|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 24
"No," said the Master. "But he can track him and find him, if
Roberts is anywhere within a mile or so from here. That was one
of the first things we taught him--to carry messages. All we do
is to slip the paper into his collar-ring and tell him the name
of the person to take it to. Naturally, he knows us all by name.
So it is easy enough for him to do it. We look on the trick as
tremendously clever. But that's because we love Bruce. Almost any
dog can be taught to do it, I suppose. We--"
"You're mistaken!" corrected the guest. "Almost any dog CAN'T be
taught to. Some dogs can, of course; but they are the exception.
I ought to know, for I've been where dog-couriers are a decidedly
important feature of trench-warfare. I stopped at one of the dog-
training schools in England, too, on my way back from Picardy,
and watched the teaching of the dogs that are sent to France and
Flanders. Not one in ten can be trained to carry messages; and
not one in thirty can be counted on to do it reliably. You ought
to be proud of Bruce."
"We are," replied the Mistress. "He is one of the family. We
think everything of him. He was such a stupid and awkward puppy,
too! Then, in just a few months, he shaped up, as he is now. And
his brain woke."
Bruce interrupted the talk by reappearing on the veranda. The
folded envelope was still in the ring on his collar. The guest
glanced furtively at the Master, expecting some sign of chagrin
at the collie's failure.
Instead, the Master took the envelope, unfolded it and glanced at
a word or two that had been written beneath his own scrawl; then
he made another penciled addition to the envelope's writing,
stuck the twisted paper back into the ring and said--
"Roberts."
Off trotted Bruce on his second trip.
"I had forgotten to say which train you'll have to take in the
morning," explained the Master. "So Roberts wrote, asking what
time he was to have the car at the door after breakfast. It was
careless of me."
The guest did not answer. But when Bruce presently returned,--
this time with no paper in his collar-ring,--the officer passed
his hand appraisingly through the dog's heavy coat and looked
keenly down into his dark eyes.
"Gun-shy?" asked the guest. "Or perhaps he's never heard a gun
fired?"
"He's heard hundreds of guns fired," said the Master. "I never
allow a gun to be fired on The Place, of course, because we've
made it a bird refuge. But Bruce went with us in the car to the
testing of the Lewis machineguns, up at Haskell. They made a most
ungodly racket. But somehow it didn't seem to bother the Big Dog
at all."
"H'm!" mused the guest, his professional interest vehemently
roused. "He would be worth a fortune over there. There are a lot
of collies in the service, in one capacity or another--almost as
many as the Airedales and the police dogs. And they are doing
grand work. But I never saw one that was better fitted for it
than Bruce. It's a pity he lives on the wrong side of the
Atlantic. He could do his bit, to more effect than the average
human. There are hundreds of thousands of men for the ranks, but
pitifully few perfect courier-dogs."
The Mistress was listening with a tensity which momentarily grew
more painful. The Master's forehead, too, was creased with a new
thought that seemed to hurt him. To break the brief silence that
followed the guest's words, he asked:
"Are the dogs, over there, really doing such great work as the
papers say they are? I read, the other day--"
" 'Great work!'" repeated the guest. "I should say so. Not only
in finding the wounded and acting as guards on listening posts,
and all that, but most of all as couriers. There are plenty of
times when the wireless can't be used for sending messages from
one point to another, and where there is no telephone connection,
and where the firing is too hot for a human courier to get
through. That is where is the war dogs have proved their weight
in radium. Collies, mostly. There are a million true stories of
their prowess told, at camp-fires. Here are just two such
incidents--both of them on record, by the way, at the British War
Office
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|