This American magazine (Battle Creek, MI) began publication in 1891.
The September, 1925, issue led off with an article on canine intelligence, "Yes, Some Dogs Think, I'm Sure" by J. T. Fitzgerald, part of a series on dog intellect which Dog Fancier was running. The author offers as evidence the apparent protective instinct of a Newfoundland who was his childhood companion. The article featured three small illustrations:
Do dogs think? We fellows who are only laymen, as far as dogs are concerned, and who know them for just what they appear to be on the surface, may all say, with one accord, that dogs do think. We may feel that we have every just reason to say that they do think, but I am aware of the pitfalls into which the layman may easily stumble when he undertakes a discussion such as this. The scientist may come al ong his backing of facts, figures, comparisons and theories. He may submerge our humble argument in a sea of scholarly debate. However, the fact remains that, notwithstanding science and theory, we may always continue to think as we choose. It is our special priviledge to harbor our own opinions just as we see fit.
All my life, or the greater part of it, at least, has been spent around homes which possessed does. It seems to me that I have emanated from infancy to early childhood in close communion with my "doggy" friends Mv earliest recollections center around a huge Newfoundlar named Captain, and that companionship lackeu ironing 10 mar Its perfection. Captain possessed the traits and characteristics of the average Newfoundland, and those who are familiar with the breed need 110 superfluous details by way of explanation.
My father's business took him away from home traveling for days, sometimes weeks, and as I was an only child, my mother and I were left more or less at the mercy of fate, as I see it now. We thought nothing of possible danger at the time, but as I look back over thirty years, I realize that there were greater numbers of strange pedlers and tramps In those days than there are at the present time. They came our way in fairly constant numbers and, although nothing serious ever happened, it is to be wondered at that nothing did happen. They came with packs, with hand-organs and monkeys, with bears and every conceivable contrivance to help them get a hearing.
One of the earliest things about Captain which I can remember is that he had a nice bed, warm and cosy, in the woodshed woodshed at the back of the house. Why, I even remember stea1ing in there with him to curl up against his soft coat, a fact not known to my folks, of course. I can see that large old box yet, and Captain turning around and around, to my childish wonder, until he saw fit to lie down. He was not a house dog in any sense of the word, and it was always to no avail that I tried to fulfil my great childish desire to get him into the house. On the coldest days in winter, it was his wont to lie at the kitchen door, and even in the wildest snowstorms, he would lie there until he was nothing but a part of the drifts that formed over him, leaving only his two soft, kindly eyes showing in the snow. At night, he returned invariably to his big box in the woodshed and was never known to sleep in any other place except in rare circumstances.
We observed on one occasion that he showed intentions of sleeping under our bedroom window, and my mother wondered if Captain's unusual actions were Influenced by father's absence. Father had gone away that day and yet mother could not bring herself to believe that such was the case. On the following night, despite a heavy snowfall, Captain slept under the bedroom window again, and returned to this place every night until father came home. The strangeness of the good old St. Bernard's actions meant but little to me then, because I was too young to appreciate it, but it caused mother to do a bit of thinking and wondering. When my father returned, and when Captain sought his own quarters In the shed, mother was not yet thoroughly satisfied in her mind regarding the matter. She reasoned that the big dog broke his custom of sleeping in his box, perhaps, through some doggy whime, and that it might be a mere coincidence and have no connection with her husband's coming and going.
He remained contentedly in his own warm bed each night until father went away again. Back he came to the window. Here he slept on guard in the cold and refused to spend the night elsewhere while father was not on the premises. When my father's shadow again crossed the threshold, Captain went back to his box, and we were convinced by this time that he had voluntarily assumed our guardianship. This continued for the rest of Captain's days, and never once did he fail to take his place at the window immediately after my father's departure. Never once did he fail to go back to his bed at the time of my father's return home.
In the days of my youth and manhood, the thought of this faithful dog has often filled my mind. Was he merely some phantasy of mind which had come from the dreams of childhood or was he really a thinking dog that had actually reasoned a question out for himself? I questioned myself upon the matter more than once and have my mother to verify the strange events which certainly took place. I have had mother's assurance that Captain must have been capable of reasoning. There is no mistake about it, whether you call it thinking of by any other term which the dictionary may offer as a synonym.
Since those distant days, I have not owned any other Newfoundland hut have had many dogs of other breeds. Today I have an Alsatian Shepherd, which is a chum and companion of remarkable understanding, but he has not shown the same reasoning powers which old Captain possessed back at the home of my baby days. My Shepherd manifests a more marked instinct of personal protection and guardianship when strangers are about, but I feel that in Captain's case, it was downright thinking, just plain thinking, and nothing else. (7, 62)
