Some years ago, running in a Dublin park, I had an altercation with a man and his dog. It was a shaggy dog, which may be relevant, of medium-to-large size. Beyond that, I could not guess its breeding, in which there may have been a wide range of contributors.
Anyway, I had to pass him and his owner on a narrow path. And they must not have heard my wheezy approach because, at the last moment, both turned around, startled. Whereupon the dog, recovering the quicker, jumped onto his hind paws and planted his fore ones on my chest, forcing me to stop, mid-stride.
This caused me to mutter a medium-to-large-size expletive, before I continued on my way. But I was gone only a few paces when I heard a shout of “Ye little c**t!” And at first, I thought “That’s a bit harsh on the dog.” Only then did the thought occur that the man meant me; even though, whatever about being a c**t, at 6 feet tall, I was hardly little.
‘Me or the dog?’
So I stopped again, to clarify. “Are you talking to me or the dog?” And sure enough, he didn’t mean the dog. The “little” must have been a reference to my perceived junior status, the dog-owner was maybe 20 years my elder, and of a generation that called all younger men “sonny”. But flattered as I was, we now had a robust exchange of views about the incident, while he kept a tight hold on the lead.
His main point, repeated several times, was that I should have warned of my approach by “coughing” loudly. My response was that I had been too busy hyperventilating, and that if hadn’t heard, his dog should have.
The dog, meanwhile, said nothing, but was clearly making notes.
I know this because, some days later, I met them again. This time I was walking too. And recognising me as we passed, the dog clamped his teeth around my wrist before his owner could intervene. Luckily I was wearing a jacket. And in fairness to the mongrel, it wasn’t a vicious attack. He had more the air of a police dog, attempting to make an arrest.
Even so, it provoked another exchange of views.
Muzzle
After that, whenever we met again, I steered a wide course, lest the feud escalate. And there have been no further incidents, although the last time I saw them – from a safe distance – the dog was wearing a muzzle-strap. So maybe I wasn’t the only fugitive he has attempted to apprehend.
What reminded of the episode was today's entry in that venerable almanac Chambers Book of Days (published 1869), which tells the story of the "Dog of Montargis". Montargis is a place south of Paris, where tradition has it that on this date in 1361, a gentleman was murdered and buried in a forest.
Pining
The crime was witnessed by his dog, who after pining at the grave for some time, returned alone to the city, raising suspicion and leading investigators to the body.
But the dog didn’t stop there. Some time later, it was noticed that he became violently aggressive every time he met a certain nobleman, Chevalier Macaire.
News of this behaviour reached the king, who summoned dog and chevalier to court, where the former again picked the latter’s throat – or tried to – out of a line-up. So the king now ordered a “judicial combat” between man and dog.
Yes, the dog was effectively appointed state prosecutor. And after cross-examining the suspect with his teeth for some time, while dodging the chevalier’s defence strategy (to wit, a “cudgel”), he forced a confession.
Lead actor
The story has inspired, among other things, a 19th-century musical, the Dublin production of which made history. Even though the lead actor (a dog, naturally) had no lines, he was indispensable.
So when his owner demanded an exorbitant fee, the manager of Crow Street Theatre pulled the show. Unfortunately this caused a riot, and a box-office slump, which landed the manager in debtors’ prison.
It is well known in theatre that you should never work with animals. Based on my experience, their suitability for judicial careers is questionable too. But I was interested to note that the Dog of Montargis is by tradition a Briard, an ancient breed, once used for herding but now, often, for “police” work. Although of varying colours, they seem to be medium-to-large.
And ominously, they are always shaggy.