Part 2

Through a fellow member of the Police Dog Club of America, who had been commissioned by the U. S. Government as official trainer, I had Wolf enlisted for war service and he was sent to Athens, Georgia, to complete his training. After the War Department concluded to debar war dog service, he was turned over to the French War Department, and in December, 1917, was sent to France. In June, 1918, I received a picture of Wolf, showing him in camp in company with two French soldiers, apparently enjoying the novel experience of fighting with the enemies of his native land.

During my stay in France following the armistice, I spent many days and dollars in my efforts to discover the whereabouts of my old friend Wolf, but all without avail. Great difficulties were encountered in locating missing men, and naturally my task to find a dog was much greater. On my return to France I shall continue my efforts and still hope to meet with success. When I find him—and I pray that I may—Wolf shall spend his declining days in the enjoyment of everything a dog likes best, and when his days are ended, he shall have bestowed upon him a decent burial and the lasting memories of his master.

THE “HUSKIE”

During the summer of 1918 I spent two months in Alaska, and while there became familiar with the characteristics of the Alaskan Eskimo dog.

Travel during the long sunless winter season would be next to impossible were it not for these tireless sled dogs. Summer is their vacation period and they wander through the villages, camps and mountains, much as the ordinary farm or country dog, spending the long hours of constant sunshine playing and sleeping. From the moment of the first fall of snow, play and sleep, become—if a dog ever thinks—but a thing of memory, as work is then the order of the day and dogs instead of horses transport burdens of every description. To the hustling Alaskan, a team of sled dogs is the most important asset in his possession.

With the approach of winter, the armies of the Allies were confronted with a very serious problem, namely, how to supply the troops in the mountain camps and trenches with sufficient food supply. Motors and horses were alike powerless to overcome these conditions. Falling snows and howling blizzards made the work of provisioning these soldiers an impossibility. Hundreds of dogs were sent from Alaska and Labrador, and these hitched to sleds loaded with food and munitions made their way through the mountain passes and over pinnacles, relieving the threatened destruction of thousands by starvation.

Ernest Harold Baynes, in the National Geographic Magazine, has this to say relative to the work accomplished by these dogs. “One woman brought back to America a Croix de Guerre awarded by France to her intrepid teams of sled dogs. The occasion that won them that honor was their salvation of a stormbound, foe pressed outpost in the French Alps. Despatch bearers had been sent back repeatedly, but no succoring answer came, for the messengers were overwhelmed as they passed through the blinding blizzard. At last matters became desperate. The foe was pressing his advantage with dash and courage, and nothing but quick action could save the situation. So Lieutenant Rene Haas hitched his dogs to a light sled and started through a blizzard before which human flesh, in spite of the ‘urge’ of a consecrated patriotism, had failed. In ‘sweepstakes racing time’ they covered the trip down the mountain and over a perilous pass to the main army post. There twenty-eight dogs were hitched to fourteen light sleds, and these were loaded with ammunition. Back over the forbidding trail they went, under an artillery fire, facing a bitter wind, and plowing through blinding clouds of snow. On the fifth day at sunrise the panting malamutes reached the outpost, their burden of ammunition was rushed to the gunners, and the mountain was saved from the foe.”

We must all agree that the “Huskie” takes his place of honor among the many other species of dogdom who did his bit in the World War, and if it is true that he is a lineal descendant of the timber wolf, we must even have a higher respect for this much maligned animal.

AN INTERESTING LETTER

During my stay in France I wrote a number of letters to the press relating to the work of the Blue Cross Society of France, and in return received many interesting letters from America, and in many instances donations for the Refuge.

One of the most pleasing was the following, which demonstrates the heart and spirit of the boys and girls of our great and generous country.

Livingston Avenue, Dobbs Ferry, N. Y.

John I. Anderson,

Continental Hotel, Paris, France.

Dear Sir:

Your appeal for the wounded dogs now being cared for in the hospital in Neuilly, France, which appeared in the New York Globe, was brought to the attention of the children of the Presbyterian Church of this town, and they decided to do something themselves to raise a little money.

Five youngsters equipped their dogs with white blankets and collection boxes and spent Saturday asking dog lovers to give something for the little war sufferers. When the boxes were opened they found $18.00, which I am forwarding to you. A donation of $2.50 was made by the Dramatic Club of the Presbyterian Church, bringing the total to $20.50, for which amount my check is drawn to your order.

The children would very much appreciate any particulars which you can furnish them regarding these “little soldiers.”

Very truly yours,

Margaret M. Link.

February 25, 1919.

This help from America has wonderfully encouraged the Countess in her philanthropic work among the crippled, sick and needy dumb animals, and it is her desire to extend the work to other parts of France, where inestimable good can be accomplished.

SENATOR VEST’S ADDRESS TO A JURY

A poor man in the State of Missouri owned a dog, his constant companion. A churlish neighbor, without provocation, killed the dog. Too poor to prosecute the offender, the man was without redress. United States Senator Vest of Missouri was informed of the circumstances and at once offered his services, without pay, to prosecute the case. The offender was summoned to court and the following plea was made before a jury of twelve men. Without leaving their seats these twelve men unanimously agreed upon a verdict of a $500.00 penalty against the defendant. The following was Senator Vest’s address to the jury:

“Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove 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, perhaps when he needs it most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to 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 absolute, unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his 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, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can 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 in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the 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, his eyes sad but open and in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.”

THE SOLDIER AND “JIM-DOG”

By Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.

He wasn’t, well, a fancy kind o’ dog— Not Jim! But, oh, I sorter couldn’t seem ter help A-lovin’ him. He always seemed ter understand, He’d rub his nose against my hand If I was feelin’ blue or sad, Or if my thoughts was pretty bad; An’ how he’d bark an’ frisk an’ play When I was gay!

A soldier’s dog don’t have much time ter whine, Like little pets a-howlin’ at th’ moon. A soldier’s dog is bound ter learn, right soon, That war is war, an’ what a steady line Of men in khaki means. (What, dogs don’t know? You bet they do! Jim-dog, he had ter go Along th’ trenches oftentimes at night; He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight A-brewin’. Oh, I guess he knew, all right!) I was a soldier, an’ Jim-dog was _mine_.

Ah, what’s th’ use? There never was another dog like him. Why, on th’ march I’d pause and call, “Hey, Jim!” An’ he’d be there, his head tipped on one side, A-lookin’ up at me with love an’ pride, His tail a-waggin’, an’ his ears raised high.... I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die? He was a friend ter folks; he didn’t bite; He never snapped at no one in th’ night; He didn’t hate a soul; an’ he was _game_! An’ yet ... a spark o’light, a dartin’ flame Across th’ dark, a sneaky bit o’ lead, An’ he was ... dead!

They say there ain’t no heaven-land fer him, ’Cause dogs is dogs, an’ haven’t any right; But let me tell yer this: without my Jim Th’ very shinin’ streets would seem less bright! An’ somehow I’m a-thinkin’ that if he Could come at that last stirrin’ bugle call Up to th’ gates o’ gold aside o’ me, Where God stands smilin’ welcome to us all, An’ I said: “Father, here’s my dog ... here’s Jim,” They’d find some corner, touched with love, fer him!

The proceeds from the sale of this book are donated to the Blue Cross Society of France, For the Protection and Care of Animals. Duplicate copies may be obtained for 25 cents each from the publisher.

620 Broadway, New York City

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Punctuation has been normalized. Orthography, hyphenation, and variations therein, have been retained as they were in the original publication.

Italicized phrases are presented by surrounding the text with _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's War Dogs of the World War, by John I. Anderson