In defence of dogs
Daniel Farson
Dogs are the latest victims of our national hypochondria. All of a sudden, after years of amiable friendship, they are declared a menace. The campaign against them, for this is what it amounts to, is made in the public interests of safety and hygiene, so it seems official and worthy. The main objection is that dogs go about theirbusiness, to use one of those awful euphemisms, but what on earth did they do before? Talking of earth, they are accused of pouring 'a million gallons of urine' into it daily. At least that was the estimate by a science correspondent in 1974, but there is inflation in all things and a lady reporter announced on television a few days ago that it is one and a half million gallons now. Still, a nice round figure. What I long to know is, who measures it and how? What a wretched job.
'They' estimate also that dogs deposit 'on our footpaths and open spaces 600 tons of faeces' every day. Few would deny that this can be messy and unpleasant. It always has been, though more natural than the poisoned waste we empty into our rivers and coasts. But now there is something new—an eye disease so obscure that most opticians are unaware of it. However, it is nasty when it does occur and as children are involved it is an emotive subject, though 1 dare to suggest it is not as prevalent as people would have us believe. The danger lies in children sticking their fingers into a dog's mess and licking them, a pastime that parents should discourage regardless of any infection. Then a virus can enter the bloodstream and damage the child's eyesight. A lady columnist has the solution—'ban dogs from the majority of our beaches.' To make doubly sure we could ban the toddlers too; after all, they might drown or get sand in their eyes. I am not being serious but I suspect she is. So is the inevitable television doctor who advises parents not to let children 'cuddle' their pet dogs. That most delightful and innocent of friendships—a boy and his puppy—is sullied.
People will have the sense to disregard all this, or will they ?Joining in the general scare, a woman writes to a newspaper about her young daughter: 'since 1 became a parent 1 have come to dislike dogs intensely'. After listing various objections, she concludes: 'Most of all I object to her being in constant danger of attack.' Attack! It is an alarming image: poodles on the prowl, Jack Russells on the rampage.
Presumably the bogey of rabies is responsible. Nobody wants rabies. It is vile and dangerous. But I bet that more people in this country have been and will be killed by bumble-bees than by a rabid dog. Death from rabies is virtually unknown in this
country, unless it is contracted abroad, and even in France, which is supposed to be overrun, there has not been a human death from rabies for eight years. The Pasteur Institute has made the civilised comment that flu is more dangerous to the people of Western Europe and you are more likely to catch a disease from your best friend; human, that is.
With typical selfishness we are concerned about ourselves, which is why we are so agitated. The real threat is to wild life in general. Dogs are not the only carriers and it would be a tragedy if the disease endangered the wild animals and the balance of our countryside. Massive fines, stringent controls, are totally justified. But why fix this panic label on dogs that are perfectly healthy and harmless? Ah, but what about stray dogs? It is one of the saddest of human vanities that people buy a puppy for Christmas and abandon it afterwards. But that is our liability. A stray can cause an accident, admittedly, but cars kill people too, and no one suggests destroying them.
It is time to speak up in defence of dogs. 'We are alone, absolutely alone, on this chance planet,' wrote Maeterlinck, 'and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us.' Not only is he 'man's best friend', to quote that rather tiresome phrase, he is man's only friend. His loyalty is greater than man's. Recently, when his master collapsed and died on the pavement, an alsatian dog remained by his body protecting it so fiercely that no one dared approach. So what did they do? They shot the dog. They did not even wait for some form of tranquilliser.
In 1972 a young German was told by his landlord that he was not allowed to keep 'Barry', also an alsatian, in his flat, in spite of five years' companionship. Barry was sold to an Italian who took him back to his home in southern Italy. Within days Barry escaped and travelled 1,200 miles from the toe of Italy until, by some incredible instinct, he arrived at his home in the Ruhr fifteen months later on Christmas Eve 1973, pawsore but reunited. Whose loyalty was the greater ? At least there was no betrayal this time when the landlord reinforced his rule: 'We'd rather move than let him go again', said the German, 'we could never repay his loyalty with such cruelty.'
In Edinburgh they have a memorial to Greyfriars Bobby, a rough little terrier. He belonged to a Midlothian farmer called Gray, and when they came to the city, every market day, they lunched at a modest restaurant called Traill's and Bobby was treated to a bun. Gray died in 1858 and was
buried in Greyfriars Churchyard. Three days later, Mr Traill was surprised to see Bobby enter the dining-room, woebegone and hungry in contrast to the once loved dog. He gave him the customary bun and Bobby ran off with it. After several such visits Traill followed the dog and saw him devouring the bun on his master's grave. Neighbours tried to help and took Bobby to their homes, but he escaped every time and returned to his graveyard vigil. That was the only home he was prepared to accept. 'Dog.s• not Admitted' said the sign on the gate, but he was made the exception and when he crouched under a tombstone in the worst moments of winter, they built him a small shelter near the grave. He lived for a further fourteen years and was buried in the same churchyard as his master, and surely this is what he had wished. Bobby was supremely faithful, but he was not unique. As for the cleverness of dogs, Bernard Levin, who may well become the first President of the Anti-Dog League, received a nice slap-down when he dared to question it in his essay 'Beware of the Dog', last year. David McGill pointed out that he ought 'to have strengthened his argument by mentioning guide cats for the blind, guard-cats, sheep cats, gun cats, drug-sniffing cats, avalanche rescue cats, even the cat teams In the Arctic.' But, of course, Mr Levin was merely being pus(s)illanimous in preferring cats. More seriously, a man who lost hIs sight after a car crash told me that the arrival of his guide dog, a gentle beige labrador named •Archie, had changed his life—`at last 1 was independent'. After sorne practice runs, he was able to tell his dog where to go—the 'office' or the 'pub'—and they would leave together without having to rely on a member of his family as before. All seeing-eye dogs are retired at the age of ten. but there is no question of returning him to the training college: 'Archie will have given me the best years of his life and will end his days being looked after himself, at home.. But the greatest usefulness of the dog lies simply in his companionship. I am not just thinking of elderly people on their own, though a dog makes a special difference to them and they will be hurt the most if the licence fee is vastly increased as threatened. Anyone who possesses a dog is enhanced bY the dog's generosity—his solace and capacity for fun. The person who claimed that a dog is unable to smile can never have smiled himself. Just a substitute? No, a vital add" tion. A family with children is as incomPlete without the foolish gaiety of a puppy as;lt would be without the wise compassion of 3 grandparent. Are we becoming so coddled that We would prefer to curb this relationship rattler than run any risk ? If someone dies frog; rabies—even, dare I say it, if a child shook' damage the sight of an eye—should such a tragedy negate all the incalculable hapPlness, derived from owning a dog? The presen` scare is a pathetic symptom of the urge. t° protect ourselves at all costs. We are placing life out of perspective.
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