Móri - stray dog

Excerpt from the book: By fell and fjord or Scenes and studies in Iceland eftir Elizabeth Jane Oswald, 1882.

Feminine travellers are rather a rarity; besides, now we were in company with greater rarities still— our fellow - passengers, the young Italian gentlemen who had camped by the farm where we had slept, and ridden with us most of the day.

They were high bred gentlemen, and the inhabitants had never probably seen anything like those slender dark-haired representatives of the graceful old Latin civilisation. They had asked us when we were on board the steamer if there were good hotels in Iceland, and if English or French was generally understood; now they knew a little more. They had hired a tent, and we had helped them to secure the one guide at Akureyri who knew a little English, which one of the Italians spoke a little also ; and there is nothing like contrast.

We had doubted whether these young fellows from the garden of the world would care for the stem barren North; but they were delighted with everything, and charmed the people wherever they went. Here our routes diverged, as we still kept near the northern coast, and they turned southwards, where they found good sport and much to amuse them, as they told us on the voyage home.

Here their guide’ s dog deserted them for us, encouraged perhaps by the notice I took of him. Not that the dog was really his,—he was merely a stray one which had joined their party at Akureyri, and which now devoted himself to me. Móri! they may call you búrakki—that is, a dog which wanders from farm to farm—or flakka, a dog which roves independently; but allowing that you had a passion for travel, did we not all share it ? were you not faithful to us as long as we travelled? Certainly when our journey was ended our faithful hound disappeared, probably joining some later excursion ; for when all travelling was over for the season he returned to Thorgrimur for good.

We called him Móri from his brown colour ; doubtless he has many other names. He was of a yellow-brown hue, exactly matching the usual tint of the earth, and the same all over, even to his eyes. He was almost invisible when running by our side, but not the less was lie our good genius. He managed the ponies with wonderful intelligence, saving men and horses half the labour of driving. “ Móri, thetta ” (i.e., Móri, after that one) was all that was now needed generally, instead of the rush of the driver after any one of the ponies which so often wandered east or west of the right way. His yellow eye, his trembling pricked ear, was on them all. He worked harder than any one, dropped asleep coiled under his own bushy tail when we halted, but in the evening became our affectionate companion, and guarded the tent, invariably picking out the best bed for himself. He guided us home if ever we wandered away on foot, shared all our fortunes, and was our joy.