Owney, the Post Office Dog and other great dog stories L. Wheeler C Joe om by p ed iled and Edit Pacific Press® Publishing Association Nampa, Idaho Oshawa, Ontario, Canada www.pacificpress.com CONTENTS Introduction - Only the Dog Joseph Leininger Wheeler and Albert Payson Terhune Owney, the Post Office Dog – Joseph Leininger Wheeler .................. 12 The Tail of the Lobo – Penny Porter ................................................. 26 The Inhumanities – Julia Tavenner M’Garvey .................................... 31 The Killer – Verne Athanas ............................................................... 42 Wolf – Albert Payson Terhune ............................................................ 58 Delayed Delivery – Cathy Miller ....................................................... 74 His Adopted Friend – Abbie Farwell Brown ...................................... 80 Scottie Scores a Triumph – John Scott Douglas ............................... 89 It Isn’t Done – M. F. Simmonds ........................................................ 96 When Tad Remembered – Minnie Leona Upton ............................. 104 Captain Kidd’s Ribbons – Dee Dunsing .......................................... 113 Annie, the Railroad Dog – Phil Walker .......................................... 120 To Everything a Season – P. J. Platz ............................................... 124 Don – Zane Grey .............................................................................. 137 Introduction: Only the Dog Joseph Leininger Wheeler (with Albert Payson Terhune) Just think about it: Down through recorded history, which species, of all species of wildlife, has always remained inseparable from the human? Not the horse; it roams free when it has the chance. Not cows, goats, chickens, or sheep—none of them live with us. Not even the cat. Even though millions of them have lived with humans for thousands of years, always the cat has done so on its own terms, continuing to maintain its independence. That leaves only the dog to have unreservedly cast its lot with men, women, and children. To a cat, we may represent a part of its life; to a dog, we represent all of its life. In literature, the first starring role for a dog was in the Hindu Mahabharata. In it, King Yudisthira is granted entry into heaven, but not his faithful dog. With tears in his eyes, the king begs, “This hound has eaten with me, starved with me, suffered with me, loved me! Must I desert him now?” And has it not been true for all societies, all peoples, that their dogs have eaten with them, starved with them, suffered with them, and loved them? The dog is the only nonhuman species that unreservedly accepts us as we are. To a dog, we can do no wrong. All our friends may desert us—but never our dog. Its love is unconditional. Even when we mistreat it, it just looks at us through wounded eyes, unable to understand how its beloved master could reward its love and devotion with cruelty. 3 Owney, the Post Office Dog and Other Great Dog Stories The ways of a dog No American has ever lived who more totally espoused the dog, both as a species and a friend, than did Albert Payson Terhune (1872–1942), author of Lad and so many other books and stories about dogs and their relationships with us. One of the most informative and insightful dog- related articles I’ve ever come across is his “The Ways of a Dog” (Ladies’ Home Journal, September 1919). Here are some of his conclusions: “At four hundred yards, no dog can tell, by sight, his master from a stranger. That is why a dog first makes use of his miraculous sense of smell, next of his keen powers of hearing, and never of his eyesight until he has no further need of these two stronger senses. When nature gives any creature two such potent senses as are the scent and hearing of a dog, she always restores the average by dulling some other sense. .” Should a dog walk into a room— “even if it has been aired of all odors discernible to man,—he will know at once whether or not any of its occupants during the past few hours are acquaintances of his, where each stood or sat, and the route taken by them in entering or departing. “In a wood or a field or along a country road there are a million smells no human can detect, but which have distinct meaning for a dog. But this superhuman sense of smell may be as painful as it is advantageous. To blow a whiff of tobacco smoke into the face of a fellow man causes a momentary annoyance. To blow it into the face of a dog causes acute pain. The nostrils are tortured.” As to why dogs howl when hearing certain notes, Terhune debunks the common perception that the dog is “singing along” with it. “He is not. He is in anguish. Canine hearing is so many times more acute than is that of man that a high-pitched note has the same effect on the tympanum as would the point of a cambric needle. He is not singing. He is screaming in agony.” So how much does a dog understand of what we say? “This same uncanny sense of hearing tells him of the faintest change in his master’s mood. A shade of tone, which would escape a human, is not only audible 4 Introduction but translatable to a dog.” And no, he does not understand everything said to him. “At best, he understands barely one-tenth of it. But he does understand the way they say it. “No courtier ever hung upon his sovereign’s humors with half the zest that the right kind of dog lavishes on those of his master. And it is by this sense of hearing that he catches the nature of these varying moods. True, he scans and reads the face too. But the bulk of his mind reading is done by ear.” A dog’s sense of hearing is so acute he can hear and sense our coming over a mile away. During the horse and buggy days, dogs quickly learned to differentiate between the sounds made by the different horses that pulled the carriages or wagons. “Then came the era of automobiles. Across the same bridge whizzed innumerable cars every day. In an incredibly short time my two dogs had learned to recognize the hum of our car’s motor, and to differentiate it from any or all others.” Terhune wondered whether or not dogs have auricular powers we cannot even sense (in a key too high or too low for us to hear). He notes that his collie, Sunnybank Lad, was for years undisputed king of all his other dogs. “Then ‘Lad’ grew old, very old. Yet his domination did not weaken. But when he was nearly sixteen years of age he became deaf. Not stone deaf, but hard of hearing. From that moment his rulership over the other dogs ended.” As for barks, Terhune maintains, “To a student of such matters, a bark can express every shade of emotion from joy to terror. There is the challenging bark of a watchdog. There is the gayly trumpeting bark of a dog who sees his master after a long absence or who is about to be taken for a walk. There is the harrowing bark of the pup that meets a tortoise in mid-path for the first time, and there is the scared bark of the same pup when the turtle hisses at him.” Interestingly enough, “no untamed branch of the dog family has a bark.” The yap of the jackal and the yelp of the coyote bear no true resemblance. “The dog has his bark as an added attraction. It takes the place of no other animal sound. He has, in 5 Owney, the Post Office Dog and Other Great Dog Stories addition, all the vocal accompaniments of the wolf or the fox or any of the canine or semi-canine races. “Scientific experiments in acoustics have proved that the bark of a dog has greater carrying power than has the voice of any other known animal. It is the last sound that an ascending balloonist hears after all other earth noises have died away.” Terhune also commented on the dog’s marvelous sense of direction. “Many is the story of their somehow being able to find their way home across the miles. Some hundreds, some thousands. Terhune remembered a dog of his that he sold to a man who lived some distance away. Every time the dog was unchained, it found its way home. Finally, the buyer kept her tied up for two years. Then, in an unguarded moment, the dog got away and came “home” again. Terhune also points out that a dog has only one set of weapons with which to defend itself: its teeth. “All other beasts have jaws and feet, five efficient sets of weapons, for the fending off of their foes. Man can kick or hit or bite. The cat can use her claws as well as her teeth to furious effect. And so on through the animal kingdom. The dog has his teeth alone to make him formidable. Muzzle him, and you turn him straightway into the most defenseless creature alive. A month-old kitten can out-battle him.” And if you muzzle your dog, you also “interfere with his free breathing, you cramp his sensitive mouth and lock his forty-two teeth, you mar his needful power of scent, you blur his already poor eyesight, and, worst of all, you prevent him from perspiring. A dog perspires through his tongue. That is why he pants; not because he is out of breath: it is his one means of perspiring.” As for a dog’s memory, Terhune maintains that it is phenomenal and that it is directly tied to his sense of smell. “It is by scent rather than sight that your pup knows you and remembers you. It is by scent, too, that he remembers the few people he has reason to hate.