In Dogs We Trust

An Anthology of American Dog Literature

Jacob F. Rivers, Jeffrey Makala, Jacob F. Rivers III, Jeffrey Makala

• Publisher: University of South Carolina Press
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781611179675
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism for Comparative Literature
• Index: Literature

A grand anthology that celebrates the many sterling virtues of the canine species

Dogs have lived with humans for thousands of years as working partners. By the nineteenth century their role expanded to companions. American dog literature reflects this gradual but dramatic shift that continues even today. Our household dogs are quite literally closer than ever to us: sleeping in our beds, getting dressed in Halloween costumes, and serving as emotional support companions.

In Dogs We Trust is the first comprehensive anthology of American dog literature. It features stories, anecdotes, and poetry that celebrate the many sterling virtues of the canine species. By mining the vast American literary archive of nineteenth and early twentieth-century periodicals, Jacob F. Rivers III and Jeffrey Makala reveal the mystique and magic of the human-canine relationship and what they believe is one of the best connections humans have to the mysteries of the natural world.

This grand anthology features a rich harvest of fiction and nonfiction in which the canine heroes and heroines think and act in ways that illuminate their unquestioning loyalty and devotion. By taking dog literature seriously, Rivers and Makala believe we can learn more about our animal companions, ourselves, and our national literature. For them dog literature is American literature; it helps us explore and explain who we are and who we wish to be.

PART 1

Working Dogs

“And every cur of them [Sioux dogs], who is large enough, and not too cunning to be enslaved, is encumbered with a car or sled (or whatever it may be better called), on which he patiently drags his load—a part of the household goods and furniture of the lodge to which he belongs. Two poles, about fifteen feet long, are placed on the dog’s shoulder, in the same manner as the lodge poles are attached to the horses, leaving the larger ends to drag upon the ground behind him; on which is placed a bundle or wallet which is allotted to him to carry, and which he trots off amid the throng of dogs and squaws; faithfully and cheerfully dragging his load ’til night, and by the way loitering and occasionally

“Catching at little bits of fun and glee

That’s played on dogs enslaved by dog that’s free.”

George Catlin, Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians, 1841

Little doubt remains in the minds of those who have studied the evolution of human and canine relationships that the first useful function of the dog for our prehistoric ancestors was as an aid to the hunt. Early humans were quick to recognize that the less aggressive and more gregarious of the wolves that had begun to visit their campsites were already superb hunters in their own right, aided of course by their marvelous sense of smell. The nose, and not the eyes or the ears, remains the touchstone of our canine companions, and even the most casual observer can watch their own dogs as they explore the world with their keen sense of smell. Dependent as they were on the meat they needed to survive, the prehistoric hunter discovered in the dog a valuable and willing working companion.

However valuable these early dogs were as locators of game, they simultaneously evolved a second trait that was no less valuable to their early masters. While access to good hunting grounds remains a privileged right, in the Pleistocene era it was a right that was frequently contested with the physical violence that characterized this early period of human life. Even before they were accepted into the family circle as valuable members of the tribe, early dogs lurking on the outskirts of the campsite would bark and howl at marauding intruders who tried to maneuver themselves into position for an attack on their rival hunting bands. This particular type of early warning system may originally have been more of a spontaneous outpouring of alarm than an effort to protect the group to which the dogs had attached themselves, but it was nonetheless valuable. It remains a valuable trait today and has been cultivated and elevated into a wealth of remarkable early-warning protective behaviors. In several of the selections that follow, most notably in “The Shepherd’s Dog” and “The Cow-Boys and the Dogs,” this canine willingness to alert their owners to the presence of outsiders continues to save their masters from surprise encroachments into what dogs consider their private spheres of life.

One reason for this kind of behavior is that dogs are pack animals who have inherited from their wolf ancestors the canine willingness to accept leadership and to respond to threats from outsiders on the group he depends on for survival. For this reason, and because humans have selectively bred different breeds for certain characteristics, dogs can be trained to perform a wide range of useful duties far beyond their abilities as hunters. As guides and battlefield messengers for our armed forces in “When Eyes Were No Use,” as lifeguards in “Gunner, the Children’s Rescuer,” and as independent and spontaneous protectors of its owner’s livestock in “The Sagacity of a Dog,” this canine attachment to the lives and fortunes of the master and pack reveals something of the remarkable fidelity and faithfulness for which dogs are known.

As humans have progressed and developed, so have our canine friends. Their absolute attachment to their owners, their innate willingness to subserve themselves to leadership, and their ingenuity and intelligence have resulted in a symbiotic relationship that readily adapts itself to the technology and environment of the times. In the stories and accounts that follow, we should remember that the spectacular performances of its canine heroes represent but a small fraction of accounts and potential in the truly remarkable canine race.

Heroes of Fire and Water

I.—“Sport,” the Newark Fire Dog (1881)

Among those who regularly call for their Daily Advertiser every afternoon at the counting-room of this office is an intelligent dog that rejoices in the name of Sport, and is the property of Hook and Ladder Company No. 1. At around 4 P.M. daily, as regularly as the hour comes around, Sport sets out for the Daily office, making a bee-line from the truck-house to the Advertiser counting-room. On arriving at the office he does not push or crowd, but, like the well-behaved dog that he is, waits until he can reach the counter. Those in charge know him well. A paper is folded and handed him, and he takes it in his mouth and starts on a bee-line for the truck-house. If he does not get the Daily immediately on reaching the counter, he rises on his hind-legs, places his forepaws on the counter and looks at the clerk as much as to say: “Don’t forget me, please!” When the paper is handed him he wags his tail in thanks, and is off in a jiffy. Of late he has been muzzled, in accordance with the Mayor’s proclamation, and the paper is put in the muzzle over his nose. On Sundays he never goes to the Daily office as he appears to know the office is closed.

Sport is a coach dog, and is between six and seven years old. He took up his residence in the truck-house in February, 1875, and soon began to run to fires with the company. As soon as the gong strikes in the house he is on the alert, and no sooner are the doors thrown open than out he bounds, rushing ahead of the horses, then darting back again, jumping up at the horses and dancing around them, and then rushing ahead again, barking furiously all the time. He will dart after vehicles that are ahead of the truck, bark at them and rush at the horses until they get out of the way. As soon as the company arrives at a fire, Sport goes on guard, watching the truck and the men’s coats, and woe betide the person who should meddle with either. Sport has been injured several times. On one occasion he was run over by the truck and one of his legs was broken. He was carried to the truck house, where his leg was set, and he was kindly cared for by the members of the company. The leg got well, but is now a little stiff.

On the 22d of February, 1876, after a terrible storm, the members of the company found a little puppy in the Old Burying Ground. It was nearly dead with cold, but they took it to the house and were trying to warm it back to life, when Sport appeared, took the little stranger in his mouth, bore it to his own bunk and tended it as carefully as a human father. It lived and thrived, the members of the company bringing it up on the bottle. The two dogs grew very fond of each other, and Sport would not suffer any but the members of the company to touch the little stranger, whom the firemen had christened Dash, or even to approach too near him. As Dash grew older he too ran to fires, and the two dogs were inseparable. One occasion a large dog of the cur species attacked Dash and beat him. The latter went to the trunk house where Sport was lying asleep on the floor, waked him up, nosed him, and evidently in some way made him comprehend what had happened. The dogs started off together, and members of the company followed at a distance to see what would happen, when they saw Dash and Sport set upon the unfortunate cur and give him a terrible thrashing. Dash was killed by being run over by the truck on its way to a fire and Sport mourned him sincerely.

Newark (N.J.) Advertiser.

“Heroes of Fire and Water I—‘Sport,’ the Newark Fire Dog.” Forest and Stream: A Journal of Outdoor Life, Travel, Nature Study, Shooting, Fishing, Yachting 17, no. 2 (August 11, 1881): 34.

Heroes of Fire and Water

II.—“Gunner,” the Children’s Rescuer (1881)

Gunner is dead. Perhaps the average reader was not acquainted with Gunner, but every person who had been at Monmouth Beach within the past twenty years knew Gunner, and knew him well, the children especially. They had no better friend, companion or protector.

The story goes that one day twenty years ago there was a dreadful storm at sea. Many vessels were lost, and the damage to property on land was great. That night some fishermen walking the shore discovered a small water spaniel lying on the sand. Upon closer inspection they perceived that a child was tied to his back. The dog had struggled nobly with the waves, for he was helpless and nigh exhausted. He rolled his eyes appealingly toward his discoverers, and whined when they approached. But the exposure and heavy billows had been too much for the child, for it was cold and stark. The dog was picked up and carefully attended to, and the child was buried at Long Branch. It never was learned who and what the child was, or where it came from, but it was generally believed that the child came from a vessel that was wrecked with all on board, and that its parents, convinced there was no chance for them, entrusted it to the dog.

Gunner grew up the pride of Monmouth Beach. His romantic history attracted him to all, and his faithfulness to children drew him toward mothers who had never permitted their offsprings with animals of any kind.

Gunner’s chief delight, however, was in the summer, when the place was filled and the sea alive with bathers. For hours and hours he sat by the breaking billows, running in as some favorite child came along, and for whole afternoons at a time he swam in and about the bathers, watching his chance to drag some venturesome or unskilled person from a watery grave. The number of lives he has saved is very large. Many, many children owe their preservation of life to Gunner’s fidelity, watchfulness, and promptness. He was a large, shaggy beast, gentle as a kitten, with a high order of intelligence, and belligerent toward other dogs that ventured into the surf, believing no doubt that he had the proper right and that the interlopers were usurping his prerogative.

Yesterday afternoon his master ordered him to bring his cows home. Gunner started off with a joyous bark, and made for the supposed peaceful kine. But when he approached, one of them, a brown, vicious brute, turned and buried her horns deep into his body. In consequence of his death all the flags at the Club House have been placed at half-mast.

Commercial Advertiser, July 31.

“Heroes of Fire and Water II—‘Gunner,’ the Children’s Rescuer.” Forest and Stream: A Journal of Outdoor Life, Travel, Nature Study, Shooting, Fishing, Yachting 17, no. 2 (August 11, 1881): 34.

The Cow-Boys and the Dogs, in the War of the Revolution (1865)

In the time of our revolutionary war there was a class of marauders greatly detested by our suffering ancestors. They were called cow-boys, and were refugees from the British side, who kept up a kind of guerilla warfare by stealing the cattle of the Americans, driving them to New York, and selling them to the British.

You have read of, some of you may have seen, Washington Irving’s beautiful residence upon the Hudson, called Sunnyside. The original building, or Wolfert’s Roost, as history tells us, was erected by Jacob Van Tassel. He was a sworn enemy to these detestable cow-boys. His garrison consisted of himself, his wife, her sister Nochie Van Wurmer, Dinah, a big negress, and Laney Van Tassel, his beautiful daughter. He owned one gun, of long range, called a goose gun. Our five mile Columbiads might laugh at the goose gun in these days, but it did its duty well, and that is all that little guns or little folks are asked to do, and happy are they if they succeed.

One day an armed vessel sailed up to the garrison. The men on board were aware, perhaps, that Jacob and his trusty gun were away, but the women resisted manfully until overpowered by superior numbers. Pretty Laney was seized, and the pillagers were hurrying her to their boat, when her father unexpectedly came to her rescue, and the cowardly invaders ran away as fast as their cowardly legs could carry them.

And now that you understand what the cow-boys were, we will relate a story which we learned from a gentleman who is very fond of dogs, because he has been for many years a thoughtful observer of their sagacity and faithfulness.

During the revolutionary war his grandmother—we will call her Mrs. Watson—was left in charge of a hotel, or tavern, as they called it then. She was like most women in those perilous times, a courageous woman, and she had two valiant defenders—two dogs named Bull and Tiger.

The cow-boys were, or would have been, frequent visitors at Mrs. Watson’s if they had been allowed to come, but they never made very free with her fat cattle or nice cows, for Bull defended the house, while Tiger looked after affairs at the barn.

When a traveler approached the house in the day time, one of the dogs would go out to meet him, and decide whether he was friend or enemy. Woe to the cow-boy in disguise that hoped to deceive one of these brave dogs. A fearless spirit in a good cause made them look too dangerous to be meddled with. When they were satisfied that the new-comer was a true patriot without a taint of Toryism, why, then Tiger became a lamb, and trotted meekly along by the stranger’s side until he had introduced him to his mistress, who entertained him hospitably, and Mrs. Watson never doubted any man that her dogs pronounced all right.

If, during the dog’s examination of the new-comer, a cow-boy chanced to come along, the dog would eye them both keenly. If he saw a sign of recognition between the two he at once told them both by a menacing growl that they must not enter the door yard. If, on the other hand, the stranger did not appear to be acquainted with the cow-boy, he had permission to come in, while the cow-boy was escorted on his way in a hurry.

How could they know the difference?

Ah! how can we explain how a dog decides at first sight whether a man is a rascal or not, and tells with unerring instinct which man out of a crowd to attach himself to, and cling to and defend with generous forgetfulness of his own life? Of all God’s gifts to man the faithful dog is truly the most remarkable.

At night Tiger took his post at the barn, while Bull lay down just inside the house door. The moment a cow-boy or any other enemy came stealing in on noiseless foot, Tiger went to the house door and told his fellow watchman of the fact, and Bull walked directly to his mistress’ bedside and awoke her, and by the time the brave old lady and her servants were astir, the cow-boys would run off, cursing the dogs who had cheated them out of their expected booty.

One cow-boy, more adroit or bolder than the rest, broke in one night through a window, which closed upon him and held him fast until Mrs. Watson had beaten him soundly over the head with her fire shovel.

The gentleman alluded also to a little dog named Napoleon, that attached itself closely to a child of two years, and followed it all day with tender care, and when the baby went to its little bed upon the floor, lay down by his side, and rose every time the restless little fellow threw off the clothes during the night, and pulled them all about him with its teeth, and tucked them down as anxiously as any mother would have done. It was a pity to part them, but a sea captain saw and fancied the dog and took him to sea with him.

Another pet dog was fond of going to church. He behaved with the utmost propriety. When they sung a hymn he always wished to look over the hymn book with one of the family, and would put his paw on the corner of a leaf and look down the page with a ludicrous expression of wisdom on his little puppy face that we fear did not help the devotions of the bright young eyes in his vicinity much.

“The Cow-Boys and the Dogs, in the War of the Revolution.” Youth’s Companion 38, no. 12 (April 20, 1865): 61–62.

The Faithful American Dog (1798)

An officer in the late American army, on his station at the westward, went out in the morning, with his dog and gun, in quest of game.—Venturing too far from his garrison, he was fired upon by an Indian, who was lurking in the bushes, and instantly fell to the ground. The Indian, running to him, struck him on the head with his tomahawk in order to dispatch him: but the button of his hat fortunately warding off the edge, he was only stunned by the blow. With savage brutality he applied the scalping knife, and hastened away with his trophy of his horrid cruelty, leaving the officer for dead, and none to relieve or console him but his faithful dog.

The afflicted creature gave every expression of attachment, fidelity, and affection. He licked the wounds with inexpressible tenderness, and mourned the fate of his beloved master. Having performed every office with sympathy dictated, and sagacity co...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• List of Illustrations
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction: Celebrating the American Dog
• Part 1: Working Dogs
• Part 2: Sporting Dogs
• Part 3: Poetry about Dogs
• Part 4: Companion Dogs
• Index