Airedale Terrier
"Now here's one that I don't believe you know. It's a Doberman pinscher. Funny name. Wonderfully smart dog, though. They call him the dog with the human brain. He comes from Germany, where he was first a watchdog and was later trained as a police dog. I believe the first ones were brought over here in 1907. A muscular dog, weighing forty or fifty pounds. He is marked like the Manchester but his coat is less silky.
"Now we come to the wires. The wire-haired fox terrier is really just like the smooth, but he looks quite different because of his stiff, wiry coat. Then there's the Airedale. You know about those. Best all-round dog in the world in my opinion. This is a Bedlington. You won't see many of those. Has a head like a lamb, hasn't he? And notice the silky topknot. He's a good little sporting dog if he does look so mild. They're mostly blue-gray and tan, and weigh about twenty-four pounds.
"Here's the liveliest one of the lot, the Irish terrier. Sometimes they call him the dare-devil. He's a great little scrapper. He comes from Ireland, of course. He's a red dog, weighs twenty-four pounds, and makes one of the best comrades a boy can have. The Welsh terrier is related to the wire-haired fox, though he looks more like a small Airedale, being black and tan. He's a little smaller than the Irishman.
"Several terriers come from Scotland, and as you can see from these pictures they're a short-legged, strong-headed, long-bodied lot. That's because they were bred to go into the ground and the piles of rocks after badger and such-like game. They had to be pretty tough to manage it, too. This is the cairn terrier. He used to be called the Highland terrier, and I guess he's more nearly like the original terrier of Scotland than any of the others, He came fromthe Hebrides Islands. I expect you've never seen one, for they aren't common in this country. But they're jolly little beggars. They're the smallest of the lot, weighing only twelve to fifteen pounds, but mighty hardy and gamey. They are various sandy and grizzled colors and always have this foxy little head.
"You may have seen one of these. It's a Scottish terrier, once called the Aberdeen, and we have a lot of good ones over here now. Some call him the Scottie or the die-hard. See how wise he looks, with his bright eyes under his big eyebrows. Notice the big head and short legs and upright tail. There are some sandy ones, but mostly they're a dark grizzled gray. They weigh eighteen to twenty pounds. Here's his first cousin, the West Highland white terrier. He comes from Argyllshire, on the west coast of Scotland, and he's always pure white. Like most of the other Scotchmen he has a harsh outer coat and a soft under coat, which are practically waterproof. He has a more pointed muzzle than the Scottie and he's smaller."
At the next picture the boys all laughed. It was such a queer-looking dog, with such a big head and long body, and a face like that of an old Scotchman.
"He's a Dandie Dinmont," said Mr. Hartshorn. "If you ever read 'Guy Mannering' by Sir Walter Scott, you may remember that he speaks of DandieDinmont's pepper and mustard terriers. The book was published in 1814, and Dandie Dinmont terriers have been popular in the border countries of Scotland ever since. The Dandie is related to the Bedlington. You see he has the same drooping ears and the topknot. Gray and fawn are the colors.
"This is the last of the wires. It's a Sealyham. He looks as though he might be related to the Scotch breeds, with his short legs and strong head. He was, in fact, bred for badger hunting, as they were, but he comes from Wales. We have had them in this country only since 1912. The Sealyham is a mighty lovable little dog. He is white, often with black or brown markings, and he's about the same size as the West Highlander.
"Now we come to the long-coated ones, and the first of them is the Skye, another of the Scotch breeds. He's a close relative of the cairn, but he has a long coat and hair over his eyes. He's about the same size as the West Highlander and he's blue-gray or fawn. They used to be much more common than they are now. By the way, did you ever read the story of Greyfriars Bobby?"
None of the boys had read it.
"Well, do so the first chance you get. That's on of the loveliest dog stories ever written, and it's true. Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye terrier.
"This is the Clydesdale or Paisley terrier. Not at all a common breed. I doubt if you'll ever see one in the United States. He looks something like the Skye, but his coat is silkier. He's steel blue on the body and head, with golden tan feet. The Yorkshire comes from the other side of the border, and he's something like the Clydesdale, only with longer legs and shorter body. He's a fancy dog with a wonderful coat, parted down the middle and sweeping the ground. He's steel blue with tan markings on the head, chest, and legs.
"There you have all the terriers," he concluded, "and I guess you've had a long enough lesson for one day. These facts are all very interesting, but they become prosy and confusing if taken in too large doses. Here, take this book home with you, and look it over at your leisure. You'll find in it all the things I've told you and a lot more besides."
"Terriers are the smartest dogs there are, I guess," said Harry.
"Well, I don't know as I should want to say quite that," said Mr. Hartshorn. "Smartness and other qualities are as much a matter of individuals as of breeds. However, the terriers certainly have won that reputation."
"Do you know any good stories about them?"asked Harry, who was never backward in such matters. Mr. Hartshorn laughed.
"Unfortunately my memory for stories isn't very good," said he, "but I have lots of stories in books, and before you boys come up again, I'll look up some of them. Meanwhile, see if they have a book in the Boytown Library by Edward Jesse, called 'Anecdotes of Dogs.' It was published in London in 1858, and it isn't very common, but if you can find a copy, it's a dandy. It contains most of the historic dog stories. It includes several stories about terriers, chiefly illustrating their intelligence, but also their devotion. Many of them, I recall, are stories of dogs that found their way home over unknown roads after being carried away for long distances. This homing instinct seems to be very strong in the terrier. The breed has always been a very close and intimate companion of man, and that has sharpened his wits and deepened his sympathies.
"The only terrier story that I recall at the moment is a little anecdote that illustrates the terrier's shrewdness rather than his uprightness of character. A lady music teacher was going to the home of one of her pupils one day when some sort of wire-haired terrier surprised and startled her by running out from a field and seizing her skirt in his teeth. She tried to drive him away, but he wouldn't go. Becoming somewhatalarmed by his actions, she called to two laborers who were working in the field, and they came to her assistance.
"'He wants you to go with him, ma'am," one of the men said. 'I've heard of dogs actin' like that. Maybe it's a murder or something. I guess we'd better go along.'
"They followed the dog to the rear of a cottage, and he at once began to dig feverishly at a heavy plank. The workmen, half expecting to find a corpse, lifted the plank, only to disclose a large beef bone. This the terrier at once appropriated and made off with it, without waiting to express his thanks for assistance."
The boys laughed over this story, and thanked Mr. Hartshorn warmly for the interesting things he had told them. Then, squabbling good-naturedly over the possession of the dog book, they hurried off to catch the late afternoon train back to Boytown.
It was not long before they had another lesson in dog lore, though this time it was not Mr. Hartshorn who was their teacher. The next Saturday the three of them made another trip to Thornboro to return the book, in the fascinating contents of which they had been reveling for a week. They met Tom Poultice on the road with half a dozen of the dogs out for exercise. They were a lively lot, and it took aboutall of Tom's attention to keep them in hand.
"Mr. 'Artshorn isn't 'ome to-day," said Tom. "You come along with me and the dogs and I'll show you some fun. You can leave the book up at the 'ouse when we get back."
The boys accepted this as a rare privilege, and for an hour or two accompanied Tom and his troublesome pack about the country roads. The bull terriers were fairly well behaved, but the Airedales seemed bent upon getting into all kinds of mischief. On two occasions Tom had his hands full breaking up what promised to become a free-for-all fight. But the boys could not help admiring the boundless vigor of these dogs who seemed hardly able to contain all the youth and joy and life within them. It made the boys want to run and romp and caper in sympathy.
As they entered the drive at Willowdale on their return, they saw a sweet-faced woman standing on the porch with a little woolly white dog beside her.
"That's Mrs. 'Artshorn," said Tom. "You can give the book to 'er. She'd like you to stop and speak to 'er."
Somewhat shyly the boys followed his advice, but Mrs. Hartshorn, like her husband, seemed to have the faculty of making them soon feel at their ease. She at once introduced them to Daisy, her toy white poodle. Daisy's long hair had been trimmed and clipped in aridiculous manner that made the boys laugh, but she soon proved herself to be as smart as a whip. Mrs. Hartshorn put her through all her pretty tricks.
"I suppose, after seeing all those Airedales and bull terriers, you won't think much of my little dogs," said Mrs. Hartshorn. "Tom Poultice is very scornful about toys. But a dog is a dog, no matter how little. I want you to come in and see my prize Pomeranian, Tip."
They followed her into the house and up a broad staircase. At the top she turned and said:
"I think Tip is in the nursery with the baby. Don't be startled if he tries to eat you up. You needn't be quiet, because it's about time for baby's nap to be over."
She ushered them into the nursery, a pretty pink and white room, and there lay a handsome, chocolate-colored little dog on a mat beside a white crib. At the sight of strangers Tip growled a little and showed his white teeth.
"Don't you want to take a look at the baby?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Harry Barton stepped bravely forward, but was met by an attack so savage that he hastily retired. Tip did not bark; barking was not permitted in the nursery. But he defended his charge with a ferocity quite out of proportion to his diminutive size.
"Lie down, Tip," said Mrs. Hartshorn, laughing. "It's all right." And Tip retired, grumbling, to his rug.
Pomerianian
"He's little, but, oh, my!" said Mrs. Hartshorn. "I don't believe one of you would dare to touch that baby with Tip anywhere around. Now isn't he a dog, after all?"
The boys admitted quite readily that he was.
"He chased a tramp away once," said she. "Thetramp came to the front door when Mr. Hartshorn was away, and spoke so roughly to my maid that I was really quite frightened. Tip heard him and came out like a flash. The man swore and kicked at him. Nothing makes a dog so angry as kicking at him, and Tip jumped and nipped the man's finger. He swore again, but Tip renewed his attack to such good purpose that the man backed away and finally retreated in disorder with Tip at his heels. I've known big dogs that couldn't do so much."
The boys looked upon Tip with new respect.
"Now come and see my Pekes," said Mrs. Hartshorn.
The boys followed her into another room where two Pekingese spaniels got lazily out of a basket and came forward to greet her. And for the next few minutes the boys found infinite amusement playing with the fluffy little pets.
It was April before the three boys had an opportunity to accept Mrs. Hartshorn's invitation to visit her at Willowdale. On this occasion, as on the last, Mr. Hartshorn was away from home and there were only the four of them at luncheon. A soft-footed maid in a white cap and apron filled their plates with creamed chicken on toast, followed by delicious hot waffles and maple syrup.
When luncheon was over, she led them into her husband's den and took down one of his books.
"I suppose you've been about filled up with dog talk," said she, "but I want to be sure that you're converted to a love for the toys. So many men and boys don't care for them, but when you come to know about them, they're just as interesting as any other dogs. That is, most of them are. There are some kinds that I confess I don't especially care for myself. Come sit on the sofa and look at this book with me."
When they were comfortably seated, she began turning over the pages of the book, pointing out pictures of the various toy breeds.
"We'll take the short-coated ones first," said she, "since that's the way they're arranged in the book. Now can you imagine anything more delicate and graceful than this little dog? It's the Italian greyhound, you see. Some of the toy breeds have been created by a dwarfing process by modern fanciers, but this little chap was known in Italy in the Middle Ages. You can see dogs something like him on Greek and Roman statuary.
"Now here's the good old pug. You know the pug, don't you? There aren't so very many of them about now, though. They used to be the favorite lap-dogs, but somehow the Poms and the Pekes have come in to take their place. It is a very old breed and its ancestors were probably brought from China by the Dutch who later introduced it into England. Fawn used to be the popular color, but black has been in favor for several years.
"Now these are what we call miniatures, because they are merely dwarfs of larger breeds. The toy Manchester or black-and-tan was bred from the large Manchester terrier and should look just like his big brother, only he should weigh less than seven pounds. Same way with the toy bull terrier. The miniature bulldog was developed sixty years or more ago by the lace workers of Nottingham, England."
The boys were much interested in the next picture,which showed the tiniest sort of a dog sitting in a glass tumbler.
"Why," said Jack, "he looks more like a rat than a dog."
"It's a real dog, nevertheless," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "though probably the smallest breed in the world. It's a Chihuahua, pronounced Che-wa-wa, and it comes from Mexico. They weigh from a pound and a half to about four pounds, about as much as a kitten. Of course, they're rather delicate, and I doubt if you could expect one to attack a tramp. The head is round as an apple, with pointed nose and big, outstanding ears. The Chihuahua always has a little soft spot in the top of the skull.
"Now we come to the long-haired toys, which are the most popular at the present time. I believe the Pomeranian is the most popular of them all. He is really a small spitz and came first from Germany. You noticed Tip's compact little body, fox-like head, and alert expression. A wonderful little dog. His chief glory is his fine, fluffy coat and mane.
"Then there are the English toy spaniels. They used to be all called King Charles spaniels and were named after Charles II of England, who was very fond of them. Now the authorities have divided them into four varieties according to color, though they are all the same breed. The Blenheim is red ororange and white, the ruby is chestnut red, the King Charles is black and tan, and the Prince Charles is tri-color—black, white, and tan.
Pekingese
"The Pekingese is another of the very popular ones. A brave, proud little chap, as he should be, for he was the pet of Chinese emperors for hundreds of years. The first ones were brought to England in 1860 when the Europeans took the city of Peking and sacked the royal palaces. Before that time they had been carefully guarded as sacred animals. You see they look somewhat different from the English toy spaniel. The head is flatter, for one thing.
"The Japanese spaniel is still different, though he is probably related to the Peke. He has been the pet of the Japs for centuries. The colors are black andwhite or red and white, and the weight is seven pounds, more or less. This snowy white one, with his bright little face, is a Maltese dog. He also has an ancient lineage. He was known in ancient Greece and Rome and has been in England since the time of Henry VIII. You saw my toy poodle. It's just a miniature of the big poodle and has been popular in France and England for over a century. Very popular here now, too.
"Now we come to the last of the more prominent breeds of toys, and the only one with a wire coat. He comes from Belgium and he's called the Brussels griffon. Don't you love his little monkey face, with its beard and mustache? He's a hardy, intelligent, affectionate little dog, too. Some folks think he's the smartest of all the toys.
"There," she concluded, passing them the book to look over again, "I guess you've had enough for one day. You'll begin to think I'm as bad as my husband. But I didn't want you to get the idea that the only real dog is a big dog. Don't you think that some of these toy breeds deserve some respect, now that you know something of their honorable history?"
"Well, I should say so," said Ernest. "I had no idea there were so many different kinds or that they had any special history. I want to see those Pekesagain, whose grandfathers were stolen from the Chinese emperors."
The interest in toys had been kindled, and the boys took occasion later to refresh their memories from books that Mr. Hartshorn lent them, but when Ernest and Jack reached home that afternoon the toy breeds were swept entirely out of their minds for the time being. For Romulus appeared to be ailing and Remus was evidently quite sick.
The two setter puppies had been growing rapidly and had been allowed to run out in the yard as the April days grew warmer. They had lost some of their puppy awkwardness though none of their puppy playfulness, and were fast developing into strong-boned, active dogs. They had begun to appear more devoted to their young masters, too, and to understand better the meaning of the words they were expected to obey. Needless to say, the boys had become deeply attached to them.
There is nothing more pitiful to look at than a sick dog, and there was something very sad in the way these two rollicking, healthy puppies were so suddenly stricken down. The boys, not finding them in the yard, had gone at once to Rome. There lay Remus on the bed, breathing with difficulty, and recognizing their approach only by a raising of his brows and a pathetic little effort to wag his tail.Romulus came to greet them a little weakly, but he, too, looked very forlorn and somehow very thin and little. Both dogs seemed to be running from the eyes and nose and to be suffering from feverish colds.
"Oh, Ernest," cried Jack, the tears coming to his eyes at the sight of their suffering, "they're sick. Whatever shall we do?"
"I don't know," said Ernest. "I don't know what you do for a sick dog. We will ask father. He'll be home soon."
Mr. Whipple came out to look at the dogs soon after his return, but he was unable to suggest anything very helpful. He prescribed warm milk for dinner, and the puppies both drank it, though without much enthusiasm. That night the boys spread burlap blankets over the dogs and went to bed with heavy hearts.
The next morning and the morning after Romulus and Remus did not seem to be any better, nor, luckily, very much worse. The boys did what they could for them, keeping them warm and feeding them beef soup and warm milk, but they did not seem to be making much progress with the cure. So on Monday Ernest sent another postal card to Sam Bumpus, begging him to come down and look at the dogs. They had infinite confidence in Sam.
He did not fail them, and on Tuesday afternoonafter the boys had come home from school Sam appeared. By this time both dogs were pretty sick. They had lost flesh and looked pitifully thin and weak and wan. They seemed to have trouble breathing and to be affected by other complications. They looked up at their young masters with big, pathetic eyes, as though pleading for help in their affliction.
The boys watched Sam anxiously as he examined the dogs. His face was grave.
"It's distemper," said he. "I was afraid it was. Distemper's no joke; it's the dog's worst enemy. Sometimes it runs into pneumonia, or the dogs die in fits, or just waste away and give up. But cheer up; I've seen lots of 'em pull through, and we'll try to save these two. You've done the right thing so far. Careful nursin' does it. Keep 'em dry and out of draughts and keep up their strength with good food, easy to digest. Most dogs that die of distemper die because they didn't have strength enough to last 'em through. The disease has to have its run, and in time it just naturally runs out. That's the way I look at it. It don't do much good to try to cure 'em with medicine. As I say, it's the nursin' does the trick. Still, some folks believe in givin' quinine and you can do that if you want to. It's a tonic and it can't do any harm if you don't give too much. And keep their eyes and noses washed out with boracic acid."
"Is this place all right for them?" asked Ernest.
"Sure," said Sam. "It's a good place, now that the weather is mild. The more fresh air the better, so long as it ain't damp or too cold or draughty. You keep fussin' over 'em and let me know how they get along. Give 'em plenty of clean water and feed 'em a good deal of milk porridge several times a day. Better cut out the solid food till they're better."
For nearly two weeks the boys watched the progress of the disease with aching hearts. Sometimes the symptoms seemed less acute and they felt hopeful; then again the condition of their patients was such as to frighten them. They spent all their spare time with the puppies, in spite of their mother's anxiety lest they catch the disease themselves. Their father, however, was quite positive that human beings could not take distemper from dogs.
A deep cloud of anxiety hung over the Whipple home during those days, even Mrs. Whipple feeling the effects of it. There was no running and romping about the house; no longer the rooms echoed with boyish shouts and laughter. Each morning Ernest and Jack awoke with a feeling that something awful was impending. It seemed sometimes as though the dogs had always been sick and that they would never get well. Sometimes the tension would become toogreat for Jack and he would cry as though his heart would break.
"Oh, Ernest," he would sob, "what should I do if Remus died?"
And Ernest would have to struggle hard to keep from joining in the tears of his younger brother. The boys had come to love their dogs, and it seemed as though the puppies looked to them alone to save them. It is that way with dogs and people—that is, the people who care for dogs. And when once the wonderful tie has been formed between boy and dog it grows ever stronger. It becomes an ennobling thing.
Romulus developed a distressing cough, but after about ten days of suffering he began to show signs of improvement. He ate with greater relish and seemed brighter and stronger. Gradually the symptoms of the disease lessened and as the days went by Ernest became more and more happily convinced that he was really getting well. But with poor Remus it was different. The distemper seemed unwilling to relax its hold on him and his digestive system became so disordered that he could not gain the much needed strength from his food. Jack spent all the time he could beside the little sufferer, easing his head and bathing his eyes and nose, and listening with helpless agony to the labored breathing.
Suddenly, one afternoon, Remus struggled to his feet and staggered uncertainly for a few steps. His half-closed eyes were glassy and did not seem to see what he was looking at. He lurched into the wall in a way that made Romulus take to a corner in fear. Then he ran a few steps aimlessly and toppled over, his muscles twitching dreadfully and his feet scratching the floor.
Jack was terribly frightened and called to Ernest, who came running in. Both boys thought that Remus was surely dying, but after a while he grew quieter and Jack lifted him tenderly back upon the bed.
"I guess it was a fit," said Ernest. "Sam told about that, you know."
"Oh, what shall we do?" wailed Jack in despair. "Wemustdo something, Ernest."
Ernest thought for a moment, and then an idea came to him.
"I'll telephone Mr. Hartshorn," said he. "He might know what to do, and I don't believe he'd mind. He wouldn't want a dog to die."
"Oh, please do," begged Jack.
Mr. Hartshorn was not home, but Mrs. Hartshorn, who answered the telephone, was very sympathetic.
"I'm so sorry he's had convulsions," said she. "It's a bad sign. I'm sorry Mr. Hartshorn is away.I know just how it is, though, for I've sat up all night with dogs sick like that, more than once. I'll send Tom Poultice right over. He's a better dog doctor in his way than a good many vets., and he may be able to help you."
Ernest thanked the kind lady very heartily, and Tom Poultice came that very evening. Mr. Whipple lighted a lantern and they all went out to Rome. Tom examined both dogs and pronounced Romulus to be on the mend.
"'E'll be all right," said Tom, "if 'e don't take cold or get upset. But this other one, 'e's in a bad way, I'm afraid."
Then he took Remus up, looked into his eyes and throat, and felt of his stomach and of the pulse under his forelegs.
"'E's got to be straightened out first," said he. "'Ave you any castor oil?"
Tom administered the castor oil in a thoroughly efficient manner and then sent Ernest into the house to beg a little hot tea and a raw egg from Delia. The puppy took the tea quite eagerly and lapped some of the egg.
"Give 'im a little of this as often as 'e'll take it," said Tom, "and telephone me to-morrow 'ow 'e seems. If 'e gets stronger, we'll give 'im something else. If the castor oil don't work, we'll 'ave to give 'im calomelor a compound cathartic pill, though I 'ate to do that if I don't 'ave to. Calomel's terrible strong stuff for a sick puppy. 'Ow long 'as 'e been sick?"
"About two weeks," said Jack.
"That's about the course of it," said Tom. "If 'e ain't better in a day or two now, 'e'll be gone. I wish I'd tackled 'im before. Well, give 'im these pills, one to-night and three to-morrow, during the day, and keep me posted."
"What are these pills composed of?" inquired Mr. Whipple, who was taking a lively interest in proceedings.
"I 'ave 'em made up myself, sir," said Tom. "It's an old receipt I learned in Hengland. I ain't much on medicine myself, but sometimes this 'elps, especially if it's used earlier. There's thirty drops of acetate of ammonia in each pill, fifteen drops of sweet spirits of nitre, and two grains of salicylate of soda. It's better to give 'em in a little camphor water."
The boys followed Tom's directions faithfully. In the morning they found Remus lying against the door of Rome, quite exhausted, and there were signs that he had had another convulsion during the night. But during the day the castor oil got in its effect and there was no need for the calomel. Remus seemed more able and willing to take his tea and egg, and thoughno gain in strength was to be noted that day, he had no more convulsions.
Recovery was slow but sure for Remus from that time on, while Romulus mended rapidly, and it was not long before he was running about the yard again. Remus gained strength very slowly and for a long time was troubled by a cough and upset digestion, but as the days went by and he suffered no serious relapse Jack's buoyant nature responded and he was glad with hope once more. Tom Poultice came again to offer encouragement and advice, and when Sam Bumpus visited Rome unannounced one afternoon and was told what had happened, he proved himself to be most generous in his praise of Tom's skill.
"I don't know this English feller," said he, "but when it comes to doctorin' sick pups, I've got to hand it to him. When you see him again give him old Sam's best regards and tell him I'll vote for him next election whether he's runnin' or not."
Sam was in a jovial mood and the boys were in the humor to laugh heartily at anything he said. The tension was broken, the days of anxiety were past, and sunshine again filled the house on Washburn Street.
"It's just like a toothache when it's over, ain't it?" said Sam.
As for Jack, he hugged the emaciated little Remusclose to his breast, and, with big tears of happiness in his eyes, kissed the tousled little head. Remus gave a little, human-sounding whimper and licked Jack's hand. That was the only way he knew to express his love and gratitude, but Jack understood.
It was sympathy for Jack Whipple and interest in the sickness and recovery of Remus that resulted in the formation of a sort of freemasonry of dog lovers among the boys of Boy town. It had always been known that some of the boys had dogs, and there had been a good deal of fun with these dogs at different times in the past. But hitherto the dogs had been, in a way, taken for granted, and had lived in a sort of background in the boy life of the town. Suddenly they came to light as important members of the community, and each dog had its boy champion.
While Romulus and Remus were sick, the Whipple boys often had to answer inquiries as to their progress, but Ernest and Jack had been so wrapped up in their own worries that they did not realize the widespread sympathy that had sprung up. They did not know that a dozen other boys each loved a dog much as they loved Romulus and Remus and could understand what it must mean to watch at the bedside of a seriously sick puppy.
But when Romulus was well on the road to perfect health again and Remus was slowly convalescing, the other boy dog lovers of the town began to drop around, sometimes with offerings to be appreciated by dogs, just as neighbors bring in jellies and fruit when a person is recovering from a long illness. Then Ernest and Jack began to realize how many friends they had in Boytown and that they all had a precious possession in common.
Harry Barton came first, with Mike. His manner was subdued and he did not brag. He stepped softly as one would in entering a sick room, and he patted Remus's little head very gently and called him "poor little muttsie." Then came Theron Hammond, though he left his Boston terrier at home because Alert had never had distemper and might catch it. He and the Whipple boys sat for a long time in the stable doorway and speculated about the knowingness of dogs. Monty Hubbard came, too. He left his Irish terrier, Mr. O'Brien, at home because of said Mr. O'Brien's well-known proclivity to fight with anything in the shape of a dog, though Monty was sure he wouldn't hurt two sick puppies. But Herbie Pierson honored Rome by bringing his huge, brindled Great Dane, Hamlet, who regarded the setters with fatherly indulgence and then walked off in his statelymanner and crouched like a noble statue beside the front gate.
And last of all came Rags and Jimmie Rogers, of whom I will presently tell you more.
Great Dane
Boytown had always been a great place for dogs. Not only the aristocrats of dogdom, living comfortably in homes with loving masters and mistresses, but all sorts of nondescript dogs, many of whom seemed to be masterless and homeless, though not invariably unhappy. In fact, there were many good citizens of Boytown who did not like dogs and who felt thatthe canine population of the place was altogether too large.
There were restrictive laws that ought to have reduced this canine population to such dogs as were properly owned and licensed, but the government of Boytown was criticized as being a happy-go-lucky affair a good deal of the time, and it was only when complaints became sufficiently numerous and serious that the town fathers took steps to enforce the laws and abolish what was conceded to be a public nuisance. Then a dog catcher was hired, warnings were posted, and the stray dogs were gathered up and mysteriously disposed of. It was rather a cruel and heart-rending business, if you stopped to think of it, and it would not have been necessary if the authorities had been more uniformly strict in observing the statutes and ordinances, but that was their way.
It was during one of the periods of laxity that a wire-haired terrier appeared from no one knew where. He was not an authentic representative of any of the established breeds; it was quite evident that he had just happened somehow. But he was conspicuous among his miscellaneous black and white and brown and brindled brethren by reason of his superior alertness and intelligence and his never-failing good humor and high spirits. His tramp life had in no way damaged his disposition; he seemed to have been bornfull of the joy of life. He was about the size of one of Mr. Hartshorn's smaller Airedales and in the main he was not badly formed. But his tail, which had never been docked, hung at a rakish angle to one side and one ear was set higher than the other. His eyes were extraordinarily bright and his wiry coat was a grizzled black, always tousled and generally dirty.
The boys were not long in making this stranger's acquaintance. Indeed, he made the first advances, joining in their sport one day when they were in swimming in the pond over by the brickyard, and mingling his joyous barks with the shrieks of laughter which his antics provoked. He would pick them up on their way to school, or anywhere, and make himself generally companionable, and it was not long before they discovered him to be most precocious in the learning of tricks.
It was not in the nature of things that such a dog should remain forever masterless, but the periodical cleaning up of the dog catcher had begun before anyone had had time to think of him as anything but everybody's dog. It was Jimmie Rogers who saw him seized and thrust unceremoniously into the dog catcher's covered wagon, and it was Jimmie who set out alone to achieve his rescue. Jimmie's people lived on Sharon Street and were not well to do, but somehow Jimmie managed to scrape together the five dollarswhich he found must be paid before he could establish his claim to ownership.
After that, by common consent, he became Jimmie Rogers's dog. He had already won the name of Rags.
So Jimmie brought his beloved Rags to visit the invalids, and Romulus and Remus looked on with big-eyed amazement while Rags was made to sit up, shake hands, roll over, chase his tail, play dead, and sing.
But there was one boy with a dog who did not come to visit the sick, and Ernest and Jack Whipple were not sorry. They did not like Dick Wheaton, and Dick, it was easy to believe, was not one to care whether another boy's dog died or not. He was a good deal of a bully at school, and Jack feared and avoided him. As for the older boys, they found him generally unamiable and those of them who knew the love of dogs were angry with Dick for the way he treated poor little Gyp.
Gyp was a smooth-coated fox terrier and a very good specimen of his breed. He was smart and gamey, but his spirit had nearly been broken by his tyrannical master. Dick seemed unable to resist the temptation to bully everything smaller and weaker than himself, and when there were no small boys or little girls within his reach he indulged his proclivities by teasing his dog.
Gyp, who had never had any other master, did not think of resenting this. He merely endured it as best he might. In fact, there was no more obedient dog in Boytown. It was pitiful to see the way in which he would answer his master's lightest word, as though he lived constantly in the hope of winning favor by his promptness.
Boys often like to tease animals, but they are seldom actually cruel, at least not knowingly so. And when a boy becomes possessed of a dog or a pony of his own, his attitude often undergoes a marked change. But no relenting took place in Dick Wheaton's nature, and the other boys who had learned the lesson of kindness, recognizing his right to do as he chose with his own, could only look on with growing disapproval and dislike.
But all the other dog-owning boys of the town found their friendships growing closer in the warmth of this common interest. During the convalescence of Remus they made Rome a sort of lodge room for the meetings of a new association with an unwritten constitution and no by-laws. They talked much of dogs and it was not long before a number of them were keenly desirous of visiting Willowdale and making the acquaintance of dog-wise Tom Poultice, the rich Mr. Hartshorn, and all the Airedales and white bull terriers.
So Harry Barton made the arrangements and one Saturday in May an expedition was formed to walk to Thornboro and visit Willowdale. There were seven boys in the company and three dogs—Mike, Alert, and Rags. Romulus and Remus were not yet strong enough to make such a trip and it was voted that these three could be counted upon to behave themselves properly. There was a little doubt about Rags, but he was a general favorite and was always given the benefit of any doubt. At the last moment Herbie Pierson and Hamlet joined the excursion.
To these active boys and their dogs the way did not seem too long. In fact, Rags, full of joyful exuberance at this rare treat, dashed about on all sorts of secondary adventures, running three miles to every one traversed. Even sturdy little Alert, in spite of his short legs, took it all as a lark and did not think to be weary until he reached home that afternoon and fell sound asleep on his front door mat.
The arrival of the four canine strangers at Willowdale created a good deal of commotion in the fenced-in runs, and Rags nearly went crazy with the excitement. But Tom Poultice took it all good-naturedly, and when he had got things quieted down a little he took the boys through the kennels and introduced them to the prize dogs.
They were all so absorbed in this pleasant occupationthat it was noon before they knew it, and Mrs. Hartshorn came out to invite them all up to the porch for a luncheon. As they were following her up to the house she asked questions about their four dogs, and appeared to take a great interest in Alert especially.
"He's really a very fine little dog," she said. "But who is this?" Rags had come up and thrust his cold nose ingratiatingly into her hand.
"Oh, that's Rags," they said, and interrupted each other with explanations. Mrs. Hartshorn laughed.
"Well, I would hardly know what to call him," she said, "but he is evidently a very popular person. But what's the matter with his back?"
"Oh, it just itches," said Jimmie.
There was a spot on Rags's back that was difficult for him to reach, and it gave him a good deal of trouble, but he had managed to bite a good deal of the hair out of it. Beneath, Mrs. Hartshorn discovered the skin to be in a scabby and unhealthy condition.
"Well," said she, "this shouldn't be neglected. It may be mange, and that's serious. Let's have Tom look at it."
Tom came up at her bidding and examined Rags's back.
"Do you think it's mange, Tom?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn.
"I don't think so," said he. "It looks like heczema, like the Hairedales had last summer. 'E better 'ave some of that medicine, I fancy."
"All right," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "I still have some at the house, I think, that I got in case my dogs should need it. Eczema," she explained to the boys, "isn't exactly a skin disease. It is caused by the dog's general condition, and should be treated internally, though if you will rub zinc ointment on that spot it will heal more rapidly. The cure is first a good dose of sulphur and cream of tartar; you can get that in tablet form at the drug store. Then give him the pills I am going to get for you. They are a tonic and ought to fix him up all right."
"Only be sure not to feed him any corn meal," warned Tom.
"That's so," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "especially now that warm weather is coming."
Before the boys left that afternoon she gave Jimmie half a dozen soft pills and also a prescription for more. It read, "Sulphate of quinine, 1 grain; sulphate of iron, 2 grains; extract of hyoscyamus, 1 grain; with enough extract of taraxacum and glycerine to make a pill." It might be added that Jimmie used this medicine faithfully and the sore, itching spot at length disappeared from Rags's back.
Meanwhile the boys had arranged themselves expectantlyon the front porch and the maid presently appeared with plates, napkins, sandwiches, crullers, and lemonade. Mrs. Hartshorn was a charming hostess and the boys waxed merry over their luncheon. Great piles of sandwiches disappeared as if by magic, and then there was chocolate ice cream and sponge cake. The dogs lay eying their masters enviously, all except the incorrigible Rags. He sat up and begged constantly, and even Mrs. Hartshorn could not resist the temptation to toss him a morsel now and then, which he caught with great deftness.
Just as they were finishing, Mr. Hartshorn drove up in his car.
"What have we here?" he cried. "An orphan asylum or a dog show?"
He got out of his car and ascended the steps, demanding his share of the luncheon. Those of the boys who had not already met him were introduced. Then he asked to be made acquainted with the dogs.
"What do you think of them?" asked Herbie Pierson, who was very proud of his imposing Great Dane.
"I'll tell you after I've partaken of a little nourishment," said Mr. Hartshorn. "You can't expect a man to talk learnedly on an empty stomach, can you?"
He proceeded to do ample justice to his share ofthe sandwiches and ice cream, while a jolly conversation was kept up, even the shyer boys entering in at last.
"Now," said Mr. Hartshorn, as he finished his last spoonful, "let's have a look at that Great Dane."
He stepped down from the porch and approached Hamlet, who submitted to his caress with dignity. Then Mr. Hartshorn did strange things to him which brought a look of amazement into his eyes. He pulled back the dog's hind feet and made him stand straight, measured his head with his hands, pulled down his lips, and thumped his ribs.
"A pretty good dog," said Mr. Hartshorn. "A trifle off in the shoulders, perhaps, and a bit cow-hocked, but he has a good head. Ever show him?"
"No, sir," said Herbie.
"Well, you ought to. We'll see about that some time."
"Won't you tell us something about Great Danes and other dogs, Mr. Hartshorn?" asked Harry Barton. "Things like you told us about the terriers the other day."
"Why," said he, "I thought I must have given you such a dose of it the other time that you would want to run away from any more."
"Oh, no, sir," said Ernest Whipple. "We thought it was very interesting. We've talked it over a lotsince, and we want to know about all the other kinds of dogs, too. All the boys do."
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, "you never can tell what a boy will like, I guess. If you had to learn all that in school, I'll bet you'd hate it. But I don't want to overdo it. I'll tell you about just a few this time."
The boys crowded around him expectantly as he sat down again on the porch.
"The Great Dane," he began, "though once a hunting dog, a boarhound, is now classed among the non-sporting breeds, and I'll tell you something about those. They include the very biggest dogs—the mastiff, the St. Bernard, the Newfoundland, and the Great Dane. The smaller ones are the English bulldog, the French bulldog, the chow chow, the poodle, the Dalmatian, and the schipperke. The collies and other sheepdogs are also classed with the non-sporting breeds, but I'll save those for another time. Let me get a book or two, so that I'll be sure to get my information correct.
"Now then," he continued, when he had returned with his books, "I'll outline a few facts about each of these breeds, but in order to avoid sounding like a walking catalogue, I am going to omit a good many things like color, size, and weight. These things are very important in distinguishing the breeds, but theyaren't very easy to carry in your heads, and you can find them all set down in the dog books. I shall try to tell you only the interesting, picturesque things about each breed's history and character, and you can find all the rest in the books.
"Let's begin with the St. Bernard. He's the biggest of all. Who knows anything about the St. Bernard?"
"There's a piece in the Fourth Reader about them," ventured Theron Hammond. "They used to guide travelers in the Alps and rescue them when they were lost in the snow."
"And there was one named Barry," put in Harry Barton, "who saved the lives of forty people, and they set up a monument of him in Paris."
"Correct," said Mr. Hartshorn. "There's no breed more famed in song and story than the St. Bernard. It was developed long ago by the monks of the Hospice of St. Bernard in Switzerland, who trained their dogs for the purposes you have mentioned. So many of them were lost, however, that the breed got into a bad way a hundred years ago and had to be brought back by crossing with the Newfoundland and other breeds. As I said, it is one of the largest breeds, sometimes weighing as much as two hundred pounds—more than most men."
"Are there some good St. Bernard stories?" askedJack Whipple, who preferred anecdotes to descriptive particulars.
"A lot of them," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but there seems to be a good deal of sameness about them. They tell of the saving of Alpine travelers and shepherds, lost in snowstorms or caught in crevasses in glaciers. Some of them are very thrilling. The best story I ever read about a St. Bernard, however, had nothing to do with mountaineering.
"This dog was the beloved friend and constant companion of the Count of Monte Veccios, a Venetian nobleman. Now it became very necessary to the Count that he should obtain certain favors from General Morosini, who was somewhat difficult of approach, in spite of the fact that he was in much the same position himself. In order to gain his own ends, the General had arranged in his palace a gorgeous banquet in honor of the Doge of Venice, from whom he hoped to gain important concessions, and he had caused his great banquet table to be laden with gold and silver plate and much fine Venetian glass.
"The Count, hearing of these preparations, screwed up his courage and called on General Morosini. He praised to the skies the table appointments, which pleased the General, but as soon as he began to plead his own cause, the General became cold and unyieldingand begged the Count to cease annoying him about these petty matters. As the Count left the General's palace, he turned to his faithful dog, with tears in his eyes, and said, 'You see, my friend, how badly I am used.'
"The St. Bernard was greatly affected by this, and he formed in his own mind a plan of revenge, since it was beyond his powers to secure justice. Unobserved, he stole back into the General's palace, and just as the Doge was arriving with his retinue, the dog seized the corner of the tablecloth in his mouth and dashed out of the house, upsetting the entire banquet and smashing most of the valuable glassware. I don't believe there is any moral to that story, but perhaps that won't spoil it for you.
"I don't believe I have any mastiff stories," continued Mr. Hartshorn, "but that breed must be mentioned in passing, as it is one of the very old and very famous breeds of England. The mastiff used to be popular here thirty years ago, but we seldom see any now, and sometimes I fear the breed is dying out. It's too bad, for he was a fine, powerful dog, brave and wise.
"Another fine dog that has gone out of fashion is the Newfoundland. There are still some good ones in England, but very few here. I suppose the Newfoundland has more rescues of drowning persons tohis credit than any other breed, and it's a shame to see him go. The breed originated on the island of Newfoundland a hundred years ago, and you will still see a dog's head on the Newfoundland postage stamps.
"The Newfoundland has a waterproof coat and is a wonderful swimmer, so that a good many of the anecdotes told about dogs of this breed have to do with their exploits in the water. For example, there is one of a man who fell off a narrow foot-bridge into a swift mill stream. The miller's dog promptly dived in and rescued him, and having accomplished this, coolly plunged in again to save the man's hat that was just about to be swept over the dam. There are several amusing stories told of Newfoundlands dragging bathers to shore, quite against their wills, because the dogs fancied they were in danger.
"A naval lieutenant owned a canary bird and a Newfoundland dog. While they were cruising in the Mediterranean, the bird escaped from the cabin and, flying out to sea, became weighted down with the spray and dropped into the water. The dog leaped overboard, and when he was hauled up on deck again, he dropped the bird out of his mouth, quite uninjured. Another naval officer who owned a Newfoundland was drowned when his ship was sunk near Liverpool. The faithful dog swam about over the spot for three days and three nights, searching vainlyfor his master, before he would allow himself to be brought exhausted to land.
"Friendships between two dogs are very rare, but instances have been recorded, and in most of these a Newfoundland figures. At Donaghadee there was once a mastiff and a Newfoundland who were, for some reason, bitter enemies, and as both were powerful dogs, it was desirable to keep them apart. One day, however, the mastiff attacked the Newfoundland on the pier, and a terrific fight ensued. At length both dogs fell into the water and loosed their holds. The Newfoundland was soon on dry land, but the mastiff was a poor swimmer and appeared in danger of drowning. The Newfoundland, observing the plight of his recent antagonist, plunged in again and brought him to shore, after which the two dogs were the closest friends. Another Newfoundland at Cork became so annoyed by a small, troublesome cur, that at last he took him in his mouth and dropped him into the water. When the small dog was nearly drowned the Newfoundland rescued him, and was never annoyed by him again.
"But the Newfoundland has been the means of saving not merely drowning persons. In 1841 a laborer named Rake in the parish of Botley, near Southampton, in England, was buried in a gravel pit with two ribs broken. He was helpless and wouldundoubtedly have died there if his employer's Newfoundland dog had not dug him out.
"William Youatt, who wrote two or three of the dog books in my library, tells of an experience he once had with a friend's Newfoundland dog named Carlo. Youatt and the friend and Carlo parted on the road to Kingston, the dog and his master turning off toward Wandsworth. Soon afterward Youatt was accosted by ruffians. He never knew what made Carlo come back to him, but the dog appeared at the critical moment and drove the men away. Carlo escorted Youatt to a safe place, and then, in the author's quaint words, 'with many a mutual and honest greeting we parted, and he bounded away to overtake his rightful owner.'
"The Newfoundland has always been famous as the protector of children, and this is illustrated by an amusing story told of a Newfoundland that was owned by the chief engineer on H. M. S.Buffalo. The incident took place on an evening in 1858 at the Woolwich theater in London. In the third act of the play, 'Jessie Vere,' there was a violent struggle over the possession of a child. The dog, who had sneaked into the theater behind his master, flew to the rescue across the footlights, much to the consternation of all concerned."
"My!" said Ernest Whipple, "there are certainlya fine lot of stories about Newfoundlands. Are they all true?"
"Well," smiled Mr. Hartshorn, "I can't vouch for them all, but I believe that most of them are founded on fact, and some of them are undoubtedly quite true. Now let's see what the next dog is.
"The Great Dane is at the present time the most popular of the very large dogs. As you can see by looking at Hamlet, he is a powerful, graceful animal. The breed was used in Germany, I don't know how long ago, for hunting the wild boar and was introduced into England in the '80's as the German boarhound. You can see from this one what kind of dog it is. The ears are commonly cropped in this country, but in 1895 the practice was abolished in England for all breeds. I hope some day it will be abolished here. The fanciers think cropping makes the dog look smarter, but it's a silly, unnatural thing to do, when you come to think of it. I wish I didn't have to do it with my bull terriers, but they would never take prizes with long ears. I don't remember any Great Dane stories.
"Now we come to the smaller ones. Mike here is a very good English bulldog, though not so extreme a type as some of them. This breed, like the mastiff, is of British origin, and probably came from the same ancestry. He was trained for bull baiting andlater for pit fighting. Tramps and other people are afraid of bulldogs because of their frightful appearance, but as you can see, if you know Mike, they are often as gentle as lambs.
"The French bulldog is much smaller and he is different in many respects. He has big bat ears, for one thing. The chow chow is an interesting dog that comes from China. Perhaps you will be amazed when I tell you that this dog was originally bred and fattened by the Chinese to be eaten like pork and mutton. The tastes of the Oriental are certainly peculiar.
"The poodle, which was originally a German dog but which was developed chiefly in France, used to be better known than he is now. He is supposed to be the cleverest of all dogs and you will usually find poodles in troops of trick dogs."
"It seems to me," said Theron, "that I've read some stories about poodles."
"Yes, there are a number of classic poodle stories," said Mr. Hartshorn, "illustrating the cleverness of the breed. I am sorry to say that poodles have been trained as thieves' dogs, and have been widely used by smugglers on the French frontiers, who trained them to carry lace and other valuable commodities across the border.
"The most famous of these stories is that of the poodle of the Pont Neuf, one of the bridges of Paris.He was owned by a bootblack, who taught him to roll in the mud of the Seine and then run about among the pedestrians on the bridge, dirtying their shoes. This meant more business for the bootblack. An Englishman observed this performance and was much impressed by the dog's smartness in carrying out his part. He offered the bootblack a good price for the poodle and took him back to London with him. But the poodle didn't care for his new life; apparently he had no wish to reform. Somehow or other he managed to stow himself away on a Channel boat and made his way back to Paris, where he returned to his former master and resumed his old occupation."