Baldy of Nome

by Esther Birdsall Darling

For his many virtues and great ability, as well as for these lighter accomplishments, Baldy conceived an admiration for Dubby that would have been boundless but for one weakness that was absolutely incomprehensible—the huskie's devotion to the cat, Texas.

It was a strange friendship in a place where a cat's right to live at all is contested every hour of the day, and where nine times nine lives would not cover a span of more than a few months at the most, as a rule. It had begun when Texas was little more than a kitten, and had wandered away one day from the warm kitchen fire, out into the shed, and from there into the street.

Delighted with her unaccustomed freedom, she chased a bit of whirling, eddying paper across a strip of snow, into the angle of a cabin; then turning, gazed into the face of a big, ferocious dog who was already licking his chops suggestively.

Since the prey was safely cornered, he generously decided to share the anticipated excitement with some boon companions. And so, giving three short, sharp cries and repeating the call several times, he was joined by two other malamutes who, eager for the fun of killing a cat, drew in close beside him.

It had all happened in a moment; but in that moment Dubby, out for exercise, came upon the scene. He was no lover of cats, be it understood; and he had often been guilty of making short work of one if it chanced to cross his path when he was in quest of adventure. But this was the Allan cat. He had often seen the girls carry it about in their arms; and while it seemed a strange perversion to caress a kitten when there were puppies about, or even babies, still the peculiarities of your Master's Family must be respected. Even, if necessary, to the extreme limit of defending their pet cats.

Then, too, there was something that had appealed to him in the plucky stand of the terrified little creature. Eyes dilated with fear, every hair on end, sputtering and spitting, she had unsheathed her tiny claws and was prepared to make a brave fight for her life. The chances were hopelessly against her—the dogs did not intend to let her run—and Dubby felt that it was butchery, not sport.

Also, if Texas was hurt, the girls would be sad, and cry, and not play for a long time. He knew, because that happened when their terrier Tige was run over. And so, with one bound, he jumped upon the instigator of the trouble, and caught him by the shoulder with his still strong, sharp teeth. The other dogs wheeled in surprise; and in an instant there was a battle as bloody as it was short and decisive. Dubby was a marvelous tactician—the others only novices, and in a very brief period there were three well-minced malamutes who limped disconsolately in different directions; leaving a conquering hero on the field, with the spoils of war—a ruffled gray kitten in a shivering state of uncertainty as to her ultimate fate, but too weak to make any further defense.

Dubby picked her up in his mouth, and carried her back to the house, where he carefully deposited her inside the shed, and waited until some one answered his scratches on the door.

It marked the beginning of a companionship that lasted for years. Every fine afternoon Dubby would take Texas out for a stroll; and even after she was a huge seventeen pound cat, well able to hold her own, it was a reckless dog indeed that showed any hostility toward Texas when Dub was her body-guard.

One readily comprehends that he might graciously accept her gratitude; but, as the French Poodle's People say, "Noblesse Oblige," and it certainly seemed unnecessary that a dog of his achievement should flaunt his affection for a mere cat in the eyes of the whole world.