The Dogs of Boytown

by Walter A. Dyer

No more stories being forthcoming, the talk soon drifted to other things. The boys vied with one another in telling of instances which illustrated the superior courage, intelligence, and faithfulness of their own dogs, and then fell into reminiscence. They talked of the awakening of interest in the dogs of Boytown and what it had meant to each of them, of the activities of the Boytown Humane Society, of the Boytown Dog Show in Morton's barn, of the days at Camp Britches and the death of beloved Rags, of the Eastern Connecticut field trials and the winning of Romulus, of the Massatucket Dog Show and the triumph of Remus, and of all the good times the boys and their dogs had had together. They quoted Sam Bumpus's quaint sayings and Tom Poultice's good advice about the care of dogs, and they told dog stories that they had read.

"I don't see how anybody can help loving dogs," said Elliot Garfield.

"There are men who hate them, though," said Mr. Hartshorn. "American sheep growers, for example, are bitterly opposed to dogs, and many of them would like to see the canine race annihilated. And it must be admitted that the dog forms the greatest obstacle in the path of increasing the important sheep-raising industry in the United States. Dogs do kill sheep, and there's no denying it."

"I thought there were laws to protect the sheep," said Ernest Whipple.

"There are," said Mr. Hartshorn. "Some of them are good and some of them are bad. Some of them place it in the sheep man's power to take the law into his own hands and act as judge, jury, and executioner on the spot, which of course is all wrong. But unfortunately the best of the laws do not protect the sheep. The state may pay damages, but that does not restore the slain sheep."

"I don't see what can be done, then," said Theron Hammond, dolefully.

"For one thing," said Mr. Hartshorn, "more study should be put on these laws before they are passed. They should not be drawn up by either partisans of the dog or of the sheep. They should aim to eliminate ownerless dogs and to make all owners responsible for the acts of their dogs. On the other hand, the sheep owners should not be allowed to collect damages unless they can show that they have taken due precautions on their own part, such as the erection of dog-tight fences. A man has to keep up his fences to keep his neighbor's cows out of his corn, or he has no redress. Why shouldn't a sheep owner be compelled to do likewise? But the real cure for the menace of the sheep-killing dog is more dog. The American sheep men don't seem to have learned the lesson that the past has tried to teach them. For centuries the trained shepherd dog has been the protection of the flock in all sheep-raising countries, and is so to-day in Great Britain, Europe, and Australia. I don't believe there are a dozen first-class trained shepherd dogs in this country, except in the Far West. In Scotland there are more dogs to the square mile than there are in the United States, yet the Scotch don't try to legislate the dog out of existence. The Scotch shepherd never thinks of taking out his flock without his trained collie, and the result is that few sheep are killed either by stray dogs or wild animals. When the American sheep growers learn their lesson from the shepherds of other countries, overcome their prejudice against the dog, and adopt the method that has been successfully employed for centuries in other countries, they will solve this problem, and not until then. I hope to see the day come when the sheep man is numbered among the dog's best friends here as he is in Scotland."

A lively discussion followed, and then, still talking dogs, the boys trudged home in the moonlight, over the crisp snow.

A few days later the whole crowd was out skating on Hulse's Pond. A week of clear, cold weather following a thaw had made ideal skating, and Boytown was making the most of it. There were a number of young men and girls out and a few older devotees of the sport, but the boys and their dogs had full possession of one end of the pond. Here a game of hockey was in progress, which was somewhat interfered with by the activities of Tatters, who had grown into a fine, lively, sport-loving dog. He seemed to think the game was arranged for his special benefit, and he chased the puck to and fro across the ice wherever it went. Another general favorite was Rover, who never tired of racing with the skaters and particularly enjoyed pulling the younger children about on their sleds. These small children had another name for him—Santa Claus—and he indeed looked the part. Others of the dogs were enjoying the sport, too, though Romulus and Remus showed a tendency to leave the ice and go scouting off on imaginary trails in the neighborhood.

Suddenly, while the fun was at its height, a sharp cry arose from the upper end of the pond where the brook ran in. It was different from the other shouts and cries that rang out over the ice; there was terror in it. The loud, insistent barking of Tatters immediately followed.