Learning About Dogs Through Stories

THE homing instinct in dogs is very great; the ability of some dogs to find their way back home, when lost, after having traveled long distances away from home, is indeed wonderful.

Perhaps one of the most remarkable instances of this is that related by a Mr. M. N. Davis, which appeared in The American Boy for September, 1925. Following is the story.

Bobbie, a Silverton, Oregon, collie, is the only dog in the little town allowed the freedom of the village-they know he won't get lost. Bobbie won his privilege by a 3,000-mile hike, perhaps the longest ever made by a dog "on his own."

Last summer Bobbie, a six-months'-old puppy, left Silverton with his owners, Mr. and Mrs. G. F. Brazier, for an automobile tour to the Middle West. Bobbie was an expert at riding on the running-board, and for miles he stood eagerly at attention as the car sped through the Rockies, up and down hill, across the plains and through countless villages and towns. There was a visit to Iowa; then the Braziers and Bobbie went on to Wolcott, Indiana.

There Mr. Brazier drove into a garage, and just as his car entered the big door Bobbie leaped from the running-board as he always did when the machine slowed down. But Bobbie didn't enter the garage. The last Mr. Brazier saw of him he was sprinting around the corner, a snarling knot of Wolcott dogs barking at his heels.

That was the last of Bobbie. For days the Braziers searched. An "ad" was run in the local paper. Everybody was on the lookout. But Bobbie had completely disappeared, and after a visit to Ohio, another call at Wolcott, and the tour back to Silverton, the Braziers gave him up for lost.

No trace of him could any one find for the next six months either. Then, one winter day, there was a scratching at the door of the Brazier restaurant in Silverton, and when it was opened a gaunt brown-and-white whirlwind rushed in �Bobbie! He was older and bigger, and much thinner; his feet were sore, his coat was tangled and dirty. But he was the same collie.

Then reports of Bobbie's journey came in. He had been given a meal at a Minnesota farm. He had slept at an Idaho garage where the Braziers stopped on the way east. He had loped through an Illinois village one evening. All in all, this remarkable dog had traveled 3,000 miles and crossed eight States. In his journeying for home he had made detours of as much as one hundred and fifty miles.

Bobbie's homecoming was a civic event. A public ceremony was held in the high school auditorium, and Bobbie received a medal from the Oregon Humane Society-the superintendent of schools presenting it with a speech, ;, while Bobbie solemnly wagged his tail. School children voted that Bobbie should be granted freedom of the city-the city officers approving the vote.

At a Portland Home Beautiful Show the dog was given a miniature bungalow, and a silver collar with an engraved account of his feat.

And still he's an unspoiled pet, his proud owners say. Bobbie is everybody's friend-and while he can't seem to see the reason for all the fuss, he doesn't resent it!

A GENTLEMAN In Edinburgh, Scotland, whose love for animals had shown itself in many ways, was in the habit for many years of going to the seacoast by train early in the morning to bathe, accompanied by his faithful dog and companion Bronte, who joined with his master in his morning sea plunges.

Once, when the master was away from home for a time, Bronte, unwilling to miss his morning bath, trotted off alone regularly each morning at the usual early hour for the Waverly station, boarded the train, and went off to the beach for his morning plunge.

The fact did not become known to his master until an account was presented from the railway company for Bronte's traveling expenses.

THE following story is an excellent example of the sagacity of dogs

An English gentleman went to some public gardens in a village of France one day with a large mastiff, which was refused admittance, and the gentleman left him in care of the guards who were placed there.

Some time after he had entered the gardens, the Englishman returned to the gate, and informed the guards that he had lost his watch, telling them that if they would permit him to take his dog inside with him he would soon discover the thief.

His request being granted, the gentleman made signs to tell the dog what he had lost. The animal immediately ran about among the company in the gardens, till he at last laid hold of a man.

The gentleman insisted that this person had his watch and, when search was made, not only his watch, but six others were discovered in the thief's pockets.

What is more remarkable still, the dog took his master's watch from the other six, and carried it to him.

A FINE large Newfoundland dog, owned by a gentleman living in Cork, Ireland, upon leaving his master's house to walk down the street, was often assailed by a number of small, noisy dogs.

He usually passed them with apparent unconcern, as if they were beneath his notice. But one little cur was particularly troublesome, and at length carried his impudence so far as to bite the Newfoundland dog on the leg.

This was too great an offense to be overlooked. Seizing the cur by the skin of his back, the Newfoundland carried him to the wharf, and, holding him for a time over the water, at length dropped him into it.

After watching the animal struggle for a time in the water until he was nearly exhausted, the big-hearted Newfoundland plunged in and rescued him. It was not his design or intention to kill him, but merely to teach him a good lesson.

It is a mark of poor breeding for children to treat their seniors and superiors with disrespect. In time they usually have to suffer for it.

PASSING an unoccupied boat-house on Rancocas creek, near Delanco, New Jersey, one day late in January, a constable heard the low whine of a dog, and upon investigating the place, discovered a poor emaciated animal locked in the place. He soon found that it was Prince, a valuable dog which had been missing from his master's home for a month. The dog was so weak from lack of food that it was unable to stand. The constable kindly took the dog home to its owner.

The joy of the dog on being restored to its amazed owner was pathetic. It had accompanied its master to the boat-house when he removed some goods from it for shipment the day before Christmas, and had accidentally been locked in.

The owner, thinking that the dog had run away from home, been stolen, or had disappeared in some other mysterious or unaccountable manner, had apparently made no extended search for it. He did not think to go back to the boat-house, where he must have last seen it, and look for it there.

Whenever we have lost anything, it is always well to "back track " as soon as possible, and to think where we remember last having had or seen it.

A DESIRE to be helpful is a general trait of dogs, and of the Newfoundland dog in particular.

A boy only six years old, playing on a wharf one day with a Newfoundland dog belonging to his father, accidentally fell into the water. The dog immediately sprang in after the boy, and, seizing the waist of his little frock, carried him into the dock, where there was a platform, by which the boy held on, but was unable to get on the top.

The dog seeing that he was unable to pull the little fellow out of the water, ran to a yard near-by, where a girl nine years of age was hanging out clothes. He seized the girl by the dress, and, although she tried to pull away, succeeded in dragging her to the spot, where the boy was still hanging on by his hands.

When the girl took hold of the boy, the dog helped her in pulling him out of the water; and then, jumping into the stream again, swam around to the end of the wharf, and returned with the boy's hat in his mouth.

A LARGE dog owned by President Harding once saw another dog killed by being run over by a passing car in front of Mr. Harding's printing-office in Marion, Ohio.

This incident evidently made a very deep impression on Mr. Harding's dog, for, for a long time afterward he would take other dogs to the spot where the unfortunate dog got run over and lost his life, as if to warn them of the fact that this was a dangerous place, and to be on their guard lest they, too, through carelessness, meet a similar fate.

A truly sagacious and thoughtful dog, you will surely agree.

Thus may be rendered service to our fellow men by warning them of dangers that lie along life's pathway.

THE well-known writer, Dr. Frank Crane, writes as follows regarding the faithful dog as the friend of man:

Next to children, men feel their closeness to dogs.

In California a man and his dog were washed off a rock by a ground-swell when fishing. The dog made the shore safely. The man, a feeble swimmer, was being carried out to sea when the dog plunged in again and struggled to bring him to shore. Exhausted, he went down, refusing to abandon his master.

Napoleon in his memoirs records an incident, comparatively insignificant, but revealing the fidelity of a dog, which occurred one night on a battle-field.

"Amidst the deep silence of a beautiful moonlit night," he wrote, "a dog leaping suddenly from beneath the clothes of his dead master rushed upon us and returned to his hiding-place howling piteously. He alternately licked his master's hand and ran toward us.

"I involuntarily stopped to contemplate the scene. 'This man,' I thought, has his friends in camp, but he is forsaken by all except his dog."

From Wortley, England, comes a twenty word story relating the tale of a humble and heroic vigil of unending fidelity.

"After living six years among the graves in the cemetery where his master is buried, a black Pomeranian has died," says the cable.

Six years of silent, inviolate, unchanging vigil by a "dumb beast" which loved his master!

It is not to be wondered at that a court in a Western State, with all due formality, handed down a legal decision that the dog is man's most faithful friend.

SOME noted newspaper editors, upon being asked what story interests the most readers, replied, "That of a dog saving a child's life."

The reason is not far to seek. Next to our children, dogs interest us most, for, among animals, dogs are the best and truest friends of man.

Nor are such stories wanting. Every now and again newspapers record such rescues. The next two stories following this one are examples of dogs saving children's lives.

Dogs have become famous as rescuers of human life. In the author's book Animal Land, no fewer than eleven such stories are told stories of dogs saving not only the lives of children, but of whole shiploads of people from ships wrecked along seacoasts swept by boisterous waves in tempestuous storms, one dog alone saving ninety-two lives.

"Barry," the famous St. Bernard dog, of the Alps, saved forty lives in his noble rescue work amidst the snow-storms of the Alpine Pass.

Another St. Bernard dog, since "Barry's" time, named "Oliver," is credited with fifty-six such rescues.

In New York City a monument has been erected to "Balto," the dog who led the team that took the much needed medical supplies to Nome, Alaska, during the winter of 1926, when its inhabitants were threatened with death from an outbreak of diphtheria. On this monument are inscribed the words, "Endurance-Fidelity."

Without dogs, Admiral Peary could not have reached the North Pole.

In their chosen field, dogs have well earned their title to being the best and truest friends of man. For watchfulness, faithfulness, loyalty, and disinterested and enduring affection, the dog has no equal in all the animal kingdom.

BOTH dogs and cats are quick to give alarm at the first sign of fire. Instinctively they seem to know that fire is a dangerous element.

Repeatedly both cats and dogs have sought to awaken their sleeping masters or mistresses upon detecting a fire in a building at night. They have been known not only to scratch or paw at closed bedroom doors and to set up alarming mews and barkings, but to pull at the bedclothes, or jump upon the bed and walk over the faces of their sleeping loved ones in order to arouse them and acquaint them of their danger. Occasionally dogs have been known to go through fire and suffer burns in an effort to save their masters or members of the family.

Saturday afternoon, July 10, 1926, Rita Margaret Sullivan, five-year-old daughter of Police Lieutenant Jeremiah Sullivan, of the Fourteenth Police Precinct, Washington, D. C., was playing on the rear porch of the policeman's home on I Street, examining the works of an old alarm-clock, with Jessie, her dog, an interested onlooker. In some way the child got a match, and in her play ignited it. In a moment her clothes were in flames.

Rita's screams of fear and pain were echoed by an older brother and sister inside the kitchen, and the barking of Jessie, the dog. Mrs. Sullivan, running from the dining-room, grabbed a large table-cloth and raced toward her burning baby child.

Dancing about, with sharp, peremptory barks, the dog bit at the burning clothes, tearing garments from its little mistress before the frantic mother could cross the kitchen and porch and smother the flames in the table-cloth.

Terribly burned about the abdomen, legs, and arms, Rita was taken to the hospital, where, fortunately, she recovered.

The burns sustained by the mother while putting out the flames enveloping her child, were forgotten in her anxiety for the child and her love for the heroic dog.

THE money it would take to buy "Rex," a stalwart German police dog, from the Kleckner family, at Clark's Lake, Michigan, it is said, has not been minted yet.

When Millicent Kleckner, an eighteen-month old daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Kleckner, fell into the lake one day early in September, 1926, "Rex," without orders or word from any one, plunged in after her and swam ashore with her dress clamped by his teeth.

Fortunate for Millicent she had such a good, efficient, and faithful friend at hand watching her. Three cheers, and bravo, for the dog!

WE all admire rescue work, whether it be from fire, flood, tornado, train wreck, shipwreck, mine disaster, or whatsoever peril it may be on land or sea.

This is why the W. C. T. U., the Salvation Army, and other like organizations are so much respected and so highly thought of. They have gone out into the highways and byways of the world to rescue and save the lost.

Famous among the great mountain ranges of the world are the Alps, which separate France and Switzerland from Italy.

Crossing over these lofty and picturesque mountains is what is known as the Alpine Pass. Over this mountain highway more than 20,000 persons pass annually, mostly laborers, going from one country to the other.

Two-thirds of this number make the journey during the winter months, when snow-storms are liable to overtake them almost any moment.

High up on the top of this famous pass, over 8,000 feet above sea-level, stands a rescue home, known as the " hospice," or monastery of St. Bernard, kept by men called monks, where weary or snow-bound travelers may rest and find refreshment.

To rescue travelers that may have been overtaken and lost in the terrible snow-storms that prevail on these mountains, a number of large, well-trained, and well-cared-for dogs are kept in kennels at this rescue home. They are known as St. Bernard dogs.

Every day when these storms arise, these dogs, with provisions tied around their necks, are sent out to hunt for travelers who may have lost their way or become snowbound in the deep snows so frequently met with on these great heights, and bring them to the home.

Before he died, "Barry," one of the most famous of these dogs, saved forty lives.

"Oliver," another of the dogs, has a record of saving fifty-six lives. It is said that he is very fond of going out prospecting on his own account. Early one winter not long ago, he found and guided to the home twelve travelers, among them three women and two children. On returning with them, he found the path blocked with an avalanche, and was obliged to make a detour to reach the home.

Not long after this he scented, dug out, and brought to the home a traveler who had been buried twenty feet in the snow. Had it not been for him the man would have perished. Once he found a child on the verge of death. He carried it in his mouth for three-quarters of a mile to the home.

Since telephone connections have been established between the rescue home and points down at the base of the mountains, the work of rescuing travelers has been greatly facilitated, as those in charge of the home are kept informed of the departure of travelers from these points, and consequently know when to look for them along the mountain pass.

Let no one think that because this work is performed by dogs it is not fraught with hardship or suffering. It is. The cold in these parts is intense, the pass is seldom free from snowstorms, and these storms are terrible things to face.

But so great is a dog's desire to be helpful to mankind, and so eager is he to rescue the perishing, these dogs will go out in all kinds of weather, and brave the worst of snow-storms in their heroic life-saving work.

From their exposures they not infrequently contract rheumatism, and suffer great pain. From the blinding effects of the white, glistening snow, they nearly all go blind in time. And while the average age to which dogs ordinarily live is from ten to twelve years, the average age of the St. Bernard dog is only eight years. His is a hard and strenuous life, therefore. But he gives it in his noble, self-sacrificing desire to seek and to save the lost and the perishing.

ROVER FOOLED 'EM

No ONE with any heart or spark of human feeling would think of knowingly or intentionally burying any creature, not even a rat or a mouse, alive. He would at least first kill it or see that it was dead. Nevertheless, horrible as it is to think of, both human beings and animals have sometimes accidentally been buried alive.

Worse still, in ages gone by, in some countries cursed with the superstitious beliefs and rites of heathenism, burying women alive with their dead husbands was taught and practised as a religious duty. A terrible religion, you will say, as indeed it was.

A dog out in Farmer City, Illinois, Rover by name, was struck by a train one day and left for dead. His master, Ronald Horr, fourteen years of age, dug a little grave and tenderly laid him to rest.

Fortunately for Rover, however, his young master did not bury him very deep, and he later came forth from the land of the dead! Two days after his funeral he dug himself out, for the frozen dirt had permitted the air to penetrate into his grave in small quantities, and consciousness returned. Not so badly hurt as was thought, Rover forthwith made his way back home and appeared at the door as usual for his breakfast.

We should be careful not to bury anything until we know for sure that it is dead.

A DOG owned by a gentleman living near Grand Rapids, Michigan, once killed a skunk. In doing so, as might be expected, he got badly perfumed.

This so exasperated the dog that every day for a week afterward, he would go out and bite, the skunk all over again from head to tail, to make sure that he was dead, and, no doubt, to show his strong displeasure and resentment the skunk for playing such a dirty trick on him.

He did not realize that a little "stink bag" with which nature has provided the skunk, and from which he can send forth into the air, a will, a fine spray of a very pungent and offensive oily substance, is his only means of defense.

MOST of the dogs we have told about have, been good dogs. But not all dogs are good dogs. Some dogs, like some men, are cross, quarrelsome, surly, and vicious. They will attack people unprovoked, and bite them when they have no business to do so. Such dogs are a nuisance, and for safety's sake, must be chained up, confined in a yard, muzzled, or disposed of. They cannot be given freedom to run about and go where they please as can kind, good-natured, and well-disposed dogs.

It is unwise for people to keep such dogs. They may do much harm and provoke a lot of trouble. The author knows of a bulldog that not only caused a lot of disturbance in the neighborhood by constant barking when the family were away from home, but was the occasion of its owner breaking a 14-month signed lease, bit the owner's wife's arm so badly that she had to be taken to the hospital, brought on two assaults, four lawsuits, the loss of two good homes and $1,800 in money, besides court expenses. Such a dog was not worth keeping.

Abraham Lincoln, who always had a good story to illustrate his point, once told of such a dog. He was defending a man in court who had defended himself by physical force after another man had attacked or assaulted him.

Lincoln said that his client was in the fix of a man who, in going along the public highway with a pitchfork over his shoulder, was attacked by a fierce dog that ran at him from a farmer's dooryard. In parrying the attack of the brute with the fork, he struck its prongs into him and killed him.

"What made you kill my dog?" asked the farmer.

"What made him bite me?" inquired the traveler.

"But why did you not go after him with the other end of the pitchfork?" continued the farmer.

"Why did he not come at me with his other end?" rejoined the traveler.

In telling this story Lincoln simply meant to say that "the other fellow brought on the fight," and that in doing what he did his client had only defended himself.

The dog in the story got killed because he was a bad dog.