k after food. His appetites are altered, hair,
straw, dirt, filth, excrement, rags, tin shavings, stones, the most
noisome and unnatural substances are then the delicacies for which the
poor dog, changed by disease, longs, and swallows, in hope to ease a
burning stomach. So anxious is he for liquids, and so depraved are his
appetites, that no sooner has he passed a little urine than he turns round
to lick it up. He is now altogether changed. Still he does not desire to
bite mankind; he rather endeavors to avoid society; he takes long journeys
of thirty or forty miles in extent, and lengthened by all kinds of
accidents, to vent his restless desire for motion. When on these journeys
he does not walk. This would be too formal and measured a pace for an
animal whose whole frame quivers with excitement. He does not run. That
would be too great an exertion for an animal whose body is the abode of a
deadly sickness. He proceeds in a slouching manner, in a kind of trot; a
movement neither run nor walk, and his aspect is dejected. His eyes do not
glare and stare, but they are dull and retracted. His appearance is very
characteristic, and if once seen, can never afterwards be mistaken. In
this state he will travel the most dusty roads, his tongue hanging dry
from his open mouth, from which, however, there drops no foam. His course
is not straight. How could it be, since it is doubtful whether at this
period he sees at all? His desire is to journey unnoticed. If no one
notices him, he gladly passes by them. He is very ill. He cannot stay to
bite. If, nevertheless, anything oppose his progress, he will, as if by
impulse, snap--as a man in a similar state might strike, and tell the
person "to get out of the way." He may take his road across a field in
which there are a flock of sheep. Could these creatures only make room for
him, and stand motionless, the dog would pass on and leave them behind
uninjured. But they begin, to run, and at the sound, the dog pricks up.
His entire aspect changes. Rage takes possession of him. What made that
noise? He pursues it with all the energy of madness. He flies at one, then
at another. He does not mangle, nor is his bite, simply considered,
terrible. He cannot pause to tear the creature he has caught. He snaps and
then rushes onward, till, fairly exhausted and unable longer to follow, he
sinks down, and the sheep pass forward to be no more molested. He may have
bitten twenty or thirty in his mad onsl