Pierrot, Dog of Belgium

by Walter A. Dyer

Suddenly he stopped and lifted his head. From a shallow ravine a few rods from the road came a smell that at once attracted and repelled him. There was the scent of men and of wood smoke. There was also the scent of food. The thought of soldiers terrified him, but his unwonted exercise had made him ravenous with hunger.

Irresistibly the smell of food drew him, and he crept stealthily toward the low bushes that grew along the edge of the ravine. Peering through, he saw with fearful eyes the glow of dying campfires stretching off in a long line, and the shadowy forms of prone men wrapped in blankets. On the opposite bank a lone guard paced slowly up and down.

Pierrot skulked silently along behind the bushes till he came to a spot where the food smell was very strong. Directly below him was one of the smouldering fires, and a few feet down the bank he discerned strewn about half-visible objects from which the smell came.

Grown reckless with famine, Pierrot crawled eagerly out from the bushes and fell upon the refuse of the camp. A hard crust of bread, the bones and offal of a fowl, the beans clinging to the inside of a tin—he devoured them all impartially.

One of the tin cans, dislodged by Pierrot’s eager nose, rolled noisily down the bank, and the sentry opposite halted and raised his rifle quickly to his shoulder. Pierrot crouched back, watching him. The soldier evidently thought better of arousing his comrades with a rifle shot, and suspecting that some animal was prowling about, picked up a stone and threw it at Pierrot. It struck with a thud beside him and bounded up into the bushes. Pierrot, thoroughly alarmed but still hungry, seized a large bone in his teeth and dashed back through the bushes. Not waiting to ascertain whether he was pursued, he ran for a mile across the frozen fields on his three weary legs before he came to a stop. Then, making sure that he had fully escaped the danger that threatened, he fell upon his stomach on the hard ground with the bone between his paws, and spent a contented half-hour crunching it until the last vestige had disappeared.

When dawn began to show faintly in the eastern sky Pierrot sought a new hiding-place. At last he came upon the scattered remains of a haycock in a marshy meadow. The hay was damp and stiff with frost, but Pierrot dug his way beneath the largest heap of it and slept the deep sleep of exhaustion until the evening fell.

When he awoke he was lame and sore, but he dragged himself forth, yawned mightily, and set his face toward home.

He felt not the slightest doubt as to the general direction, but he had no idea of the distance. There was but one thing to do—plod doggedly along, with his right hind foot held clear of the ground. Now and then he made a detour to avoid suspicious forms, and again to follow up a scent of food. Twice that night he stumbled upon bits of refuse. It was scanty foraging, but it served to appease the pangs within him.

The next morning, having seen no soldiers, and finding the country apparently peaceful, he was emboldened to continue his journey by daylight, for the longing for home was strong within him. But the attempt was too much for his weakened body, and he was forced to give up before noon and crawl under a hedge to rest.

At some time during the afternoon a sound caused Pierrot to awake suddenly and to leap to his feet. A human form and footstep brought him to a quick posture of defence, with bared teeth and bristling neck.