The Dogs of Boytown

by Walter A. Dyer

Boytown had always been a great place for dogs. Not only the aristocrats of dogdom, living comfortably in homes with loving masters and mistresses, but all sorts of nondescript dogs, many of whom seemed to be masterless and homeless, though not invariably unhappy. In fact, there were many good citizens of Boytown who did not like dogs and who felt that the canine population of the place was altogether too large.

There were restrictive laws that ought to have reduced this canine population to such dogs as were properly owned and licensed, but the government of Boytown was criticized as being a happy-go-lucky affair a good deal of the time, and it was only when complaints became sufficiently numerous and serious that the town fathers took steps to enforce the laws and abolish what was conceded to be a public nuisance. Then a dog catcher was hired, warnings were posted, and the stray dogs were gathered up and mysteriously disposed of. It was rather a cruel and heart-rending business, if you stopped to think of it, and it would not have been necessary if the authorities had been more uniformly strict in observing the statutes and ordinances, but that was their way.

It was during one of the periods of laxity that a wire-haired terrier appeared from no one knew where. He was not an authentic representative of any of the established breeds; it was quite evident that he had just happened somehow. But he was conspicuous among his miscellaneous black and white and brown and brindled brethren by reason of his superior alertness and intelligence and his never-failing good humor and high spirits. His tramp life had in no way damaged his disposition; he seemed to have been born full of the joy of life. He was about the size of one of Mr. Hartshorn's smaller Airedales and in the main he was not badly formed. But his tail, which had never been docked, hung at a rakish angle to one side and one ear was set higher than the other. His eyes were extraordinarily bright and his wiry coat was a grizzled black, always tousled and generally dirty.

The boys were not long in making this stranger's acquaintance. Indeed, he made the first advances, joining in their sport one day when they were in swimming in the pond over by the brickyard, and mingling his joyous barks with the shrieks of laughter which his antics provoked. He would pick them up on their way to school, or anywhere, and make himself generally companionable, and it was not long before they discovered him to be most precocious in the learning of tricks.

It was not in the nature of things that such a dog should remain forever masterless, but the periodical cleaning up of the dog catcher had begun before anyone had had time to think of him as anything but everybody's dog. It was Jimmie Rogers who saw him seized and thrust unceremoniously into the dog catcher's covered wagon, and it was Jimmie who set out alone to achieve his rescue. Jimmie's people lived on Sharon Street and were not well to do, but somehow Jimmie managed to scrape together the five dollars which he found must be paid before he could establish his claim to ownership.

After that, by common consent, he became Jimmie Rogers's dog. He had already won the name of Rags.

So Jimmie brought his beloved Rags to visit the invalids, and Romulus and Remus looked on with big-eyed amazement while Rags was made to sit up, shake hands, roll over, chase his tail, play dead, and sing.

But there was one boy with a dog who did not come to visit the sick, and Ernest and Jack Whipple were not sorry. They did not like Dick Wheaton, and Dick, it was easy to believe, was not one to care whether another boy's dog died or not. He was a good deal of a bully at school, and Jack feared and avoided him. As for the older boys, they found him generally unamiable and those of them who knew the love of dogs were angry with Dick for the way he treated poor little Gyp.

Gyp was a smooth-coated fox terrier and a very good specimen of his breed. He was smart and gamey, but his spirit had nearly been broken by his tyrannical master. Dick seemed unable to resist the temptation to bully everything smaller and weaker than himself, and when there were no small boys or little girls within his reach he indulged his proclivities by teasing his dog.

Gyp, who had never had any other master, did not think of resenting this. He merely endured it as best he might. In fact, there was no more obedient dog in Boytown. It was pitiful to see the way in which he would answer his master's lightest word, as though he lived constantly in the hope of winning favor by his promptness.