Friends and Helpers Part 2

Barry knew all the dangerous places, and when there had been a snow slide he was sure to be on the spot as soon as he could, to see if any one were hurt. Once he found a little, boy in the snow and in some way made him understand what he must do. The child climbed upon the dog's broad back and was carried safely to the fire and the good supper always waiting for the lost ones.

Barry lived with, the monks for twelve years, and saved forty lives.

Other St. Bernard dogs have been brave and wise, but Barry's name stands first among them all.

Many great men have had dogs whom they loved and trusted. Sir Walter Scott, one of the most famous story-writers that ever lived, had several dogs. He used to take them with him whenever he went to walk. There was an old staghound named Maida, and a black greyhound called Hamlet, after one of Shakespeare's heroes. Then there was a beautiful setter with long ears and a silky coat. Her name was Finette. Sir Walter would often stop and talk to these four-footed friends and they seemed to understand what he said. In one of his best stories a dog plays a very important part.

Dr. John Brown was another Scotch writer who loved dogs. He gave an account of his pets in a book called "Spare Hours." He wrote the story of "Rab and his Friends," a tribute of which any dog might be proud.

There was a great artist named Landseer, who painted his dogs' pictures so wonderfully that we know he must have loved them very much. In one picture he shows his two dogs looking over his shoulder at his drawing.

He gave them a very long name which means "Those who know all about it"; but I am sure he did not laugh at them unkindly. Dogs do not like to be laughed at any more than we do.

Odin was the name of one of Sir Edwin Landseer's dogs, When we look at his portrait we can understand why the artist should have thus named him, for Odin was the all-wise G.o.d of the old Nors.e.m.e.n.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ODIN. By Sir Edwin Landseer.]

Jack was a famous dog who was with the English soldiers during a great war in eastern Europe. He was not a dog of fine breed or gentle training. He had been rescued by one of the soldiers from a cruel death, and he gave in return his love and grat.i.tude. He fought in one of the battles and saved his master's life. When the fighting was over he used to go about the battlefield carrying a can of tea for the wounded men.

Mrs. Browning had a dog named Flush, to whom she wrote one of her poems.

She was unable to leave her room for many long months of illness, but the little dog spent the weary days by her side, cheerfully giving up merrier company for her sake.

Lord Byron's dog was named Boatswain and he is buried in the garden of the poet's beautiful home. There is a monument to his memory and on it are these lines:

Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who possessed beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage without ferocity, And all the virtues of man without his vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the memory of BOATSWAIN, a dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

There was once a poor man in Scotland, who, when he died, was buried in a graveyard in Edinburgh, his only mourner being a little Scotch terrier. On two mornings the s.e.xton found the dog lying on his master's grave and drove him away, but the third morning was cold and wet and the dog was allowed to remain. From that time, for twelve years and a half, no matter how stormy the weather, the faithful animal made the graveyard his home, only leaving it once a day to get food.

At last he died of old age, and was buried in a flower garden near by. A costly marble fountain was erected to the memory of the faithful little dog, and a bronze statue of "Grey-Friar's Bobby" sits on top of it.

The most famous dog in America was Owney, the postal dog. He traveled with the mail-bags from one end of the country to the other. He even went to Alaska and across the Pacific Ocean.

Owney first joined the Post-office Department at Albany, N. Y., and he always looked upon that office as headquarters where he must report himself after a long trip.

When Owney was ready for a journey he did not ask any one to go with him. He was quite able to take care of himself. He would follow the mail-bag to the station and jump into the postal car. Having chosen the particular mail-bag which he wished to follow, he would stretch himself out upon it for a good nap. He had no further care, of course. When the mail-bag was taken out, Owney went, too.

Owney was not a handsome dog, but he knew how to make friends. He was welcome wherever he went, and he often came back to Albany cohered with checks and medals to show how far he had traveled and in what esteem he was held.

His intelligence was very wonderful. Many times a tired postal clerk who had fallen asleep, forgetful of the stations, was wakened by Owney's barking. The dog had a fine saver collar of which he was very proud. One day a clerk had slipped it off to examine the medals which were hung on it and in the hurry of extra work it was laid down and forgotten. Owney was too wise to leave his collar behind him, so putting his nose through it and rubbing his head against a post, he slipped it on for himself.

After this he was often made to put on his collar to amuse his visitors.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OWNEY, photographed by Edward Chickering. Dog bedecked with ribbons and medals.]

Owney died a few years ago, to the grief of the largest circle of friends a dog ever had. In nearly every large city of the United States he was known and missed, and many years will go by before he is forgotten.

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF DOGS. William and Edward were two boys who lived in the same village. They were cousins, and they had a kind uncle who was always trying to give them pleasure.

One day he gave to each of the boys a puppy. These puppies were so nearly alike that neither the boys nor their uncle could tell them apart.

The boys were delighted with their new pets, and thinking that his dogs were in good hands, Uncle Frank went away for two years.

When he came back he went to see William, and asked about his dog.

"Oh, he was very troublesome, Uncle Frank!" said William. "He cried and whined all the time, and after a while he was so cross that I did not like to go near him. I kept him chained to the kennel, but one day he broke his chain and ran away."

"Why did you chain him?" asked Uncle Frank. "We were going to train him for a watchdog," said William.

"That is not the way to train a watchdog," said his uncle. "I am sorry that I gave him to you. How would you like to be tied to a kennel all day, with no chance to run about? Did you take him to walk often?"

"Not very often," said William. "When I am playing I have no time to look after a dog. He would get into mischief if I let him go where he liked."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HEARING. By H. Sperling.]

"Of course," said Uncle Frank. "He was only a baby. I can remember when you needed looking after. Now I am going to see Edward."

"Edward's dog is different from mine," said William. "He is very kind and gentle. I wish I could have a dog like that."

Uncle Frank walked away without a word. When he came to the house where Edward lived, he saw a fine dog lying near the steps, looking very comfortable and happy.

"Is it possible this was once my little dog?" asked Edward's uncle, when the first greetings were over. "How do you keep him in such good condition?"

"When you first gave him to me," said Edward," I fed him five or six times a day with boiled milk. After a few weeks I gave him oatmeal or Indian meal porridge. Sometimes he had bread or crackers in milk.

"As he grew older, I gave him brown bread and corn cake, and once in a while I let him have a beef bone to play with. He liked that very much, and he did not object to being tied up sometimes, if he had a bone to gnaw."

"Did you keep him chained?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Oh, no!" said Edward. "He soon learned not to run away, and now I never chain him. Even when he was tied up, he had room to run about. I stretched a long wire across a corner of the yard, and on the wire was a large iron ring. When the dog's light chain was slipped through the ring, he could run back and forth for twenty feet, and could lie in the sun or shade as he liked."

"Where does he sleep?" asked Edward's uncle.

"He has a large, clean kennel," said the boy, stooping to pat the dog's silky head. "I wash the whole kennel every week. His bed is made of pine shavings, and in cold weather I put in a pile of them, so that he can have a blanket as well as a bed. The kennel is raised on blocks, so that it will not be damp, and there is a platform in front of it for hot nights. When it is chilly, I hang a piece of old carpet over the door, and on very cold nights he sleeps on his own rug in the laundry. He is a big, strong dog, and he doesn't like too warm a room to sleep in."

"How often do you wash him?" asked Uncle Frank.

"About twice a month," said Edward, "I give him a bath in lukewarm water and with Castile soap. I rinse the soap off with clear water, rub him dry, and let him have a good scamper in the fields. I comb and brush him thoroughly every day. That makes his coat clean and glossy. Once when he had fleas I washed him with carbolic soap, and then took him in swimming. I have been told that for a small dog the yolk of an egg is better than any kind of soap, but I have never tried it for Chum."

"What does he have to eat, and how often do you feed him?"

He has two meals a day now. Sometimes he has dog biscuit soaked in water or soup. Sometimes he likes his biscuit dry. Nearly every day he has a few sc.r.a.ps of meat or a bone. He likes corn cake and brown bread and macaroni, too. Sometimes I mix the meat and vegetables with mush made from some cereal."

"I suppose you know," said Uncle Frank, "that a dog needs vegetable food, and that he cannot keep well without it?"

"Yes, indeed. I give him cabbage and potatoes very often."

"Is Chum a good watchdog?" went on Uncle Frank. "He didn't bark at me when I came up the path."

"It is just as well that you didn't try to open the door," said Edward; "he would have barked loudly enough in that case. He barks at night when he hears a strange step, because I have praised him for that; but in the daytime he keeps his eyes open and lies still."

"What is that yellow dish by the laundry door?" said the boy's uncle, looking about the pleasant yard.