In 2005 I was asked by a television director, Matthew Burgess of Making Time
TV, if I believed it was possible for dogs to ‘commit suicide’. My immediate
reaction was to reply that it was impossible for a dog to premeditate its
own death. I discussed with Matthew that whilst many animals appear to be
able to ‘sense’ that their death is imminent it is wrong to humanise a dog
in terms of human behaviour. It is also true that some infirm animals are
known to seek out a quiet sheltered place to experience a final resting
place in what we would call a dignified end to life. An example of this is
that some African elephants, when they are nearing the end of life, are
known to make one last journey to a place referred to as ‘the elephant's
graveyard’. Instinctively, these giants, the largest of land mammals on this
planet, appear to know that this rather sad mission has to be made. It is
also known that domesticated animals, pet dogs and cats, may search out a
‘bolt hole’ from which to leave this world. However, in contrast the people
in the majority of human suicide cases are recognised not to have made the
same type of instinctive decision. In the mist of acute depression suffers
cannot make rationale decisions and ‘ending it all’ becomes a dreadful
option because they cannot ‘see’ a way out of their situation. So when I
replied ‘no’ so emphatically my next step was to ask Matthew why he wanted
to know whether I believed that dogs could commit ‘suicide’ or not. He then
explained that a number of dogs, over a period of decades, had inexplicably
lost their lives ‘jumping off’ Overtoun Bridge, near Dumbarton, in Scotland. Locals had believed in a range of conspiracy theories - dogs were mesmerised
or attracted to the sound of water or some kind of ‘optical illusion’ -
others believed that nearby electricity pylons produced something that
confused the dogs. There was even the suggestion the bridge might be haunted
as a local man, now sectioned under the Mental Health act, had thrown his
baby off the bridge. However, I was looking for a more scientific
explanation. The preliminary guesswork, based on my research as a human and
animal behaviourist, eventually proved to be the most likely explanation.
When I first stepped onto Overtoun bridge, on a cold winters morning, I was struck by its striking Gothic structure. Behind me, Overtoun House was, quite literally, shrouded in a Hammer House of Horror fog. The building, once home to Lord and Lady Overtoun was left to people of Dumbarton by the wealthy Victorian philanthropist. I was eventually joined on the bridge by Donna. She was one of the people who, on a family walk the previous year had lost a lively Border Collie named Ben. She gently described how she and her husband walked happily onto the bridge with their young son as the dog explored. Suddenly, without warning, Ben jumped onto the parapet wall and dropped out of sight. It was not difficult to imagine their sense of panic as Donna's husband struggled down the steep bank to the gorge river below.
When Donna left me alone on the bridge and strolled back towards the grand house I walked its full length and tried to put my mind into that of a dog. The entry point at the far side of the bridge stands at the end of an innocuous looking tarmacadam pathway lined either side by trees and impenetrable bushes. The path slopes downwards and curves away until it disappears. A family with a dog would approach the walkway like any other in a local park with the same pathway. A lively dog would probably criss-cross from either side and explore the undergrowth. There are no slopes or cliff edges on this approaching path. Once on the bridge at the first of four sets of parallel parapets, my first thoughts were that the solid stone walls would create both visual and sound barriers to a dog. In addition, the initial top of the bridge walls are covered with ivy that could add an optical illusion. A casual look down, from human height, makes it obvious that on the other side of the walls and semicircular parapets there is 40-50 foot drop to the gorge below. A dog might not be made aware of that factor until the last moment when momentum would carry it too far. Another factor that struck me was the presence of the continual sound of water rushing between the river bound boulders. This sound dominates the air and dense foliage chokes the scene immediately beyond the bridge and serves to hide all but the largest of the water falls down below in the gorge.
I had predicted from the onset there might be some type of strong scent around the parapets that was over-stimulating a dog's senses. However, I needed some evidence of something more tangible. I knew there would be scenting from rats, squirrels, stoats, pine-martins or the related, but much large, mink. The latter creature first introduced from North America into the UK for farming and inadvertently (or deliberately) released into our countryside. The dogs death-records date back to the onset of mink farming and this factor offered an additional clue. Evidence of mink was confirmed in the area not only by a naturalist, who spotted droppings beneath the bridge, but also by Kenny, who explained as an angler that the top hill quarry had lakes that contained trout (perfect mink diet). James, my brother in law, confirmed the presence of mink who calmly watched one follow a trail behind me as I was being filmed. The acoustic sweep suggested nothing untoward.
During the making of the program to be screened later this year I supervised various experiments with dogs at Lords House Farm at Rishton (East Lancashire) including ones based on wall-jumping and scent-reacting. The answer to the so-called ‘dog-bridge suicides’ is a secret but it lies in a combination of factors. This story is one that I know fascinates dog owners around the world. I enjoyed my research and investigations. Suffice it to say my final verdict is one of misadventure rather than suicide.
