[ Youatt / The Obligation and Extent of Humanity to Brutes ]
William Youatt (1776 - 1847) was an English veterinarian and animal researcher with a particular interest in animal diseases as well as in the humane treatment of animals (a revolutionary idea at the time). He mentions Newfoundlands in several of his works, all of which are treated here at The Cultured Newf.
This work was first published in 1839 (London: Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longman); it was not reprinted again until an excellent modern edition, edited by Prof. Rod Preece, was published in 2003. An online facsimile of the 1839 edition is available at the Hathi Trust.
This is a philosophical and moral work by Youatt arguing for the humane care of domesticated animals. Some of Youatt's accounts of late 18th and early 19th Century "training" methods and "routine" treatment of animals are deeply disturbing, revealing not only a very different ethic as regards our understanding of animals but also the persistence of practices based on a primitive state of veterinary knowledge. Youatt, for example, points out the absurdity of the belief, still held and practiced in his time, that a particular tongue mutilation often performed on dogs would prevent them from getting rabies. This volume has no illustrations.
The work specifically mentions Newfoundlands several times; the first incident involves a Newfoundland, named Carlo, once owned by Youatt:
My own experience furnishes me with an instance like the preceding ones, of the memory and the gratitude of the dog. I had, many years ago, a Newfoundland dog, as thoroughly attached to me as these faithful creatures generally are to those who use them well. It became inconvenient for me to keep him, and I gave him to one who I knew would be kind to him. Four years passed and I had not seen him, although I had often inquired about him: but one day I was walking towards Kingston, and had arrived at the brow of the hill where Jerry Abershaw's gibbet then stood, when I met Carlo and the master to whom I had consigned him. He recollected me in a moment, and we made much of each other. His master, after a little chat, proceeded towards Wandsworth, and Carlo, as in duty bound, followed him. I had not, however, got more than halfway down the hill when he was at my side, lowly but deeply growling, and every hair bristling. I looked to the right, and there were two ill-looking fellows making their way through the bushes which then occupied the angular space between the Roehampton and Wandsworth roads. Their intention was scarcely questionable, and indeed, a week or two before I had narrowly escaped from two miscreants like them.
I can scarcely say what I felt; for presently one of the scoundrels emerged from the bushes not twenty yards from me; but he no sooner saw my companion, and heard his growling, the loudness and depth of which were fearfully increasing, than he retreated, and I saw no more of him or his associate. My gallant defender accompanied me to the direction post at the bottom of the hill, and there, with many a mutual and honest greeting, we parted, and he bounded away to overtake his rightful owner. We never met again; but I need not say that I often thought of him with admiration and gratitude. (45 - 46)
. . . .
The brutes, then, are evidently possessed of attention, and memory, and association, and imagination. The difference between the biped and his quadruped slave is in degree, and not in kind. Then how stands the account as the result of these preparatives for the exercise of the reasoning principle? By means of one of the senses an impression is made on the mind - attention fixes it there - memory frequently recurs to it - association and imagination combine it rightly or erroneously with many another - and judgment determines the value of it and the conclusions which may be drawn. This is the process of animal reasoning. "Reason," says our great lexicographer, "is the power by which we deduce one proposition from another, or proceed from premises to consequences." I wanted one day to go through a tall iron gate, from one part of my premises to another; but, just within it, lay a poor lame puppy, and I could not get in without rolling the little fellow over, and perhaps seriously injuring him. I stood for awhile hesitating, and at length determined to go round, through another gate; when a fine Newfoundland dog, who had been waiting patiently for his wonted caresses, and wondering why I did not come in, looked accidentally down at the invalid. He comprehended the whole business in a moment; he put down his great paw; and as quickly and as gently as possible rolled the invalid out of the way, and then drew himself back in order to leave room for the opening of the gate.
Here was a plain and palpable act of reasoning. "Why does not my master come in as usual? This little fellow is in the way, and he cannot open the gate without disturbing him. I'll get rid of that;" and immediately he rolls the obstacle aside, but, with the characteristic noble feeling of his breed, he takes care not to hurt the invalid. "Now," he continues, "I must take myself out of the way, and then every obstacle will be removed." No philosopher ever reasoned more accurately than our beautiful Newfoundland dog. No one ever drew more legitimate consequences from certain existing premises.
Take another story of one of this noble breed, which I know to be founded on fact. A vessel was driven on the beach of Lydd, in Kent. The surf was rolling furiously. Eight poor fellows were crying for help, but not a boat could be got offto their assistance. At length a gentleman came on the beach accompanied by his Newfoundland dog He directed the attention of the animal to the vessel, and put a short stick into his mouth. The intelligent and courageous fellow at once understood his meaning, and sprung into the sea, and fought his way through the waves. He could not, however, get close enough to the vessel to deliver that with which he was charged; but the crew joyfully made fast a rope to another piece of wood and threw it towards him. He saw the whole business in an instant - he dropped his own piece, and immediately seized that which had been cast to him; and then with a degree of strength and determination almost incredible, he dragged it through the surge, and delivered it to his master. A line of communication was thus formed, and every man on board was rescued from a watery grave.
There is no breed of dogs to which the Newfoundland shall yield in intelligence and noble spirit, except him of Mount St. Bernard, and perhaps the Scotch colley or sheep dog. There is a record of
one of the Bernardine dogs who had saved the lives of forty individuals. When old age deprived him of his strength, the prior of the convent pensioned him at Berne. When he died, his skin was preserved and stuffed, and is one of the most interesting objects in the convent of Berne. (48 - 50)
. . . .
Mention has been made of the Scotch colley as ranking with the Bernardine and the Newfoundland dog in point of intelligence. (51)
. . . .
There is a nobleness of feeling of a similar nature in the Newfoundland dog, and in most of the larger species of dogs. Dr. Abell, in one of his lectures on phrenology, related a very striking anecdote of a Newfoundland dog in Cork. This dog was of a noble and generous disposition, and when he left his master's house was often assailed by several little noisy curs in the street. He usually passed them with apparent unconcern, as if they were beneath his notice. But one little brute was particularly troublesome, and at length carried his petulance so far as to bite the Newfoundland dog in the back of his leg. This was a degree of wanton insult which could not be patiently endured, and he instantly turned round, ran after the offender, and seized him by the poll. In this manner he carried him to the quay, and holding him for some time over the water, at length dropped him into it. He did not, however, design that the culprit should be capitally punished; he waited a little while until the offender was not only well ducked, but near sinking; and then he plunged in, and brought him out safe to land.
"It would be difficult," says the Doctor, "to conceive of any punishment more aptly contrived, or more completely in character. A variety of comparisons, and motives, and generous feelings, entered into the composition of this act."
There is, in those domesticated slaves which we have selected from the rest, apureness of detachment, a nobleness of disposition, and a total disregard of self-interest, which cannot fail, one would think, of endearing them to us, and protecting them from ill-usage of every kind. (86 - 87)