ELO THE EAGLE

AND OTHER STORIES 6

FLOYD BRALLIAR 1908

The Dog

The dog is common to all parts of the world, and is found in many species, several of which are wild. Wild dogs are found chiefly in Asia and Africa, with a single species in Australia. They are often of large size, and as fierce as wolves. In certain regions of Asia they run in packs, and are a real menace to the lives of travelers, as well as to the farmyards of the country dwellers, which they do not hesitate to raid when pressed by hunger. A wild dog howls, but never barks; yet if one is tamed, his offspring usually learn to bark in the first generation.

However, most varieties of dogs are domesticated, and have been as far back as secular history furnishes a record of the lives and works of men. In the earliest Egyptian history mention is made of the greyhound, the common hound, several kinds of watchdogs, and others that were kept as household pets.

In many of the older Greek writings dogs are mentioned in a way to show that their nature and general characteristics have changed very little from that day to this. Among the Romans the greyhound and the staghound were common, though they also kept watchdogs and lapdogs. Among the early Britons the greyhound was in popular demand because of its unusual size and great strength. Before the days of modern culinary utensils, a small dog, called turnspit was trained to perform certain duties in the kitchen.

Several varieties of our dogs have originated in America, some from tame dogs run wild, others from native wild varieties. Among these are the Newfoundland and the Eskimo. When America was discovered, the Indians had several kinds of half-domesticated dogs. In Mexico a dog no larger than a guinea pig was in high favor among the Aztecs.

The several closely related varieties of sheep dogs vie with the police dogs as being the most intelligent members of the Canis family. They are very brave and sagacious, though some of them, truth to tell, richly deserve their reputation for ill nature. In color, originally, they were black or very dark brown, though the collie has been developed until now it often has a yellowish-brown or even a pure white coat. Of all the sheep dogs, the collies, bred in the Highlands of Scotland, are probably the most knowing. Their pedigree is carefully recorded, and a fancy specimen often brings several hundred dollars. Frank was a pure-bred Scotch collie. He came to me in 1879.

Frank was no ordinary dog. Royal blood ran in his veins. His mother and father had been born and bred in the Highlands of Scotland, and two better-trained sheep dogs never watched their master's flock or fed on the scraps from his table. Their owner would almost as soon have thought of selling a member of the family as of parting with either of them. They were beautiful creatures, with long shaggy coats and frank intelligent faces, from which the very soul of courage and fearlessness looked out. On the prairies of Nebraska, where coyotes were plentiful, they cared for their master's sheep entirely alone; but no prowling enemy ever feasted off the least of their flock. All day long they cared for the sheep, and in the evening housed them safely in the corral. One stood at the gate to prevent their crowding, while the other drove them in one at a time. As each one entered, the dog at the gate gave a short, sharp bark. When all were in, the master listening and counting the barks knew without leaving the house whether all his flock were there. But he knew it no better than did the dogs, for if one was missing, they knew it at once. Even with the sheep brought safely to shelter, these faithful caretakers did not desert their charges, but made it their business to see that they stayed safely in the corral all night.

Frank came of such parentage. He was a puppy when I first saw him- just a little animated bunch of black, with a white spot on his throat. I was a lad of only three summers, visiting on the Western prairies. We lived in a dugout in the side of a hill-a queer place to live, you may think, and it was a strange house in many ways. For instance, there was danger that the horses would get on top of the house and break in the roof, because, except for the opening for the stovepipe, from all sides but one it looked precisely like the side of any other hill. It was a warm house in winter, however, and had a good many advantages. For one thing, the raging wind of the plains could not blow it away.

A creek ran at a little distance from this dug-out-of-theside-of-a-hill house, and across it, far up on the prairie, was a melon patch belonging to the man who owned the dogs. To a child who had always had all the fruit he could eat, it was a tantalizing thing to see the yellow cantaloupes shining in the morning sun, and yet not have any of the luscious golden globes to appease the longing of his little palate. There were no other melons in the neighborhood, and so day after day I begged to go up to this neighbor's to get some fruit. The sheep were usually just beyond the melon patch, and through much watching of the melons I came to be interested in the dogs that cared for the flock.

Finally the happy day of a long-promised visit to this neighbor's came, and I set off with high expectations; but my wildest flights fell far short of the delightful reality. For never did I dream of finding a puppy there, a puppy that should thereafter be all my own!

No wonder that when the little fellow frisked up to me, licking my hands and face, fairly tumbling over me in very excess of puppy good will and welcome, he won my heart completely. In those days boys were something of a rarity in that part of Nebraska; so when I wanted the dog and raised a lusty howl for his possession, he was promptly bestowed upon me by the generous neighbor, thenceforward to become my friend and dearest companion.

A few days later our visit came to an end, and when we started home the puppy was taken along. On the train there was a controversy with the conductor over the question whether the puppy should travel in the baggage car or with the family. But what is a conductor in a fray with a boy who is almost four years old! The puppy triumphantly shared my seat all the way.

A little black and white kitten was given to me on my return home, and we
three-boy, pup, and kit - were constant playfellows. All were the best of friends. Often when we had romped till weary, we ended the play spell by an informal nap, the dog curled up as a pillow for the boy's head and the kitten a round ball on the boy's breast. At night the dog slept on the porch, with the kitten snuggled in his long hair for warmth.

Frank was not very old when his serious training began. At times he found it too tame playing with the boy and the kitten, and as a means of diversion indulged in the amusement of dragging little goslings about by the neck. He did
not mean to hurt them, but they were usually dead when his fun was ended. Of course this could not go on, and as a whipping failed to have the desired effect, severer methods were resorted to.

One day when Frank had killed a gosling, it was brought to him and he was well scolded. Then a rope was put around his neck and over the limb of a tree, and he was drawn up. I stood by, weeping brokenheartedly at what then seemed cruelty to my beloved pet. When the poor fellow was quite badly choked, he was lowered and the rope was loosened. After he had recovered, he was again shown the dead gosling and the punishment was repeated. This time when he was lowered, he was turned loose, a badly used up puppy though not seriously hurt. But he had learned a lesson, and never from that day did he harm a little fowl of any kind.

Still his inborn love of mischief was curbed in only one direction, not rooted out of his nature. He soon formed another bad habit, which took a severe lesson to cure. In some way he acquired a taste for raw eggs. As these were not included in his bill of fare, he would not hesitate, when the hunger was on him, to raid the hen roost to gratify it. This was a serious offense, but Frank was crafty, and it was not easy to catch him red-handed. And in order for the punishment to be effective, a dog, as well as a child, must understand what it is for. Otherwise it is only cruelty.

Finally a trap was set for him. In the summer kitchen, built of rough boards, was a place where one could watch, himself unobserved, what was going on outside. In a protected spot near by, father put an egg, with a little gunpowder around it, and a train of the explosive leading to his retreat. When all was ready, he sat down to watch. For a long time Frank paid not the slightest attention to the egg, but by and by he began to feel hungry, and sidled slyly up to it. No one was looking. He nosed it longingly. About that time something happened. He never knew just what it was, but if one egg would act like that, he was not going to trust any of them in the future. His nose was bleeding, his face burned, and his eyes singed. He did not care to come to anyone for sympathy; he did not wish to be seen; he did not even howl, but he was never known to eat another egg. Lessons look hard sometimes, and they are hard, but we all have to learn them sooner or later.

Frank had no sheep to herd, so he gave his attention to the horses and cows. It became his regular work to drive the latter to and from the pasture mornings and evenings. He soon learned by name every field on the farm; and when any of the stock were wanted, all that was necessary was to tell him in what field they were, and he would go after them. It was not desired that he bring any but the milch cows from the pasture, and so it was necessary for him to know all these. When it is understood that there were twenty cows that were milked, and perhaps twice as many others in the pasture, and that all looked much alike, it will be understood what a test of his intelligence this was.

But Frank made it his business to know every member of the herd. He would go to the pasture, select his cows, and drive them home, walking quietly along behind the last one. He was never cross with them, and knew better than to run them, as long as they did not attempt to get away. But if any started to go elsewhere than along the road leading to the home barnyard, there was trouble in a moment. Frank knew how to use his teeth, and when he bit he bit to conquer. It did not take the cattle long to learn that it was better to obey his will than their longing for by and forbidden paths.

Once, and only once, Frank made a mistake. In the pasture were two red heifers that looked so nearly alike that few persons could tell them apart. One evening he brought up the wrong one, and the mistake was not noticed till father sat down to milk her. When he discovered that it was the wrong cow, he called Frank and said, pointing to the heifer, "Frank, we don't milk that cow." The dog looked his confusion, and with tail tucked between his legs, took the heifer back to the pasture, soon to return, waving his tail triumphantly, with the right animal. After that he always hunted for this red heifer first of all, and drove her out of the herd before looking for any of the others. The mistake was never repeated.

Frank unlike some boys I have known, did not need to be reminded every evening when it was time to go for the cows. That was his duty, and he attended to it as regularly as the sun rose and set. When it was time to milk, there was Frank with the cows. In the morning this meant that he must go for them before anyone was up, as the milking was the first work done. On Sabbath morning we got up an hour later than on weekdays. Frank was not slow to learn this fact, and without mistake regularly brought the cows an hour later on Sabbath morning. How he kept such unfailing count of the days has always been something of a mystery to me. He could count the cattle, I know; for if one was missing, he knew it at once. When a cow became dry, someone would show her to Frank, and tell him not to bring her to the lot any more, and thereafter she would be left in the field. And when it was desired to have a new cow brought with the herd, all that was necessary was to point out the animal and tell him to bring her in the future.

The cattle, horses, and the few sheep kept on the place were all brought up to the barn for salt once or twice a week. At such times father would say, "Frank, we salt the animals this morning." In due time, without any further attention, he would come bringing them all up together. If they were scattered in different places, he knew when any were gone, and would hunt till he found them.

If strange stock got into the pasture, he would not allow them to get with ours. In due time we had bought a small flock of sheep, and Frank instinctively took a great interest in them. One day a buck belonging to a neighbor broke into the pasture with these sheep, but Frank would not allow him to go near them. He did not come to the house for his feed; and when we looked for him, we found him in front of the stranger, guarding the flock. He did not offer to molest the animal as long as he kept his distance. But the buck was not used to dogs, and he tried to fight. Then Frank was ready, and with a spring he threw him down, and taking him by the neck, held him there. When the owner saw them thus, it was hard to convince him that the dog was not trying to kill his sheep.

Frank knew all the horses on the place by name. We could name the horse or team we wished, and he would bring those and no others. He dearly delighted to drive the horses, for he was not forbidden to run them. He would bite their heels to get them started, and then have a merry chase all the way to the house. Sometimes they would try to run away from him, and get back into the pasture. That was the signal for a gay time for Frank, but with all their play he always succeeded in getting them into the barnyard in a surprisingly short time. As he invariably punished them severely for any breach of discipline, they soon learned not to attempt to break away.

He had no use whatever for hogs, and was as sure to kill them as he was set upon them. One could not see how he did it, but he would run at them, apparently jump over them, and there was sure to be a great gash on the opposite side of the hog, that would cause its death every time. Evidently he cut this with his tushes as he went over. After two or three such escapades he was not required to drive hogs, and thereafter left them severely alone.

With all his other useful traits, Frank was something of a watchdog. He never left the place when we were gone; and the neighbors used to say that no matter from which side of the house they approached, he always met them at the gate. If they went to the barn, he was there first, waiting politely, but defensively, at the door. He neither barked nor growled, he said not a word, but they understood that it was not safe to attempt to go in. Day and night, when not about his regular work, he was always on hand, and nothing was stolen from the place as long as he lived.

There were two neighbor children who often came to visit the family. If no one was at home, Frank would stop them at the gate. They did not enjoy this, and as they did not fear the dog, they sometimes tried to get into the yard. He would not hurt them, but he always took them firmly by the hand and led them out again. He was as gentle with them as could be, but they did not belong there, and could not come in when no one was at home. At other times he would pay no attention to them. With strange men he was more surly. If anyone attempted to enter the gate, he would growl and show his teeth- a signal that he was not to be trifled with.

Frank seemed to have an inborn hatred of pack peddlers, and never failed to recognize one as far as he could see him. On most occasions he was an obedient dog, but no one could persuade him to let a peddler alone. As surely as one entered the yard, Frank would get him down and then stand over him and growl. If he struggled, the dog would take him by the throat. He never injured anyone, but he succeeded in giving a number of them the scare of their lives. When some one came to the rescue, he would allow the peddler to leave, but not to go to the house if he could possibly help it. Even the packs must be left for some member of the family to take out of the yard and restore to their owner. But once outside the gate, he might pursue his way in peace.

It was the business of a man to stop every day to get the cream, which was stored in large cans in the milkhouse. A book was left near by, in which to record the amount taken. Frank understood the arrangement, and the man was allowed to enter the yard without protest, whether anyone was at home or not; but he must go to the milkhouse, and attend strictly to his business. The dog was always on hand to see to that. One day all the family were gone when he made his rounds, and without a thought he helped himself to an apple from a barrel that stood near the can. He had scarcely lifted his hand with the fruit before the dog had his hand in his mouth, and was growling fiercely; nor would Frank permit him to go till he had put the apple back into the barrel. The next day he told us about it, and said that around our place he had learned to let things alone that did not belong to him. Sometimes the cream was not in the milkhouse, but wherever it was, the man was allowed to get it. And even when a stranger took the route for a day or two, the dog seemed to recognize the wagon, and though he was always looking on, never interfered as long as the driver attended to his business. But how quick he was to resent any undue familiarity with the things that belonged to the farm!

By nature Frank had no pugilistic tendencies, but he would fight to the death if he thought he was protecting his owner's property. He would not hold and fight, like most dogs, but snapped and tore like a wolf. If another dog got him down, he made no resistance, but quietly wagged his tail, and waited till his time came. Then his opponent paid dearly for his innings.

When any of the family were away from home after nightfall, Frank never barked at them when they returned, though he was sure to bark if a stranger came about the place after dusk. I have come home at all times in the night, and have tried purposely to fool him, but never successfully. Members of the family could be away a year, as they often were, but no matter when they returned, day or night, he was always on hand to give them a royal welcome. Keen of scent and fine of discrimination, he never forgot anyone he had loved.

In personal appearance Frank was a beauty. Such large expressive brown eyes I have seen in no other dog before or since. His coat was shaggy to the extreme, and his head small and shapely. His face had an intelligent, almost human, look. He taught me many lessons of the wisdom of the lower animals that I shall never forget.

He seemed to know by scent whatever had crossed his paths for days. In fact, dogs have a regular signal code, which all members of the race seem to understand. But Frank was also in close touch with the signal code of all the wild animals, and as he passed through the wood or field he would announce a mouse here and a ground squirrel there. Next he would perhaps declare that a skunk had passed here last night, and must be looked after or he would bother the poultry. Then he would act on the fact, and before many days the skunk would pass that way no more. The dog would trot along through the woods, apparently paying no attention to anything, when suddenly he would stop and announce that a coon or a squirrel was in the tree. Perhaps he would strike a trail, and say, as plainly as could be, "Neighbor Smith's dog passed here; I should like to have a play with him," or it might be, "That surly cur of Brown's passed here. I whipped him in the cattleyard not long ago; I should like to meet him again."

What is nobler than a noble dog? - not a senseless cur, that is not worth the food he eats, but a grave, loyal, loving, intelligent dog. Come what may, he will never forsake his master. Though often hungry and perhaps ill-treated, he will follow him cheerfully to the death, and sometimes even mourns his life away on his master's grave. He works for him, not because he must, but because it is his happiness. When he dies, we find that he has entwined himself in our affections as no other animal can. I

Frank fell into the habit of running about the country with a dog that belonged to a neighbor. She was a worthless cur, but he would visit her just the same. Poison was put in different places, ostensibly to kill "The Last of a Hated Race," but Frank was the hapless fellow that got it. One sad, never-to-be-forgotten day he was found dead in a creek not far from home. A dog was never more regretted, and since his death I have cared little for dogs, for I have never seen his equal.

Dear old Frank! Like useful men, though he is no more, his influence still lives.