This adventure story for youth and dog lovers will delight anyone with just a little suspension of disbelief. Sentimental and anthropomorphic, it’s still a good read/listen for those who would appreciate how a devoted dog saved his physician master’s life during World War I. Clarence Hawkes, crippled and blind, was a prolific, popular writer, well-known for his nature stories in the twentieth century.
By : Clarence Hawkes (1869 - 1954)
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It is almost like a stern irony of fate, that man’s faithful, gentle friend, the dog, should have sprung from one of the most thoroughly hated and despised brutes in the animal kingdom, the wolf.
Yet this is a scientific fact. The wolf, with all his meanness and skulking cunning, is the progenitor of man’s friend, the dog.
They belong to the same family, their breeding habits are alike, and the wolf is as surely the father of the dog, as was brute man, the cave dweller, the ancestor of the highly civilized creature we now know.
In the case of the man it has taken untold ages to bring about the change, and so it has in the case of the dog. When in the dark ages the brute man crouched over his campfire, gazing fearfully into the darkness about him, encompassed by superstition and ignorance, the gray wolf hung upon the outskirts of his campfire.
This man creature, that ran upon two legs instead of four, who had such strange power over fire and water, and over the forces of nature and the wild kindred, fascinated and drew him with a terrible power.
Try as he would he could not keep away from him. Often this man creature wounded him with his sharp stick. He also poisoned the wolf pack, but still they could not be driven away, for it was an unwritten law of nature that some day they should be inseparable.
So the wolf skulked upon the trail of the primitive man, until the famine, or the cold, or some other stern necessity brought them together.
Indians, even now in the far north, often take the wolf whelps from the den and play with them, and they refer to the wolf as “Grandfather’s dog,” showing that they understand the gradual evolution of the dog. You can better understand this if you visit any of their villages where the dogs even now are little more than partly domesticated wolves, wolfish in habits, and looks. Such is the Husky, the famous team dog of the frozen north, without whose help the wealth of the Klondyke and other remote places could hardly have been brought to the outside world.
The collie, which is one of the most faithful and lovable of the dog kind, is not so far removed from a wolf, and it is very easy for him to slip back to his wolf ancestry. There are many instances on record where collies have gone back to the wild and mated and run with the gray pack. Put a collie pup into a wolf den with a litter of wolf whelps and the old wolf will suckle him as her own. He will be brought up as a young wolf; will learn to hunt in the pack, and to stalk his game like a veritable wolf. Of course he will not be as fierce as his wolf brother, and he will still retain certain dog characteristics, but he will pass for a wolf in most particulars, while in two or three generations he will be a veritable wolf.
When we consider all the varieties of dogs ranging from the great Dane of nearly two hundred pounds weight, to the smallest toy dog coming from Japan, this statement that all dogs are descended from wolves seems almost incredible, but all this change has been wrought by man himself. Breeding and selection for certain qualities have been the method by means of which he has attained such varied results.
Climate, and the use to which the dog has been put has also played its part. Nature always adapts her creatures to their surroundings, and the dog is no exception to this rule. He has been molded like all of nature’s other creatures. Where he needed long hair to shield him from the cold he has been given a long, thick coat, and where he could not bear a coat because of the heat it has been left off.
Certain types of dogs there are that have become famous all over the world, some for their beauty and others for their usefulness, but usually for both qualities.
Every child is familiar with the St. Bernard dogs and their work in the Alpine passes, saving lost travelers in the terrible storms of those great heights. Perhaps the most famous of all those great dogs was Barry, whose record as a life saver covered a long period of years, and who is credited with saving forty lives.
This is a record that any man might well be proud of, and one that few men have attained.
Equally famous, and perhaps even more useful as a helper of man are the Scotch collies and the sheep and cattle dogs of England and Scotland. In countries where wolves are numerous these fine dogs are indispensable, and in some sections it would be impossible to guard the flock without them. The training of a fine sheep dog has become a science, and something that the shepherds take a deal of pride in. In order to encourage the breeding of finely trained dogs, each year in many parts of England and Scotland contests of sheep herding dogs are held. Then great crowds of people from far and near gather and all the fine sheep dogs are brought hither and put through their paces. Finally when all have contested, the judges award the cup or other trophy to the shepherd whose dog has made the best showing. Such an event is finely described in that famous dog story, “Bob, Son of Battle.”
The wolfhounds of Russia, which are taught to run in packs and pull down their wild kindred, and hold them until the men come up are equally famous, if not so useful. But wolves in Russia are considered vermin so these dogs do a good work in helping to exterminate the pest.
The Czar of all the Russias was himself interested in wolf coursing and is reported to have owned the finest pack of wolf dogs in the world.
The Alaskan dog teams are famous throughout the world; not only for the very material service that they render man in traveling over the frozen lands where not even a burrow could travel, but also because of the famous races that are held each year in Alaska.
Then the fastest teams in the North are brought together, a course of perhaps four hundred miles is selected, and at a crack of the pistol the teams are off to run the course, in competition for a sweep stake of ten thousand dollars.
Two men constitute the drivers. One rides for a ways upon the back of the sled, guiding it by what is called gee-pole, while the other runs behind. When the man who is running is tired he takes his turn upon the sled, while the other man runs. By alternating in this way, and only one riding at a time, fifty and sixty miles can be covered in a single day, and in their races even more.
These Husky dogs with their thick coats and tough constitutions are wonderfully adapted to such strenuous work. They are fed but once a day and then only a pound of dry fish. After they have eaten this slight meal, they will bury themselves in the snow, putting their noses and their paws into their shaggy tails for warmth, and sleep soundly with the thermometer at fifty and sixty below zero.
Their masters in the meantime are sleeping in their rabbit skin sleeping bags, which weigh from six to twelve pounds.
Hard as the work is yet these faithful sled dogs are eager for each day’s work and are nearly heartbroken if they are unable to take their places in the traces.
The teams driven by white men are driven tandem, while Indian teams are fan shaped, each dog being hitched to the sled by a separate thong.
Of hunting dogs there are many varieties which are always of the utmost importance to frontier peoples, where they guard the flocks and the premises from all kinds of four-footed marauders. Upon the frontier these dogs also assist in the chase and thus furnish meat for the table and help rid the country of vermin, such beasts as the wolf that have to go before civilization is secure.
These hunting dogs also serve a less important use among the leisure class. Field trials of pointers and setters have become important events in the annals of dogs, while the running of greyhounds and wolfhounds is a national sport in some countries.
But what shall we say of the house dog, who is one of the family? The sharer of all our joys and sorrows: the one from whom we have no secrets: the social intimate whose tail is a perfect barometer of sunshine and storm in the family: the custodian of the premises, who always sleeps with one eye open, and one ear cocked for the sound of prowlers: the friend of the children who follows them about like a shadow, watchful lest any danger threaten them, often sharing in their romps with all the zest of a boy.
This dumb creature worships you, to him you are a sort of God—often a rather sorry God, hardly worthy of his worship; yet a God to him, one whom he can look up to, can serve and love.
How empty the door mat would be without him. How silent the premises without his occasional cheerful bark.
Do cares oppress you and is the burden of life heavy, are you cast down and unable to see a sunbeam through the shadows? Look over in the corner. Your own anxious mood is reflected upon the face of your dog. He is the very picture of misery, uneasy and longing to comfort you.
Presently he will come over to you unable to stand it any longer and put his nose into your hand, or fall to licking it frantically. He is not forward or aggressive, but full of humility and abasement. He knows he is only a dog, while you are a dog’s God, but he wants to comfort you, to take your load upon his own shoulders and help you bear it.
Soon his paws are planted upon your knees and he looks up into your face beseechingly. He wags his tail and tries to smile, suggesting that you laugh it off. Then he jumps down and runs about the room to attract your attention by his funny pranks, or perhaps he even barks once in a deprecating way, but he is soon back again licking your face.
If you are perfectly impassive and silent, he becomes almost frantic and will run about the room whining, often returning to look up into your face as though to pry out the trouble. Then he is down again. His tail droops and his face is a picture of despair.
Now he is whining softly to himself. If you do not speak to him soon and reassure him that the trouble is not past mending he will lift up his voice and howl, just as his ancestors, the wolves, howled ages ago upon the desolate plains.
The great Ibsen in “The Pretenders” epitomizes this fidelity of the dog when he causes King Skule to say: “I must have some one by me who sinks his own will utterly in mine, who believes in me unflinchingly, who will cling close to me in good-hap and ill, who lives only to shed warmth and light over my life, and must die if I fall.” And Jatgeir replies, “Buy yourself a dog, My Lord.”
Many other great men have understood and appreciated this faithful creature. Pope said, “Histories are more full of the examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.” Josh Billings exclaims in his humorous way, “A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.” Tennyson in a simple but truthful couplet sings,
“Faithful and true will be found upon four short legs,
Ten times for one upon two.”
It was Eugene Field who said that a little rough dog can awaken a joy that enters eternity.
The small boy who ties a can to the dog’s tail and then laughs as the frantic creature runs yelping down the street, or perhaps shies a stone at him, knows not that this same despised canine may drag him from a watery grave, or from a burning building on the morrow. A hundred to one the dog would remember neither the tin can nor the stone, if he saw the boy in peril.
Forgiveness is the dog’s long suit. So if to err is human and to forgive is divine, then the dog must have a spark of that great love in his brute heart that knows how to forgive.
Even more culpable than the boy with his thoughtless cruelty is the man with his deliberate cruelty, the brute who makes this faithful creature the butt for his ill will. There is a deal of truth in the statement of Roland Hill that every man’s dog or his horse knows whether he be a Christian or not.
Where in the annals of mere humans, is there a story as touching in its absolute fidelity as that of “Gray Friar’s Bobby?” Lest this wonderful true story may not be familiar to you I give it here very briefly, the account being taken from our Four Footed Friends:
During the fifties there lived in Midlothian a farmer named Grey. This man, like others of his calling, was generally to be found in Edinburgh every Wednesday, attending the market, accompanied always by his shaggy terrier, Bobby. It was Grey’s custom, as the time-gun announced the hour of one from the Castle heights, to repair to a small restaurant in the neighborhood of Greyfriars’ Churchyard, known by the name of Traill’s Dining Rooms. Here Bobby and his master had their midday meal, which in the case of the doggie consisted regularly of a bun.
In 1858 Grey died, and was laid to rest near the historic church of Greyfriars, aptly named by Sir Walter Scott “the Westminster of Scotland.” On the third day following the funeral, and just as the echoes of the time-gun were dying away, the occupants of Traill’s rooms were surprised to see a dog, the picture of woe and hunger, enter the doorway and approach the proprietor, upon whom he gazed with a most beseeching expression.
Traill immediately recognized in this visitor the once happy and well-cared-for Bobby. Stirred with compassion, he gave a bun to the silent pleader, who then, without waiting to eat it, ran out of the shop carrying his newly-found meal in his mouth. Next day at the same hour Bobby again appeared, and repetition of events followed; but on the third day, Traill, whose curiosity and interest were now thoroughly aroused, determined to follow the dog, and thus discover his destination. This was soon reached, for Bobby, bun in mouth, made straight for Greyfriars’ Churchyard where, approaching the grave of his master, he lay down and began to eat his scanty meal. It was now evident that the chief, if not the only mourner of the kind-hearted farmer, had been his four-footed friend Bobby, who, after following his late master’s funeral procession, had then refused to leave the humble mound which marked his grave, until forced to do so by the pangs of hunger. Bobby’s plight and the locality of his new domicile having come to the knowledge of the occupants of his former home, he was brought back, it is said, three times. However, all efforts to make him relinquish his chosen post proved unavailing and each attempt was followed by a speedy return to the same spot in Greyfriars. Here Bobby continued to spend both days and nights, taking refuge only in rough weather under a tombstone hard by, and stoutly resisting all friendly advances made by the compassionate strangers desirous of providing a home for him. In course of time a shelter was erected for his protection near his master’s grave. He continued his daily visits to the restaurant, arriving punctually at the same hour, and never failing to receive his bun from the kind-hearted proprietor. This went on for nine years when, owing to a more rigorous enforcement of the seven shillings yearly dog license, Bobby was arrested as a “vagrant,” and appeared in court accompanied by his humane sympathizer and defender, the restaurant keeper, who was accused of harboring the dog. They were tried before three magistrates who, after hearing the story, tempered the law with mercy and forgave him for not paying his rates, thus saving Bobby from an untimely end.
This remarkable dog, who, by an irony of fate, had great length of days granted to him, lived until 1872, and then, like his master, was buried in Greyfriars’ Churchyard, where his grave, now marked by a rose bush, is often pointed out to visitors. A short time before Bobby’s death the Baroness Burdett-Coutts visited Greyfriars, and the sight of the Highland mourner so interested her, that when his demise occurred, she obtained permission to erect at the street corner, near the churchyard gate, a granite fountain with an effigy of the inconsolable dog sitting on guard.
How can I better close this unworthy monograph upon man’s faithful friend, than by quoting Senator Vest’s immortal tribute to the dog delivered before a Missouri jury. He certainly epitomizes the subject as no one else has.
“Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son and daughter that he has reared with loving care may become ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from him when he may need it most. Man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees and do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend a man may have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is the dog.
“Gentlemen of the Jury: A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince.
“When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast into the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws and his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.”
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