Dogs

This collection of notes, which aims at giving assistance to English men and women in Nigeria, would, to my mind, fall miserably short of the mark if it failed to include within its scope some practical suggestions for the provision of comfort and the preservation of health of their dogs.

That West Africa is not a healthy country for English dogs is only too sadly certain, but it is equally certain that they will continue to come as long as Englishmen do, therefore it is not worth while giving sage advice as to the wisdom and true kindness of bringing or not bringing them—especially as I like to try and be consistent, and I cannot picture myself taking ship at Liverpool without one, or even two of my own!

I have met a variety of English dogs out here, from massive bull-terriers down to the most fascinating little person, a tiny Yorkshire terrier; but, to those who, coming out for the first time, are puzzled in the selection of a dog, I would like to say:—let him be a young dog and a small one. A puppy, well over distemper, aged from six to twelve months, will suffer far less from the change of climate, food, etc., than an older dog, and, when he does not weigh more than twenty or thirty pounds, his lightness makes it a simple matter for him to be carried on the march—for no dog should ever be allowed to run all through the hot hours of a long march. We, who are a long way off the ground, on horseback, occasionally grumble at the heat; what must be the sensations of the faithful little follower padding wearily along, close to the baking earth, all chance of breeze kept from him, as a rule, by high grass on either side, and a pitiless sun scorching his spine all the time?

We learnt this lesson through sad experience, the loss of a dearly loved little Irish terrier, who marched always on his own feet. He had lived in perfect health for four years in India, and had even weathered eight months in Sierra Leone, but died in Lokoja, after three months almost continuous touring in the bush.

Since then our dogs have never been allowed to run; we have had two carried all the way from Zungeru to Katāgum and back, a distance of eight hundred miles. They very soon got accustomed to the confinement; one was usually carried on the saddle of one of our mounted servants, and, after a few days, he learnt to appreciate the arrangement and to jump up at the pony, begging to be picked up as soon as the sun got hot. The other dog, a bull-terrier, had an ordinary square provision box filled with grass, its cover, a native-made wicker basket, having a small goat-skin fastened just on the top to keep off the sun. The cover fitted loosely, admitting plenty of air and was easily secured to the box by a few strings. After the dog had run three or four miles in the fresh early morning, and hunted and amused himself to his heart’s content, he was usually very ready to pack himself into his box, especially as there were invariably a few toothsome bones to be found there, and he then slept peacefully in it, until his carrier dumped him down in camp.

The feeding of dogs is naturally a great factor in the preservation of their health, and it will require supervision. The main difficulty is to give them sufficient bulk of food without including too much meat; here, we have no fresh potatoes, etc., and porridge becomes rather an expensive article of dietary, as oatmeal costs a shilling for a small tin, which disappears at once! I have been told that two large dogs required a tin of oatmeal and a tin of army rations daily to feed them. I think they must have become very bilious bull-terriers, and a serious item of expense to their owner! We allow threepence a day per dog; this buys a piece of meat and some bone, also a fair quantity of ‘gari’ (native flour). The gari is well boiled with the meat, and appears looking like a brownish sago pudding. The mixture is then flooded with milk and much appreciated by the dogs. Every few days a little powdered sulphur is mixed up with the feed, and is highly beneficial. Afterwards, they get their bones, and the fare seems to suit them admirably. We always make a point of giving our dogs, especially young puppies, weak tea if they will drink it. In India I was told that it would prevent distemper altogether, and, though I cannot vouch for the truth of this, it seems to be a harmless little indulgence, and every mistress will, I expect, like to see the little wistful faces asking ever so plainly for a saucer of tea.

Dogs are all the better for a dose of castor oil about once a week; it improves their appearance and condition immensely, and it is a perfectly simple matter administering it—when one knows how—so a short explanation of the process may not be misplaced here. One person, kneeling down, holds the dog’s body firmly between his knees to prevent him from backing, and, putting his left forefinger gently into the corner of the dog’s lips, pulls out his cheek, forming a sort of pocket into which the oil is gently poured by another person, thus avoiding all forcing open of the teeth and the consequent struggle and horrors of spilt oil. As a rule the patient does not object in the least; the oil quietly filters through his teeth, and down his throat; if he does not seem to be swallowing it readily a little pressure on his nostrils closes them, and compels him to open his throat. When a dog’s coat becomes ‘staring,’ his eyes lustreless, and he appears generally spiritless and feverish, castor oil is indicated, after which quinine must be given—five grains daily is not too much—until he recovers. One of our dogs swallowed a tabloid of quinine, wrapped in a slice of meat, every day, without detecting its presence; but some are tiresome in this respect, and the only alternative is to open their mouths and drop in a salt-spoonful of sulphate of quinine. This they cannot get rid of except by swallowing it, and the bitter taste is soon forgotten in the joy of a rewarding tit-bit of some sort. We had a small fox-terrier who knew the very sight of the quinine bottle, and bolted at once out of the room! The foregoing suggestions, however, are intended only for occasions when the dog’s owner is quite convinced that treatment of this kind is absolutely necessary; failing that, I would most earnestly say, leave drugs alone, merely permit no neglect, for, assuredly, a comfortable dog will be a healthy dog!

Another point of the utmost importance to a dog’s well-being and comfort, is to keep him, as far as possible, free from fleas and ticks. Fleas, I suppose, dogs will have for all time, no matter how carefully they are washed and brushed; the great enemy in Nigeria is the tick. During the rains the grass swarms with them, and, as one cannot walk along a bush path for a hundred yards without finding several of them on one’s skirts, the number acquired by the dogs on a ten minutes’ hunt after a mouse or a lizard can be well imagined. Each dog must be most carefully searched and the pests removed at least twice a day, special care being taken to inspect the inside of his ears, the little ‘pocket’ on them, between his toes, and underneath his collar. There is none so wily as the dog tick in choosing secluded nooks in which to suck his victim’s blood. The inside of the dog’s ears should be smeared over with carbolic or sulphur ointment applied with a feather; both are abhorrent to ticks, and it is really a kindness to rub his whole body lightly with these ointments or a very weak solution of creolin or ‘Jeyes’ Fluid.’ It will be found that flies attack and bite dogs’ ears to a quite serious extent; I have seen native dogs with their ears positively eaten away, but this can, of course, be prevented by persistent care and perseverance. Carbolic or sulphur ointment must be rubbed on thickly, daily, and at night-time, but unless notice is taken of the very first few bites, it is most difficult to effect a cure.

Poultry

The keeping of poultry is certain to become, in the near future, a feature of every English household in Nigeria, therefore the subject may as well have its place in this chapter, though I do not, in the least, feel qualified to offer any ‘counsels of perfection,’ as, so far, we have been able to make only two efforts to introduce English fowls into this country, and I must frankly confess that there are many difficulties in the way of a complete success.

However, the class of fowl bred in the country is such a wretched one, the birds are small, skinny and tasteless, and the eggs no larger than bantams’, that the importation of good breeds is a very real necessity. Here, as in other matters, the periodical leave to England after twelve or eighteen months has prevented the rearing of chickens from being very seriously undertaken, but I have a strong impression that if every one will, at all events, ‘make a start,’ the good work will be carried on, and it will not be long before the miserable ‘country fowl’ is a thing of the past.

My personal experience on the subject of English fowls is as follows:—Five years ago, we brought out four Black Minorca hens and one cock; the latter died shortly after his arrival in Nigeria, but, on our way up country, we had the good luck to be presented with a very fine Plymouth Rock cock. The hens behaved beautifully; they travelled in a large wicker basket, and regularly laid eggs in it during the daily march. A fortnight later, alas! the Plymouth Rock died, and two hens succumbed also, all dying from the same complaint, dysentery. After six months, we brought our remaining two hens back to Lokoja, and they survived for the rest of the tour, but they greatly deteriorated, both in their appearance and in their laying, the eggs diminished in size and lost their flavour.

On our return from leave, we brought a fresh consignment of fowls, and if I call them ‘a mixed lot’ it is not intended altogether as a term of disparagement, for we had purposely selected mixed breeds. A fine Buff Orpington cock with a slight Black Minorca strain, two Black Minorca hens, a handsome Houdan hen, and two highly indiscriminate ‘would-be’ Orpington hens made up the party. Further fortified by an incubator, a kindly gift of Sir Alfred Jones, we fared forth to Bussa, firmly intent on poultry rearing.

This time, our efforts were distinctly successful; in six months our stock of six had increased to twenty-three, and had it not been for the persistent and endless depredations of hawks, we should have reared a far greater number. We found the Houdan an admirable and devoted mother, and her progeny were our delight, so handsome were they, with a slight Orpington strain added to their own beautiful spangles and jet-black crest. Before a year was out all the original hens except one died, quite suddenly and mysteriously, pointing to poisonous food or snake-bite; but still, to-day, I am glad to think that we have distributed four fine English cocks in different parts of the country, and have, at all events, contributed our mite to the all-important task of improving the food supply in this country. It is not in the least sublime to say that empires are built on men’s stomachs, but, indeed, they form a surer foundation than their gravestones to my un-soaring mind!

The incubator—owing to our peculiar circumstances—but to no fault of its own, was not a great success. Our manner of living was, however, exceptional, and did not give the incubator a ghost of a chance. During the day the lamp could not be lighted at all, and in spite of all ventilation, etc., the atmospheric heat in the room itself ran the thermometer higher than it should be. Almost every night violent gusts of wind, sweeping through the house, extinguished the lamp two or three times, thoroughly chilling the eggs. Another difficulty was the obtaining of really fresh eggs; the only successful hatchings I accomplished were with guinea-fowls and eggs obtained from our own hens: but, as the action of the incubator was so uncertain, we were reluctant to risk many eggs, when the hens were ready and willing to sit. It was, however, a great amusement and delight to us, and the hatching process was one of absorbing interest—to our native friends it appeared a piece of paralyzing Ju-ju—the newly born chick gracefully dropping from the tray above to the softer floor below with a comical air of bewilderment and surprise! Under more normal circumstances I am certain that incubators (which can now be bought very cheap) would be of the greatest value in chicken rearing out here: a ‘foster-mother’ or ‘breeder’ is quite necessary to avoid the terrible infant mortality resulting from careless mothers and prowling hawks.

Far the easiest and most paying is the rearing of ducks; they give no trouble, and seem to require none of the coaxing and attention apparently necessary for the hens; quite quietly they appear to make their own arrangements, and in due time emerge with an eminently attractive and satisfactory family of sixteen or thereabouts. Except for a tendency to walk the babies off their legs, ducks are devoted and excellent mothers.

An extremely useful scrap of knowledge we have picked up, is, when the hatch is due, or nearly so, to seize the opportunity, when the hen or duck is off the nest, to immerse the eggs gently in hot water (105°); almost immediately the ‘live’ eggs begin to roll about and dance in the most exciting fashion, and those which, after a few minutes, make no movement at all may be safely considered as ‘wrong’ and removed from the hatch, as their presence is injurious to the hatching chicks, and embarrassing to the mother.

I have found that the chief difficulty lies in finding enough boiled food for the fowls; the victims of dysentery undoubtedly got the disease from eating too much whole grain, but it is a grave problem to give them enough of anything else. There is, at present, in this country, nothing available to answer to the regular ‘chicken’s food’ mixture, provided at home, consisting of boiled turnip cuttings, potato peelings, cabbage leaves, sharps, etc. Perhaps when our vegetable gardens are on a firmer basis we shall be able to lavish green food on our fowls; at present, there are but boiled yams and sweet potatoes to be had, but the fowls do not take kindly to them, nor to boiled rice, which, by the way, does not agree with them. On the whole, I think they prefer boiled gari to any other cooked food; I have seen them enthusiastic over aggidi (a native food) mixed up with maize and a few odds and ends from the breakfast table. Guinea-corn thus becomes their staple article of diet, and it is only by giving them full liberty all day long, and allowing them to procure their own grass and insect food, that the enemy, dysentery, is avoided.

We were wrong, I suppose, in selecting Black Minorcas, from a sitting point of view, as I believe that, even at home, they are non-sitters, and they certainly are in Nigeria! However, with an incubator this is a matter of no importance, and it would be difficult to find a more satisfactory breed from a laying point of view. I should say, most decidedly, that Dorkings or Plymouth Rocks would be found excellent breeds to bring to this country, the latter being good sitters and a hardy breed; but they must be kept free from damp, which is, I fancy, the cause of their frequently contracting disease in the legs and feet. I have also heard an authority on different sorts of poultry describe Dorkings as ‘the very best breed for amateur poultry keepers,’ they are excellent mothers, and quite the best kind for table purposes.

I cannot feel that I am able to give any very practical advice on this subject; my own experience has been too limited to build a theory on, but as the chicken, in one guise or another, is bound to appear so frequently on our tables, it is more than advisable, it becomes a positive duty, to endeavour to encourage all newcomers to help, by importing fowls from England, to improve the Nigerian species. When next I come out I shall certainly bring a collection of Dorkings and another incubator, for it is worth remembering that the hen of the country is such a tiny creature that she cannot possibly cover more than three or four good-sized eggs.

I also cherish golden dreams of bringing out English geese, as I believe they would succeed, and repay, a hundred-fold, the trouble of bringing them. Geese are less troublesome to feed than fowls, as they find so much for themselves roaming about; they are also good sitters (I am speaking of the white Embden geese), and, of course, a great delicacy for the table. They should be brought out in the proportion of two geese to one gander.

It is, perhaps, worth mentioning that bringing out live stock entails little or no trouble; any large dealer will ship the birds in strong coops with a supply of grain for the voyage, and their owner will find them established on deck, and requiring nothing more than a daily visit, and a little arrangement with the ship’s cook or butcher, as to their cleanliness and a small supply of boiled food. These good folks are so accustomed to the care of all kinds of live stock, domestic and wild, being carried to and from West Africa, from a full-grown giraffe to tiny gazelles, no larger than a rabbit, that they are invariably most ready and willing to supervise anything of the sort.

All this considered, I am sure that every one will agree with me that it is worth while giving a trial to imported live stock for the farm-yard; my ambition even soars—in secret, and in fear and trembling—to the importation of a few rabbits, for experimental purposes. I am aware that the indiscriminate introduction of rabbits has caused unpopularity elsewhere before now, but I should suggest their being kept in confinement at first, and I should not think that the provision of green food need be a difficulty, as they would almost certainly enjoy the young leaves of Indian Corn, which can be grown anywhere. I will venture, finally, to say, that, in my opinion, the humble bunny would prove a most welcome addition to the Nigerian menu!

Cows

To mention the subject of dairy management may seem rather unnecessary, and cause a smile when it is realized that cows cannot be persuaded to live and flourish in Lokoja, or any of the southern districts of Nigeria, and that for the most part one’s sole anxiety, as a dairy expert, consists in the selection of sound tins of preserved milk! But, as the joys of possessing one’s own cows, and obtaining a sufficiency of milk, cream, and butter, can be realized by those whom kindly Fortune allows to live in the Hausa States, far removed from the deadly Coast, and further north still, it seems to me as well to set forth my own very small experience in the matter.

My first step towards keeping cows—and that a veritable step in the dark—was the selection of a churn. At this point, the eternal difficulty of transport loomed into view as uncompromisingly as usual, and I decided on a small tin, plunge churn. It consisted of a tin cylinder about eighteen inches long, and four inches in diameter, with a cover, through which passed a tin plunger, with flanges at the lower end. This churn has the advantage of being very light and portable, and we found it a complete success; it was perfectly easy to clean, and did its work most rapidly, turning out a pound of butter in fifteen minutes.

The next necessary point is to possess your own cows; the usual plan of receiving a daily dole of a bottle full of milk, Heaven knows how or where obtained, cannot be sufficiently condemned. Out of my own experience I have known the simple Fulani cow-keeper to half fill the basin before milking with extremely dirty water, and this I only discovered by the merest accident. One would hardly expect to find such up-to-date practices as ‘watering the milk’ in Nigeria, but it is done!

I know that milch cows are not at all easy to come by out here; the Fulani, the only herdsman in the country, knows the value of his stock, and will not sell, for there is a tremendous trade done in the markets in sour milk and rancid butter.

I started with a stock of five cows, each with a small calf, and in full milk: I then, with a lamentable want of foresight and proper humility, decided on, and attempted to carry out all kinds of innovations and dairy principles, such as separating the calves from the cows, endeavouring to pacify the former with milk mixed with dusa (bran)—which I could never induce them to touch—and treating in a high-handed manner the remonstrances of the mai-sanu (cowman or head dairymaid). I may say at once it was a dead failure; the cows went off their milk immediately, and from all of them I did not get more than a quart twice daily, and the mai-sanu ran away, appalled at my wicked violation of immemorial customs! My courage, born of ignorance, ran into the soles of my shoes, I obtained a new mai-sanu, and, bowing my head in chastened submission, I resigned into his hands the whole outside arrangements of the ‘dairy,’ only stipulating that his hands should be scrupulously clean before milking, and the udders wiped with a damp clean cloth—also that he should produce a large basin full of milk morning and evening. This was done; how and when the calves were tied or separated, I did not inquire. I am quite sure that, one day, a more strong-minded and conscientious fellow-country-woman will know all about it, and reform things magnificently; meantime—cleanliness and purity assured—I was content to leave ‘pretty well’ alone, and let the mai-sanu make his own arrangements.

The cows of Northern Nigeria are splendid animals, of great size, with enormous branching horns, but their udders are very small, and English dairy folks would doubtless smile at the idea of extracting milk at the rate of one quart only, daily, per cow! But so it was, and when due allowance is made for inferior grazing and the dry season, perhaps it was not so astonishing. At any rate, the supply proved ample for our requirements, so I felt it would be both ungracious and foolish to grumble. I found the milk very rich and delicious, and from the special pan set aside each evening for cream to set, a good pint and a half of thick cream was forthcoming the next morning, yielding roughly a pound of excellent butter. There was always cream for the porridge at breakfast, plenty for puddings and mayonnaises, and even for cream cheeses, which I made every few days.

We marched our cows down country from Katāgum on our return, and they gave us a capital supply of milk on the road; but, once established in Lokoja, they fell off in appearance and milk. The calves sickened and died, as well as the cows, and, much to our sorrow, we had to recognize that, obviously, the only thing to do was to dispose of the remainder, alas! to become tough beef in the market. It was, I suppose, inevitable, owing to the total change of diet to green, luxurious grass, which the cows devoured eagerly, to their own undoing; but I parted very sadly from my philanthropic dream of providing the English community in Lokoja with a regular supply of fresh milk, etc. It was a plan I had very much at heart, and I have not altogether forsaken it, but I quite recognize that it cannot be done with the Hausa cow.

It is a matter for great regret, this difficulty of keeping cows alive in Lokoja; many a ‘bad case’ in hospital longs for fresh milk—as unobtainable, unfortunately, as ripe strawberries or blocks of ice.

Possibly, one fine, very fine day, when, in our wisdom, we remove our cantonment to the breezy heights of the Patti plateau (six hundred feet above, and perfectly accessible), all these good things may be ours. Meantime, unless you are going to the Hausa States, and away north, the only dairy equipment you will need to bring is—a tin-opener!