The Newfoundland dog is known and loved all over the world, and he is deserving of that popularity and esteem. What a noble and gentle animal he is, with his soft, brown, sympathetic eyes, shining black coat, strong-set legs, and commanding head! How the children love him! And how he loves the children! It is a common sight to see him harnessed, drawing a small cart in which is seated a little child. You can tell by the joyous wag of his tail, and his proud walk, that he appreciates the task of drawing his infant queen through the country lanes when she is taking her morning constitutional. In the winter-time he enters fully into the pastimes of the boys and girls, and enjoys a frolic in the snow just as much as they. When the lakes are frozen over, and the snow lies hard upon the ground, “Bobby” is harnessed to a little sleigh, and off he bounds with a heart as light as air, drawing his little chum to the music of the bells that dangle round his glossy neck.

It is said that the home of these noble dogs was originally Portugal, and that they were brought to Newfoundland in the fifteenth century by Portuguese fishermen. Since their importation, however, they have so much improved that they are now accepted as the most sagacious and intelligent representatives of the canine species. When the late King Edward VII. made his famous tour in 1860, he was presented with a Newfoundland dog, and he valued the gift very highly. Another dog was also presented to the present King at the close of the nineteenth century. Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, refers to this breed in his poem entitled “Twa Dogs”:

The thoroughbred is not so plentiful in Newfoundland now; in fact, it is difficult to purchase the genuine breed. In his place there has sprung up another type of dog, lacking the sagacity and beauty of the original, and displaying a ferocity which sometimes strikes terror into the hearts of Newfoundlanders. Frequently these dogs are to be seen in the daytime lying in a group in the forests, waiting for nightfall in order to raid the sheep-folds and fowl-roosts of the vicinity. Sometimes three or four of them will track a resident to his home; but if they are faced fearlessly, they are cowardly enough to turn on their heels and scamper away.

When a genuine Newfoundland dog is trained as a life-saver, he displays wonderful intelligence, strength and courage. If you were to make inquiries among the fisher-folk in the out-ports, they would relate scores of incidents where boys and girls have been saved from a watery grave by the efforts of well-trained animals. The following story is one among many others:

Tom Martin was the son of a fisherman, and he lived on the north shore of Conception Bay. His father had been drowned while seal-hunting, and so Tom was the only support of his mother and two little sisters. He had a favourite Newfoundland dog, named Bob, and wherever you saw Tom you were certain to see Bob, except in the little dory that Tom used to fish from. Tom never would allow Bob to accompany him on a fishing expedition, because he was afraid that if he became frolicsome he might upset the boat. One beautiful morning in summer, however, as Tom was preparing to row out to catch fish, Bob howled so piteously that Tom found it hard to leave the shore without him. Three times he threw him out of the boat, but it was all in vain: Bob had made up his mind to go in the boat, and so he went. They had been in their little dory about two hours when the wind changed, the sky darkened, and a storm began to loom in the distance. Tom was not afraid of it. He had been in storms before. The storm, however, began to increase in velocity. The wind howled, and the waves grew bigger and bigger. Tom began to pull towards the shore. Bob did not seem quite so comfortable. He was being tossed from side to side; but he kept his large brown eyes firmly fixed on Tom except for an occasional shake of the head when the spray of the tumbling water splashed his glossy ears. As the wind increased and the waves mounted higher, Tom began to feel a little nervous, for there was still half a mile between him and the shore. He continued to tug at the oars, and admonished the dog to “keep still.” “It’s all right, Bob,” said the boy. It was not all right, and the dog seemed to think so. In a few moments the inevitable happened. A huge wave switched the boat on to its side, and it failed to right itself again, Tom and Bob were pitched into the sea, and the boat quickly drifted out of reach. Tom saw that it was now a matter of life or death. Being an excellent swimmer, and seeing that it was useless to try to regain the boat, he struck out with might and main for the shore. A great difficulty confronted him, however, for the dog whined and struck out madly at him with his paws. “Get away, Bob; you’ll drown me!” shouted Tom. But Bob only howled all the more, as he splashed round the heels of his little master. Tom continued to strike out for land, kicking the dog’s head whenever he could. Bob now came up to the boy’s shoulder, and struck him several times on the back, knocking him under water. Had the dog gone mad? thought Tom. What was he trying to do? If Tom could only have read his faithful dog’s mind!

The boy was now not more than fifty yards from the shore, but he was almost exhausted. Would he reach home again? While this thought flashed through his mind, he heard a voice from the shore shouting: “Put yer arm round ’is neck, Tom.” Tom immediately obeyed, and the dog’s whine changed into a joyous bark. In a few minutes the boy was safe on his native soil, with Bob dancing round, wagging his tail, and licking his little master’s face. Tom put his arms around the dog’s neck and whispered in his ear: “Thank you, Bobby. I shall understand you better the next time.”