Irene Castle's Home for Dogs

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 352, 12 May 1928, Page 10

Irene Castle's Home for Dogs

Dogs have always been called man’s best friend, and for centuries tributes have been paid to him as a comrade. Sacrifices made by four-leg-ged fr-iends have been set down in song and story from earliest days. Ancient rulers prized the huge creatures in spiked collars and steel armour which they took into battle with them. Bulldogs resembling mastiffs in size were pampered and groomed by the dandies of Rome. The women of Nero’s time fondled the silky-haired Maltese, a species similar to the spaniel of modern days. In the late World War the Allied armies awarded to their dumb confederates notable citations for their valorous services. There was Bouee, the little French terrior, tangled and unkempt, the hero of three army decorations, who faithfully carried his messages along frontline trenches despite ploughing shrapnel and screaming shells. Bouee’s last citation ‘came on a day when heavy action had destroyed all telephone wires, and the faithful terrier was the only means of communication between the commandant and his force. Only through Bouee’s courage were the forces able to keep up communication, and to the end his constancy was unfaltering.

Dogs fi'om every walk of life, all sizes, colours and breeds, made up the French military kennel. Ratters, Red Cross dog-s, sentinels and liaisons were among these smallest of poilus. Trench warfare, with its worrying rats, provided heavy work for the ratters. Sentinel dogs went into ad vance posts, and there warned the officers of approaching danger. Messages and orders were entrusted to liaisons, and the Red Cross dogs hunted out the wounded, carrying back pieces of tattered uniform to guide the groping ambulances. It is estimated that 23,000 highly-trained police dogs helped the German forces during the four years’ struggle. The story of Prince is as adventuresome a tale as any told of the battlefields during the time of reigning terror. When Prince’s master left London for the front, his canine friend was left at home for safety. But Prince was made of different stuff and determined to set out in search of his master.

Alone, he left Hammersmith, on the outskirts of London, and went to the city, searching fruitlessly all the streets. Finally good luck beset him and he attached himself to a draft bound for France, went with them to Victoria, where he jumped into their train. Crossing the Channel, he finally arrived in the trenches, close to where the North Staffordshires, his master’s regiment, were stationed, and where, by chance, Providence or predestination, whichever you will, he found him. Once he had found his master, Prince settled down to share the life of his soldier friends in the trenches, and he learned the ways of modern warfare, taking cover astutely when a shell came over and all other manoeuvres necessary at that time. After the war, returning to London with his master and their regiment, they now reminisce over those wild, chaotic days which drew them closer than ever together.

The lines of St. John Lucas, editor of the “Oxford Book of Verse,” and himself a poet of note, adds to the long list of eulogies to the dog in his well-loved verses called “Lines to a Departed Dog,” which are worthy of preservation. Albert Payson Terhune, internationally known writer of dog stories, said to be the world’s most successful breeder of collies, says:— “Most human friends are friends of the sunny hours, hut the dog’s devotion is every whit as sincere when the shadows deepen and the grim ogre of despair grips at your soul. In fact, I think the dog’s devotion becomes more acute when adverse winds blow and treacherous shoals loom ahead.”

May it not be that dogs are advancing toward a higher state of consciousness? Mrs. McLaughlin thinks so, and urges the citizens of Chicago to adopt a dog of the street rather than the purchase of a thoroughbred animal, and she points out that the former are far more intelligent and make better friends.