BARKING MAD E-Book

Tom Quinn

• Herausgeber: Quiller
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 220

Beschreibung

Barking Mad taps into the British passion for dogs by bringing together a unique collection of extraordinary, touching and sometimes bizarre but true stories covering sporting dogs (and hounds), military mascots, eccentric companions, war heroes and Royal dogs. Many of the best and most intriguing stories, which date back to the early 19th Century, have been discovered in long-forgotten books and magazines, but all reflect our enduring passion for man's best friend. Stories include everything from the Labrador that saved its master from drowning to the hound that spent years travelling unaccompanied across England by train to the pooch that carried a penny to the local bakery every day to buy its own cakes.

Leseprobe

BARKING MAD

Two Centuries of Great Dog Stories

You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.

Robert Louis Stevenson

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter One • ECCENTRIC

Chapter Two • HEROES

Chapter Three • SPORTING

Chapter Four • SENTIMENTAL

Chapter Five • SUPER CLEVER

Chapter Six • MAD OWNERS

Bibliography

I am my master’s dog at Kew, Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?

Lines written by Alexander Pope in 1738 for the collar of Frederick Prince of Wales’ favourite spaniel.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

I care not for a man’s religion if his dog and cat be not better for it.

Abraham Lincoln

Up with some little discontent with my wife upon her saying that she had got and used some puppy-dog water, being put upon it by a desire of my aunt Wight to get some for her, who hath a mind, unknown to her husband, to get some for her ugly face.

The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday, 8 March 1663

INTRODUCTION

THE BRITISH LOVE of dogs is legendary. Other nations cannot understand our obsession. Where much of the world dislikes, abuses or even eats its canines – the British, among other things, train them to help the blind, to herd sheep, to look for drugs and to rescue the victims of natural disasters.

The British have long understood that dogs also make marvellous companions and if treated well will reward their owners by guarding their houses, rescuing their children from ponds and fires and carrying their newspapers.

Our love for dogs is also reflected in the remarkable number of dog shows that fill the summer calendar – everything from countless small village shows to grand international events such as Crufts – and in the fact that for centuries the Royal family has led the way in its affection for spaniels, Labradors, and, perhaps most famously, corgis.

Countless books and articles have been written about the remarkable loyalty, intelligence and bravery of dogs and thousands of newspaper stories down the centuries record the antics, sometimes comic and sometimes tragic, of man’s best friend.

For this book I have trawled through a vast number of these long forgotten books and newspapers to find what I hope are the most entertaining – and frequently astonishing – dog stories.

Here you will find tales of dogs rescuing their owners from flood and fire, dogs buying their own lunch, singing for their supper, travelling the country by train, firing cannons in the heat of battle and even helping to preach an occasional sermon.

Chapter One

ECCENTRIC

Monkey Business

ADOG NAMED Monkey, small, black and white of the cocker race, was reared by the groom of a gentleman in Ireland. Monkey was a general favourite, and roamed at his pleasure about the house and grounds.

One day his attention was attracted to the cook, who was busily engaged in pickling herrings; and, to her surprise, begged very impatiently for some. At length she threw him a damaged herring, intending thereby, as he was a dog of pampered appetite, to convince him that she had nothing suited to his tooth. He, however, snatched it eagerly, instantly disappeared, and returned in two minutes, asking earnestly for another.

The cook’s curiosity was now excited, and, following the dog, she found that Monkey carried it, as he had the other, to Warden, a large bloodhound, who was constantly chained up, to whose less fastidious taste they both proved alike acceptable. Monkey followed the cook, and asked for a third herring; but his request was this time refused.

In the days that followed it was observed that Monkey delivered almost every scrap of food he came across to his enchained companion. When he himself was fed in his favourite bowl, Monkey was observed to eat with a sad countenance and having eaten only half his portion would grasp the edge of the bowl in his teeth and deliver it to his best friend. For life the two remained inseparable.

Charles Williams, Anecdotes of Dogs, 1870

Humorous Hound

DOES THE following dog story show a sense of humour?

A retriever was in the habit of leaving his bed in the kitchen when he heard his master descending the stairs in the morning. On one occasion a new kitchen-maid turned him out of his bed at a much earlier hour than usual. He looked angrily at her, but walked out quietly.

Time passed, and he was nowhere to be found. At last, in going to her bedroom, the kitchen-maid found him coiled up in her own bed.

B.B., The Spectator, 6 February 1875

Nelson’s Hardy

ISHOULD LIKE to be allowed to help preserve the memory of a most worthy dog-friend of my youth, well remembered by many now living who knew Greenwich Hospital some thirty or five-and-thirty years ago.

At that time there lived there a dog pensioner called Hardy, a large brown Irish retriever. He was so named by Sir Thomas Hardy, when Governor (Nelson’s Hardy), who at the same time constituted him a pensioner, at the rate of one penny per diem, for that he had one day saved a life from drowning just opposite the hospital.

Till that time he was a poor stranger and vagrant dog – friendless. But thenceforward he lived in the hospital, and spent his pension himself at the butcher’s shop, as he did also many another coin given to him by numerous friends. Many is the halfpenny which, as a child, I gave Hardy, that I might see him buy his own meat – which he did with judgment, and a due regard to value.

When a penny was given to him, he would, on arriving at the shop, place it on the counter and rest his nose or paw upon it until he received two halfpennyworths, nor would any persuasion induce him to give up the coin for the usual smaller allowance.

I was a young child at the time, but I had a great veneration for Hardy, and remember him well, but lest my juvenile memory might have been in fault, I compared my recollections with those of my elders, who, as grown people, knew Hardy for many years, and confirm all the above facts. There, indeed, was the right dog in the right place. Peace to his shade!

J. D. C., The Spectator, 17 February 1877

Dance Troupe

VARIOUS AND wonderful in all ages have been the actions of dogs; and I should set myself to collect, from poets and historians, the many passages that make honourable mention of them. I should compose a work much too large and voluminous for the patience of any modern reader, but as the politicians of the age and men of gravity may be apt to censure me for misspending my time writing the adventures of a lapdog when there are too many modern heroes whose illustrious actions call for the pen of an historian; it will not be amiss to detain the reader in the entrance to this work with a short panegyric on the canine race to justify my undertaking it.

And can we without the basest ingratitude think ill of an animal that has ever honoured mankind with his company and friendship from the beginning of the world to the present moment?

While all other creatures are in a state of enmity with us, some flying into woods and wildernesses to escape our tyranny and others requiring to be restrained with bridles and fences in close confinement dogs alone enter into voluntary friendship with us and of their own accord make their residence among us.

Nor do they trouble us only with officious fidelity and useless goodwill, but take care to earn their livelihood by many a meritorious service; they guard our houses, supply our tables with provision, amuse our leisure hours and discover plots to the government. Nay I have heard of a dog making a syllogism which cannot fail to endear him to our two famous universities where his brother logicians are so honoured and distinguished for their skill in that useful science. After these extraordinary instances of sagacity and merit it may be thought ludicrous, perhaps, to mention the capacity they have often discovered for playing at cards, fiddling, dancing and other polite accomplishments, yet I cannot help relating a little story which formerly happened at the playhouse in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

There was at that time the same emulation between the two houses as there is at present between the great commonwealths of Drury Lane and Covent Garden, each of them striving to amuse the town with various feats of activity when they began to grow tired of sense, wit and action. At length the managers of the house at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, possessed with a happy turn of thought introduced a dance of dogs who were dressed in French characters to make the representation more ridiculous and acquitted themselves for several evenings to the universal delight and improvement of the town.

But one unfortunate night a malicious wag behind the scenes threw down among the dogs the leg of a fowl which he had brought hither in his pocket for that purpose.

Instantly all was in confusion; the marquis threw off his peruke, mademoiselle dropped her hoop petticoat, the fiddler threw away his violin and all fell to scrambling for the prize that was thrown among them.

Francis Coventry, The History of Pompey the Little, 1751

Spade Work

ADOG I HAD IN 1851 and for three years afterwards was a handsome Newfoundland, and one of the most intelligent animals with which it was ever my good luck to meet. I was living in a village about three miles from Dover, where I did all my shopping and marketing, being generally my own ‘carrier’.

Sometimes Nep would carry home a small parcel for me, and always most carefully. On one occasion Nep was with me when I chose a spade, and asked the ironmonger to send it by the village carrier. The spade was put by, labelled and duly addressed. I went on to have a bathe, my dog going with me, but on finishing my toilet in the machine, and calling and whistling for Nep, he was nowhere to be seen.

He was not to be found at the stable where I had left my horse, but on calling at the ironmonger’s shop I found he had been there and had carried off the spade which I had bought, balancing it carefully in his mouth. When I reached home, there Nep was, lying near his kennel in the stable-yard looking very fagged, but wearing a countenance of the fullest self-satisfaction, and evidently wishing me to think he had fulfilled his dog-duty. My friend Mr Wood, who was a thorough lover and admirer of dogs, was delighted to hear of his intelligent performance.

Nep was also remarkable in other ways. Whenever I swam in the sea he would circle me howling quietly. Once he clearly thought I had got into trouble as I began coughing. He immediately began to nudge me hard towards the shore and would not stop until I had left the water.

Canophilist, The Spectator, 9 February 1895

Jukebox Hound

IF YOUR OWN smart dog is looking, perhaps you had better hide this book when you get through reading it. Don’t leave it lying around where he can get hold of it. It might not be good for his morals. I hate to glorify mooching, but, try as I may, I can’t get away from the feeling that the honour of being our lead-off mutt must go to Billy the Panhandler.

In defence of my decision, though, let me hasten to explain that it is not based entirely upon a perverse streak in my make-up. After all, Billy did lead an exemplary life of public service in his young manhood, and he richly deserved the recognition shown him.

It is regrettable, of course, that in his later years his weakness for weiners got the better of him and drove him to panhandling, but we must not let this lapse destroy our perspective of his life as a whole. After all, a few weaknesses in otherwise great characters only make them more human and draw us to them.

Billy was a crossbreed. His father was a bulldog, and his mother was an Airedale. He was owned by Finley Cart-wright, an Osceola, Arkansas, hardware merchant, and everybody knew him. In fact, he was the town’s official ratter. People borrowed Billy to help them kill the pests. In recognition for his public service, he was awarded a free dog license for life. The Cartwrights had other dogs that Billy didn’t like, so he didn’t spend much time at home. He divided his time between the Cartwright store and the home of some friends of his, Mr and Mrs C. L. Skatvold. They had an Airedale named Yank, and he and Billy were great pals.

The Skatvolds taught Billy to go to the store for packages of dog meat which were charged to their account. He’d take them to Mrs Skatvold, and she’d open them and serve him and Yank. Billy wouldn’t eat unless Yank got his share too. When Mr Skatvold, a safety expert with the U. S. Engineers was transferred to Memphis, they were heartbroken at having to say goodbye to Billy. Occasionally, though, Mr Skatvold had to return to Osceola on business, and whenever he met Billy on the street he would always take him to a hamburger stand or to a store and treat him. And that’s what put panhandling ideas into Billy’s head.

So Billy started bumming people on the street. He’d go up to a small group standing on a corner talking, and he’d look up at them and growl and whine. If that didn’t produce results, he’d grab them by the pants legs and would otherwise annoy them till he got what he wanted – a nickel. A penny wouldn’t do. He knew the difference. Then, with the nickel in his mouth, he’d trot off to his favourite grocery.

The man at the meat counter knew what Billy wanted when he saw him walk in – and well he should, for Billy was one of his steadiest customers – and he’d wrap up a couple of wieners. Billy would drop his nickel, take the package and trot on back to his benefactor. He’d put the package down and then look up, a hungry, eager expression on his face .

His friend would open the package, toss the wieners to Billy – and down the hatch they’d go. I don’t know what understanding dog-lover first interpreted Billy’s mooching antics – perhaps it was someone who had seen Mr Skatvold treat him – but it didn’t take long for the knowledge to spread and mooching became easy for Billy. People gave him nickels to see him spend them. He lost his ambition. It wasn’t necessary that he work for a living, and I fear the town ratter became soft and lazy in office.

Although Billy was smart, he wasn’t smart enough to keep out of the street. An auto finally got him. I printed a piece about him in my newspaper column shortly before he was killed, and it was reprinted by the American Kennel Gazette and the Reader’s Digest. His fame was nation-wide.

‘Billy was a lovable dog,’ says Mrs Skatvold. A picture of him is one of her treasured possessions – even if he did turn out to be a panhandler.

And speaking of moochers, another favourite of mine is Rex the Jukebox Hound. As a matter of fact, if the truth were known, we might find that Rex is the great-grandson of Billy the Panhandler. He, too, is a mongrel; he was born at Bassett, Arkansas, only a few miles from Billy’s home, and he has a keen brain and a number of traits reminiscent of Osceola’s famous dog about town.

Rex is a medium-sized, black and tan, shaggy pooch. He is still just a pup – only a little over eight months old as I write this – but already he is the most valuable employee of the Southern Cafe, a little beer bistro, in Joiner, Arkansas.

‘Why, that dog can mooch more nickels for the jukebox than a pretty girl can,’ says Leon Chamberlain, operator of the place. If you want to see some fun – and lots of customers do – just pitch a nickel up and let it fall on the floor.

Rex may not be anywhere in sight, but the sound of that nickel will bring him dashing out from under a table or from behind the counter. He grabs the nickel and scoots for the jukebox. A couple of jumps puts him on top of it – they keep beer cases stacked beside it for his convenience – and he deposits his nickel, sits down and nervously looks around for Leon or Mrs N.V. Lee, an employee. One of them rushes over and puts the nickel in the slot for him.

As the jukebox lights up and the music starts, Rex sits on top of it and listens. Sometimes he sits up like a statue, sometimes he stretches out comfortably, and sometimes he cranes his neck around the curved top and peers dreamily down at the spot from which the music is coming.

His favourite tune is ‘Sunny Side of Life’. Running to the jukebox with nickels is Rex’s own idea. He had seen people put nickels in that box, and apparently he liked what happened when they did. So one day when a couple of customers were playing crackaloo, Rex darted out, grabbed a nickel and ran to the jukebox.

That nearly convulsed everybody. More nickels were pitched out. And he has been at it ever since, enthusiastically encouraged by his boss. Rex has become such a valuable dog that Leon won’t permit him to run around with other dogs.

When they go anywhere, Leon usually has Rex on a leash. It’s a queer sight in a little town like Joiner for a big, grown man to be seen with a pooch on a leash – considered a bit sissy – but tall, black haired Leon doesn’t mind. That jukebox hound is important to his business.

Leon acquired Rex in an unusual way, and the incident proves that it pays to be kind to dogs. ‘One Saturday night a man came in and asked me to lend him a screwdriver,’ Leon explains. ‘He and his wife were moving from Bassett to Memphis, and their car had broken down in front of my place. He needed the screwdriver to try to fix it. He worked on it, but couldn’t get it running, so they left it and went on by bus. Said they’d come back the next day and get it.

‘The next afternoon about four I heard a hollering in that broken-down car, and I looked in and saw eight pups. They were shut up in it, and had been there since the night before so I fed ’em. I figgered the fellow would show up later in the day.

‘The next day, though, he still hadn’t come, and I fed the pups again, but I brought two into the cafe. Well, sir, it was a week before that fellow came back to get his car, and I fed the pups all the time. And with six of ’em still in the car, you can imagine the mess they made.

‘I learned the mother dog had jumped out of the car and got killed on the highway just before their car broke down that Saturday night. The fellow gave me the two pups I had brought into the cafe, and he took the other six on to Memphis. I named one of them Rusty and the other Rex. I gave Rusty to my brother out in the country, and I kept Rex. I don’t know what kind of dog he is. He’s just mixed.’

Maybe Rex will be the beginning of a new American breed: the jukebox hound.

Eldon Roarke, Just a Mutt, 1947

Bow Street Runner

ANYONE WHO passes along Bow Street, Covent Garden, may observe that while one door of the police station is always open during business hours, for the magistrate, the officers, and the culprits, the other iron-gated doorway (No. 4) is but little used. There, in the year 1857, an old, starved, and sickly looking dog tried to make a home, but only to be driven away by the order of the superintendent again and again.

Subsisting on the charity of passers-by and of the men of the F division, whose headquarters are at Bow Street, the dog soon got hearty and strong, and having always returned to his chosen spot, now resisted all further attempts at removal.

As the various sections of police left the office to relieve the men on duty, the dog always followed them, and as soon as the last man’s place was filled up invariably returned to the doorway. The men, in consequence, became so much interested in the dog that, on their encouragement, he took up his quarters inside the station, was named ‘Charlie,’ and even considered a member of the police force.

Received into the office, where, according to the police regulations, he had no right to be, Charlie, also known as the White Sergeant from his whiteness when clean, was placed on the mess; and at the Christmas dinner was allowed to sit at the table.

On state occasions, when the greater part of the division was required, a sergeant’s armlet was buckled round his neck, and very proud he seemed to be of this decoration.

At the Victoria Cross presentation, in Hyde Park, all the divisions were represented by a large number of men, and 2,500 were on the ground. Charlie had been accidentally shut up in a room at the station; but as soon as he was set free, he went to the park, worked his way through the immense crowd that was collected, and took his station in front, at the head of his own division. The sergeant’s armlet had been buckled round his neck, and as Charlie sat stiff and erect as an old soldier, in front of the long line of constables, Her Majesty, in passing, honoured the dog with a smile.

At a quarter to six every morning the first day relief is paraded in the station-yard, and then, and indeed at every parade, day and night, Charlie was present, marching up and down the front of the line with all the importance of a drill-sergeant.

On such occasions he was always accompanied by the only four-footed companion he was known to have – ‘Jeanie,’ the police-office cat, who, with a bell tinkling at her brass collar, trotted at his side.

Parade over, Charlie headed the relief in its march round the beats, when he generally set out on a tour of inspection round the district, waiting for a while with any policeman who might be a favourite. When, however, parade time drew near, no inducement could prolong his walk, but off he bounded, always reaching Bow Street in time to drill the section.

When the ten o’clock night relief went out, Charlie, after duly going the rounds, returned to sup with the men that had been relieved; but as soon as the meal was over he went out and took active duty, returning to the station in time for the quarter to two a.m. drill.

Only two exceptions occurred to his punctuality, and in each instance his absence was fully justifiable. Once Charlie watched for some days by the death-bed of an old constable to whom he was much attached; and on the other occasion he had been severely mauled and nearly poisoned by some of the thieves of the Seven Dials, to whom he was well known, and whose felonious schemes he had often assisted in defeating.

Many a tale is told of this kind; but one fact only can now be added. At an early hour one morning, a constable, while passing through New Church Court, a narrow lane off the Strand, was knocked down by two men. Charlie, who was a short distance behind, now ran across the Strand to the station in Somerset House, and seizing the sergeant on duty there by the greatcoat tail, led him to the constable’s assistance, who was found to be severely wounded, and, apart from Charlie’s sagacity, might have been killed outright. At length this interesting and useful creature became very feeble. No longer could he brave a rainy night. On getting wet he trotted to the station, and, after rolling himself about on the doormat, dried himself at the kitchen fire. If, when he had become thoroughly dry, the rain had passed off he again sallied forth; but if the rain continued, he sat with the constable on duty at the station door till the weather cleared up. Charlie died of old age, in front of the mess room fire in 1869.

Illustrated London News, July 1870

Learn from the Birds

IWAS STRUCK by many features in the character of a dog which I knew, illustrating, as I think, not only affection, but reasoning faculties, I shall acquaint you with a few of these, believing that they may be interesting, at least to all admirers of that noble animal.

When in India, I had a small rough terrier who, when given a bone, was sent to eat it on the gravel drive under an open porch in front of the bungalow. On several occasions two crows had made an attempt to snatch the dainty morsel, but their plans were easily defeated by Topsy’s growls and snapping teeth. Away flew the crows to the branch of a tree nearby.

After a few moments of evident discussion, they proceeded to carry out a plan of attack. One crow flew down to the ground and gave a peck at the end of the dog’s tail. Topsy at once turned to resent this attack in the rear, while the other crow flew down and bore the bone away in triumph.

The same dog had a favourite resting-place in an easy-chair, and was very often deprived of it by a dog which came as visitor to the house. Topsy did not approve of this, and her attempts to regain her seat were met with growls and bites.

This justified an act of eviction, and the busy little brain decided on a plan. The next day, as usual, the intruder established himself in the chair, which was close to the open door. Topsy looked on for a moment, and then flew savagely out of doors, barking at a supposed enemy. Out ran the other dog to see what was up, but when it came back Topsy had taken possession of the coveted seat. The other dog came slowly back, and curled himself up in a far-off corner.

The Spectator, 3 March 1888

Travelling Terrier

WHEN JOCK the Perth railway dog died, obituaries appeared in newspapers and he was mourned on both sides of the English Channel.