The Dogs of Boytown

"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 they aren'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?" asked Jack 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 unyielding and 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 to his 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 vainly for 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 would undoubtedly 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 certainly a 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 and later 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."

When the boys had finished laughing over this droll story, Mr. Hartshorn continued:

"The Dalmatian or coach dog comes from eastern Europe, and was bred long ago in Dalmatia, now an Austrian province. He was well known in England by 1800 and was used there as a stable dog and was trained to run with the horses and under the carriages. Here you will see them most often as mascots in fire engine houses. It's queer how fashions run in those things. He is always pure white, evenly covered with round black or brown spots.

"The last of this group is the schipperke. I don't believe you know him, for the breed isn't very common here. The name means 'little skipper,' and the dog has long been a favorite with the captains of Flemish and Dutch canal barges. The schipperke has no tail to wag. There," he concluded, "I guess I've filled you up with enough dog information for this trip. I don't want to overdo it."

"You couldn't overdo it for me," said Ernest Whipple. "Will you tell us about some of the other breeds another day?"

"And tell us more anecdotes?" chimed in Jack.

"I promise," said Mr. Hartshorn.

Ernest, Harry, and Theron were boys of the type that love to collect facts and figures, and they had recently been doing some reading on the subject of the breeds of dogs. They discussed the matter all the way home, becoming quite excited now and then over disputed points.

"Mr. Hartshorn said that Rags didn't belong to any regular breed," said Jimmie Rogers as the boys separated, "but I don't care. There ought to be a breed like him, anyway, 'cause there isn't any better dog anywhere. Rags is good enough for me."

"That's right," cried the other boys in chorus. "You stick to Rags. He's all right, whatever the books say. Good-by, Rags. So long, Jim."

CHAPTER VIII

DOG DAYS

By June both Romulus and Remus were in full health again and Mr. Whipple admitted that they began to look like real English setters. They were puppies still, full of fun and mischief, but their coats had lost some of their fuzzy, silky character and their bodies had lengthened and filled out. They had gained a greater control over their muscles and in their gambols about the yard they had acquired considerable speed. Sam Bumpus came down again to look at them and pronounced them likely-looking youngsters.

"They've got some growin' to do yet," said he, "but they're gainin' bone and speed every day, and the first thing you know you'll have two fine bird dogs, or I don't know what I'm talking about."

They also displayed increasing devotion to their masters and had begun to develop, to a certain extent, the qualities of watchdogs.

It was about this time that Jack Whipple made an extraordinary and alarming discovery. He noticed one day that Remus was having some sort of trouble with his mouth, as though he had perhaps got a piece of bone wedged in his teeth. He worked his jaws in a laughable manner and poked at them with his paw. Then he shook his head, ejected a small white object, and appeared relieved.

Thinking it must be a piece of bone, Jack picked it up and examined it. It was a tooth! He called Ernest, and after poking about in Rome, they discovered another tooth in the sawdust beside the food dish. They proceeded to examine both dogs, and in Romulus's mouth they found another loose tooth which came out in Ernest's fingers.

"Why," cried Jack, "they're losing all their teeth. How will they eat? How can they do anything?"

Ernest was equally puzzled, and that evening they told their father about it. He also seemed perplexed.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," said he. "You'd better consult Tom Poultice or Sam Bumpus. Perhaps there's some disease that loosens dogs' teeth. Possibly it's the result of the distemper. I understand there are sometimes after-effects of that, such as deafness, and it may cause a dropping of the teeth. You'd better see about it before it goes any further."

The boys had been planning for some little time to take the two dogs up to Sam's shack, since they now seemed old and strong enough to stand the journey, and it would be good fun for all concerned. So Ernest sent Sam word that they were coming, and on a bright, warm Saturday morning the four of them set out.

The sky was clear and blue, a light breeze tempered the warmth of the brilliant sunshine, and it was a joy just to be alive and out in the open. The boys had their hands full, for Romulus and Remus had never before enjoyed so much liberty, and they did not always answer promptly the recalling whistle. The world, this great, new world, seemed to hold so many sights and sounds and scents to interest a dog that their impulse was to keep going and searching and never turn back. But it was a pleasure just to watch the zest with which they investigated every thicket and hillock. As they trotted along, twisting and doubling and turning, their noses held now high, sniffing the breeze, now close to the ground, they seemed to develop something of that lithe grace of movement that characterized the actions of their mother and old Nan.

When they arrived at their destination, the dogs were at first much excited by the presence of so many others of their kind, but after a little while they were glad to take a long drink of water and to rest on the floor of the shack.

Sam, as usual, was smiling and cordial. "They're comin' on; they're comin' on," said he, patting the young dogs and observing their sinewy limbs, their sensitive nostrils, and their soft, intelligent eyes. "Been teachin' 'em to hunt on the way up?"

The boys were forced to admit that they had made little progress with the vocational training of Romulus and Remus.

"Well, there's plenty of time for that," said Sam. "They've got to get the sense of the fields and the woods first. You get 'em so they'll come when they're called, and a little later on I'll have time to take 'em in hand and teach 'em the fine points of the game. How have they been, anyway? They're lookin' as sound as nuts."

"They've been very well," answered Ernest, "except for one thing. We don't know what's the trouble, but their teeth are dropping out."

"Their teeth – " began Sam, and then burst into a roar of laughter, in which the boys presently joined, though they did not know why.

"Don't you worry about them teeth," said he, when he could speak again. "I'll bet it wasn't so very long ago that Jack here had the very same trouble. Didn't you know that dogs lose their first teeth the same as boys do? Sure thing. Some folks are a good deal troubled about it and pull out the loose teeth for fear the dogs will swallow them, but it ain't likely to hurt 'em if they do. Just let 'em alone and nature will look out for 'em. New and stronger teeth will grow in their places and then they'll be fixed for life."

The boys, relieved to find that the matter was not serious, laughed again.

"I guess this joke's on father, too," said Ernest.

This trip to Sam's shack was the first of a number of excursions thither which Sam seemed to enjoy as much as the boys and the dogs. And when vacation time came and every day was like Saturday, Ernest and Jack Whipple came to understand better what it really means to have good dogs for constant companions. It was in these days that visits to the swimming hole over by the brickyard began, and Romulus and Remus were taught to enjoy the water as much as their masters did.

This swimming hole, in fact, proved to be the accepted meeting place for most of the boys and dogs of Boytown, for it became a regular practice for the boys to bring their dogs and to invent various aquatic sports in which the dogs played an important part. Old Mike hated the water and could scarcely be induced to go in, but most of the others entered into the spirit of the game with zest. Little Alert proved to be a regular cork in the water, and even huge Hamlet splashed about in a dignified sort of way. But the general favorite was Rags. He could dive for stones, retrieve sticks, and even stand up in the water, with his fore feet pawing the air in a manner to bring laughter to the soberest. And he had a way of devising sport of his own, not always respecting the sanctity of the boys' clothing.

I don't know how it is with other boys, but it is certain that the constant association with faithful four-footed comrades was good for the boys of Boytown. Boys are often thoughtless to an extent that verges upon cruelty. They love to tease and often find amusement in inventing new trials for a much-enduring cat or dog. But once let them get the idea of comradeship and protection firmly fixed, and not infrequently a sort of chivalry appears to develop in their natures.

At least it was so with these boys. They quarreled and disputed and occasionally fought, as boys will, but there was no more torturing of animals, and with this came less bullying of little boys and teasing of little girls. Each boy felt the responsibility of protecting his own beloved dog, and with this came a sense of protection toward all animals. Mrs. Hammond, Theron's mother, was wise enough to observe and take advantage of this, and she organized the boys into a sort of Humane Society, with meetings every two weeks, and a set of rules and objects. They were pledged to do what they could to see that no dumb animal was abused, and more than once they were able to dissuade a brutal teamster from beating an overburdened horse. In only one quarter did they totally fail. Dick Wheat on would neither join the Humane Society nor would he mend his ways in regard to his treatment of Gyp. But at least he never attempted to abuse any other animal whenever any of the boys were about, after having received a good licking at the hands of Jimmie Rogers for annoying Rags. That taught him a much needed lesson.

If every boy in America could be taught to be as kind to animals as these boys were, and to interest himself personally in their treatment, this would be a better world to live in.

So the summer vacation days passed, with plenty of outdoor fun, the boys forming an ever closer comradeship with their common interest, and Romulus and Remus gaining in strength and wisdom every day. For the most part they were healthy dogs and gave their masters little concern on that score, though sometimes their tendency to get into mischief required attention, for Mrs. Whipple was not reconciled to their presence about her house and it was necessary to keep watch lest they offend beyond the chance of pardon. The day they brought Delia to the verge of tears by tearing a clean sheet from the clothesline and clashing with it about a muddy yard would have produced a disastrous crisis if Mr. Whipple had not once more intervened.

Once or twice the two dogs had to be doctored again for worms, and in August came the pest of fleas. This was a source of annoyance to both boys and dogs, and Mrs. Whipple, when she found it out, was in constant fear lest the insects be introduced into the house. When Ernest or Jack discovered one on their own persons at night they left no stone unturned to capture and decapitate it.

As to the dogs, they suffered not a little. Their long coats made a splendid breeding place for the parasites and they wore themselves thin with scratching. Fleas are not a pleasant thing to talk about, but all dogs get them, especially the long-haired kinds, and not even frequent visits to the swimming hole will eradicate them.

It was Sam Bumpus who told the boys what to do about it. One day, when they went up to visit him, he refused to let Romulus and Remus into the shack or near his kennels.

"They're full of fleas," said he as he watched the dogs scratching nervously, "and I don't want 'em to be droppin' 'em around where my dogs'll get 'em. I have trouble enough with the varmints as 'tis. You ought to get rid of 'em. If you don't, they'll hang on till November and the dogs'll be no good for huntin'."

"But how do you get rid of them?" asked Ernest.

"Wash 'em in cresolin or cresoleum or whatever your druggist wants to call it. He'll know what you want when you tell him. Mix it with warm water and soapsuds and scrub 'em good. Then rub 'em dry. Do it outdoors on the grass. It's better than insect powder. It won't kill all the eggs, but it will drive the fleas off, and if you keep at it, and do it often enough, you'll get rid of 'em all. Besides, it gives the dogs some relief before the new ones can hatch. Better burn their beds once in awhile, too, to kill the eggs in 'em."

The boys faithfully followed Sam's instructions and were pleased to find the trouble greatly abated.

It was in August, too, that they took Romulus and Remus for their first trip to Willowdale. They were anxious to learn what Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice would think of their dogs, and they were always glad of an excuse to visit the bull terriers and Airedales and to listen to doggy talk.

Luckily, Mr. Hartshorn was at home on this occasion, though they paid their respects first to Tom and the kennels before going up to the big house. Tom had not seen the two setters since they had recovered from the distemper, and he was pleased to be frankly enthusiastic.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" he exclaimed. "And are these the same two dogs that I doctored in your barn last spring? They were sad enough looking pictures then. The bally rascals! They sure 'ave grown some. Hi'd like nothing better than to take 'em out some day myself on a bit of an 'unt. Look at the legs of 'em! Say, you've got two fine bird dogs there."