. Recently the writer heard of a dog in a town in Vermont that knew the hours, and seemed to be able to tell them by a gentleman living in a Western city, and I will endeavour to give it- in his own words.

‘ When I was a little fellow my sister and I went to school together, and were always accompanied by Nero, a large dog of the Newfoundland breed and as black as a coal. Nero considered himself responsible for us. He used to stick close to our sides, and if the meekest cow in the town happened to be passing along the road ho would growl and set up a great show of importance. He went to school with us in the morning and came for ns in the afternoon. The distance was about three-forbhs of a mile by the road, and about half as much across the fields. We went by the load on account of a swamp that intervened on the short route, but when Nero was alone ho took the most direct track, without regard to the swamp. * School was dismissed at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and as we came out of the schoolhouse we always saw Nero bounding across the fields and swamp, if he was l nob already at the door waiting for us.

Mother said he used to lie around the house or stand uneasily about until the clock—an old-fashioned affair with a very loud gong —chimed the hour of 4. At th 6 last stroke of that hour he was off like the wind.

‘ Sister and I used to go to the houses of the neighbours occasionally in the evening to meet other children of our own ages, and it was an inflexible rule that we must come home at 9 o’clock. Sometimes Nero came for us at that hour and sometimes he accompanied us ; in the former case he did not leave home until the clock struck 9, and a minute or two afterwards he would be barking at the door of the house where we were. If he went with us when we started he remained perfectly quiet until 9 o’clock and then indicated by his uneasiness and by gentle tugging at our garments that it was time to go home. It is proper to say that when the hour arrived we were already well under way with preparations for starting. ‘ On one occasion a “ job was put up ” on Nero with the connivance of the parents of all the children concerned. We were visiting one of the neighbours and it was arranged that when 9 o’clock came we should continue ramping and playing at a lively rate and make no preparations for going home. The scene was carried out and Nero was lying quietly in front of the fire when the clock struck the hour. He raised himself as the gong rang out the number of strokes ; then he stood up and looked at us, lay down for perhaps half a minute, rose again, and came up to where I was. I paid no attention to him, and he walked away after standing undecided for perhaps a quarter of a minute. Then he came back again, and, taking my sleeve gently between his teeth, intimated as plainly as possible that time for us to go home. Whether he could count or not we were never able to determine. My theory about his actions is that he had a good knowledge of the progress of time, as many animals have, and the sound of the clock was a signal to him, just as a conductor’s bell is to tha horse that draws a street-car.’