Pierrot, Dog of Belgium

by Walter A. Dyer

For a day or two Conrad Orts spent much time training Jef and Pierrot, taking them through water and over all kinds of rough country that they might be ready for anything. Commands in the Belgian army are given mostly in French, which was strange to Pierrot, for Gran’père and Père Jean had taught him Flemish words. So he had to learn the meaning of such commands as “Halte-là!” “Marche!” and “Va vite!” But he and Jef soon learned to obey Conrad even when he did not hold the reins, pulling the little cannon with a will across creeks and up and down steep banks, and dashing with it through thickets where neither horses nor automobiles could have gone. The dogs soon discovered each other’s ways and learned to save their strength for the hard places and to pull well together. And in spite of Jef’s taciturnity, Pierrot found him to be an honest fellow, always ready to do his share of the work, and he came to like him. Conrad seemed much pleased with them both.

Then came a morning when there was great excitement in the camp of the carbineers. Men were running all about and officers were shouting commands. Conrad came and hurriedly harnessed Pierrot and Jef to their carriage and they started off on a run down the road toward Brussels with some of the other dogs and guns. When they had gone about a mile the dogs were unharnessed and tied to trees, and the guns were placed in the road. Presently the galloping of horses was heard and shots were fired, which frightened the dogs and made them try to break loose. But they were much more frightened when their own guns began to speak. A horrible din arose, and some of the dogs lay down and cowered and others pranced and howled. Men came and kicked them and told them to be still; all of the soldiers seemed hurried and excited. Pierrot was trembling Violently and wished he were at home with Gran’père and wee Lisa, but stolid Jef took it all very calmly and that put courage into Pierrot.

A company of Belgian infantry came running up, and throwing themselves flat on the ground by the roadside, or standing behind trees, they began firing at the Uhlans. Then, after a little, two armoured automobiles came rushing along and charged down the road, and the firing of the machine-guns ceased.

By and by the order came for the carbineers to fall back, and the dogs were quickly harnessed up again. Some of them had to be kicked and cuffed into action, but Pierrot and Jef obeyed Conrad Orts in spite of their fear. Beside their gun a soldier lay moaning, and Pierrot sniffed at him curiously. He could not understand any of it.

It had been only a little outpost skirmish, but it was Pierrot’s first taste of war.

There followed many days of this sort of thing. Sometimes there were skirmishes, sometimes false alarms, but the dogs never knew when they might be called upon to run into action with their little cannon. Day or night, it was always the same, and it was fortunate for them that they learned to snatch such moments for rest and sleep as were offered. And dinner-time became a very irregular affair. It was all quite different from the orderly course of a cart-dog’s life in Brussels. But gradually they learned to know what was expected of them and responded willingly. In fact, there was an excitement about it which kept them constantly keyed up and eager. They got used to the smell of powder and the sound of firing, too, and Pierrot did not tremble any more.

In the main, Conrad was kind, though frequently hurried and a little rough, and there were never sweetmeats any more nor caresses. It was all very hard to understand.

Two or three times the camp was moved, and finally they withdrew to the circle of the Antwerp forts. And then once more Pierrot heard the sounds and sniffed the smells of a city. Conrad hitched his dogs one day to a supply cart and took them in to town. Here again Pierrot trotted along paved streets between high buildings, and once his sharp ear caught the sound of milk cans rattling over paving stones. It made him feel very homesick.

On their way back they had to wait for a long column of soldiers to march past. They looked tired and dusty, and the tramp, tramp of their feet sounded strange in Pierrot’s ears. Suddenly his eye was caught by a face he thought he knew. Could it be Père Jean? Perhaps he had come to take him home.