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“Ye’ll hae missed your dowg, I’m thinking? But ye needna’ fash; he’s waitin’ for ye doon by the Crooked Yett, wi’ a’ your yowes safe enough.”

It was useless after this. The wretched man gave in; he struggled no more, but actually went off with the sheep and sold them. And the gallows ended his career. But how the dog followed him is a mystery, and why he waited for him at the “Crooked Yett.” For miles he must have tracked him by the scent of the feet of the pony the shepherd rode. But he never came within sight of the farm-house, and how did he know to wait at the gate?

Instances of depravity amongst animals are not altogether unknown, though they are rare. A case is mentioned in Blackwood’s Magazine of October 1817, where a lady walking along a London street had her bag snatched from her by a drover’s dog. The animal, apparently without any master, was noticed lying, seemingly asleep, by the pavement-side, but on the approach of the lady it sprang suddenly up, snatched from her hand what is described as her “ridicule,” and made off at full gallop. On inquiry it was ascertained that the dog was well known as a thief, and that his habit was to lie in the street, apparently taking no notice of passers-by until a lady with a bag, or some poor woman carrying a bundle, came by, when he would jump up, snatch the bag or bundle from its bearer’s hand, and make off, no doubt to join a master who waited in security whilst his dog stole for him. On the special occasion here mentioned the lady lost with her bag one sovereign, eighteen shillings in silver, a pair of spectacles, and various papers and small articles.

There is also on record the case of a good-looking spaniel which was bought in London from a dog-fancier by a wealthy young man. The new owner soon observed that, when out with the dog, if he entered a shop the animal invariably remained outside for a time, and that, when at last he did follow his master, the presence of the latter was persistently ignored, nor would the spaniel take any notice when his master left the shop, but continued unconcernedly to sniff about; or else he would lie down and seem to fall asleep. Invariably after this the animal would turn up at home, carrying in his mouth a pair of gloves, or some other article which his master had happened to handle whilst in the shop. By going to establishments where he was known, and giving notice of what he expected to happen, the owner of the dog was enabled to try a series of experiments, and he found that the spaniel would sometimes remain quietly in a shop for hours until the door chanced to be left open, when, if no one appeared to be watching him, he would jump up on the counter, seize some article, bolt with it down the street, and make his way home.

There was also known to the writer, some years ago, a big, honest-looking, clever mongrel, which was taken by his master to India. “Sandy” became quite a regimental pet, but, though friendly with the whole regiment, he clung throughout faithfully to his master. He was a big, heavy dog, with a good deal of the bull in him, and more than a suspicion of collie. The combination of these two breeds made him an exceptionally formidable fighter. Nothing could flurry him, and his great weight and powerful jaw gained him an easy victory over anything he ever met, even when tackled one dark night by a young panther. Unfortunately he developed a passion for killing everything that walked on four legs–short of a horse or an elephant–and of domestic pets and of poultry he took heavy toll. Nothing could break him of this propensity; he would take any punishment quite placidly, and then straightway repeat the offence at the first opportunity. And he developed also a curious habit of tracking his master when he dined out. No matter how “Sandy” was fastened up in barracks, before the meal was half over in the bungalow where his master happened to be dining, in would march the dog, quite calm and apparently at home, and would make willing friends with everyone at table, except with his master, whom he would steadily ignore throughout the evening. Though “Sandy” was very far from being a lady’s dog, and though at ordinary times he would take small notice of ladies, yet now he would most gently and affectionately submit to be caressed and fondled by all the ladies at table, and would apparently in reality be the “sweet,” good-natured “pet” they styled him; yet too well his master knew from bitter experience that already that evening had Death, in the shape of “Sandy,” stalked heavy-footed amongst the domestic pets and poultry of that bungalow. And morning always revealed a formidable list of dead. “Sandy’s” bite was sure; he left no wounded on the field of his labours.