GRANDFATHER'S DOG By THOMAS BOYD FAMOUS PEOPLE AND THEIR DOGS—by Leo A. Pollock Ce ore Ue gs rd a ee ee a ec Che ed ee ee eae ead ea Bee ees 3GRANDFATHER'S DOG By THOMAS BOYD Reprinted by courtesy of Chat, Serimer’s Sons—Copurtght by Chas. Seribner's Sons OBODY but grandfather remem- bered when it was that the pup hhad first come to the little green house—it was so long ago. But then it was expected of grandfather to remember dates; not that he had any particular reason or practical use for ig 50, but just that he had (like so many Ohio farmers of the older generation) established a. reputation for exact recollection of the time of happenings whieh in any way con- cerned him. or his family. Caressing his short red beard—in which there was more gray than actually showed —with a slow hand and peering ab- stractedly out of his age-dimmed eyes he could dig out of his memory the fact that it had been on a Thursday, years ago, that Gyp, the long-deceased ‘mare, had sprained her left fore leg; or that the time when the Maumee River, in the whole history of the ‘country, bloated the greatest was on the 3d of April in "97, Grandfather's mind was a kind of storehouse for many unessential facts; and the litle green house, which wa: all the property left him after years of sod-breaking, timber-clearing, and Jand-cultivation, and in which he and grandmother lived alone, was used more or less as a storeroom by his children. They had all gone away and were, with the exception of Martha Adelaide, the eldest daughter, all living in cities, But they had been born and brought up on the farm, on the farm out in the northwest comer of the county where grandfather had stubbornly ploughed virgin ground before the days of the Civil War. ‘Aunt Martha, whose son Frederick was as old as’ she had been when she married’his father, now lived out on the farm, and it was known as The Gierke Place, In earlier days it had “been called Sam Drummond's place—Samuel Drummond being grandfather, and Franz Gierke being Aunt Martha's husband, who had bought the farm at a low price after grandfather had put a mortgage on it and couldn't pay the interest. But ‘Aunt Elizabeth was in Chicago; Aunt ‘Nancy and Aunt Caroline were living in Toledo, up the Maumee River about forty miles Tt was from Aunt Naney that the up had come. Already past its youth ‘when she decided to get rid of it, the passing years did not make it younger. ‘Aunt Nancy had concluded to send it down to the little green house after a vexing accident one night in the dark streets of Toledo in which it had lost its tail. A street-car, in some strange fashion, had caught the pup as he was trotting across the pave- ment in front of the flat building, the crushing wheels leaving nothing’ but a ragged, bleeding stump. And in mystified pain he had limped howling up the steps in the middle of the night and whined until the door was opened. tis easy to recall how Aunt Nancy had gazed mournfully in the gaslight at the blood-marked path; on the anguished, pleading eyes, and the painfully wagging stump. And though she was a sentimental person, it is difficult to know whether vexation or pity was uppermost in her heart. Even. then the pup was old and a care, He (Continued on page 22)PL ies Take REQUA'S CHARCOAL TABLETS and “SPONGE OUT” STOMACH GAS! Are you doing everything you can to help win {his tact Ave yon keep 1? “Remember, every time youve abt fra our pay rows ‘ihe job~relieve Homach mwa NOW cmancoaL “When the wastes of digest sttmintds hoy forme neclthesenheo MELPS YoU ce not premplly mt guicly. You GRANDFATHER’S DOG (Continued from page 5) was sent off to grandmother's house, where many decrepit things from the children found themselves when they were just a little bit too good to be thrown away. Grandfather welcomed the pup to the little green house. He was not talkative about it, but you could tell hhe liked the pup to be there from the way he would scratch the top of its black, short-furred head; and sometimes he made remarks to the slowly blinking eyes of the pup it Iay with its narrow jaw resting on its crossed forepaws. Out to the garden which lay be- ‘tween the back door and the disused ‘canal which ran behind the house the pup would follow grandfather in the planting or growing months; some- times he would sniff, then’ scratch furiously at a hole in the ground, or stand militant guard at a rat’s ingress into the smoke-house, which adjoined. the woodshed. But as time went on and grand- | mother’s white hair grew thinner over her pink sealp, and grandfather's short beard turned frostier, the pup was less of a worry to the rats and moles. In winters he stayed in the settin’-room close to the big Jewell base-burner with its nickel fenders and mica squares, through which the hot coals showed a rosy, comfortable glow. He worried bones with less fervor but with the same persistency. as before. In summers he lay on the narrow front porch where he (like grandfather) could watch all the car- riages that raised dust on the gravel |pike. ‘There he would remain, his pointed nose supported by a weary black paw, motionless even when the flies came within a tantalizing dis- ance of his jaws. ‘Then there came a time when the pup disregarded bones completely. He no longer bothered about bury- ing them, even the choicest ones. It was as if he had said to himself: “There's no sense in that. I'll never |hhave any use for bones again. I even [have trouble with chicken-bones. Why bury them!” And grandmother had to soak the pup's food in mille or water and put it in a little granite pan out on the back porch. Grand- mother herself was not very active. ‘Years of household cares, churning butter, milking cows, standing all day over a hot cook-stove with a baby tugging at her skirts, had left little of the gay, slim girl in grandmother. ‘One day the pup, whose own hair had grown gray, disregarded even the fender morsels which were set before him in the granite dish, when he was indifferent to all foods, And as this continued, grandmother said with her usual sigh: “Sam, I guess you better put that dog out of the way. He's starvin’ to death, It’s only common humanity to put an end to him.” Grandfather scratched his head at the side where the hair was a tuft of white. “Now, Matt, don't you worry. That dog’ll be all right in no time.” Winter was not far away. Already the red and gold leaves of the maples were underfoot; already the sun was setting early in the evenings, and the nights were cold and left white hoar frost_on the ground, Grandmother said flatly, “I don't want any ailing dog around these premises. ‘There's no sense in it. Put him out of his misery and have it over with.” “Why, Matt,” said grandfather ‘weakly, “that pup'll be as spry as a kitten in a little while. He'll be all Tight,” he said hopefully. “Spry as a kitten,” scoffed grand mother. “He looks it, Anybody with a lick of sense could tell by looking at his eyes that he was nearly blind They're shut most all of the time. You're not helping the dog by being chicken-hearted, you're only pamper- ing yourself. You just get a little bottle of chloroform, and itl alll be over with before he'knows anything about it.” “Matt,” said grandfather, “that’s downright hard-hearted.” "But he knew he would do it, Grandmother would keep pestering him until he did. And she would threaten to do it herself; when she did that it always seemed to aggravate the situation in grandfather's mind, He got the bottle of chloroform and approached his duty with loathing, “The devil and Tom Thumb,” he mut tered. “That poor little pup.” He had the bottle in his hand. ‘There was also a fluffy ball of cotton which he would saturate and then put it with the dog under the wash-tub in the back yard, Over beyond the row of dead sun- flowers by the fence which separated his lot from the property of his next- door neighbor the evening sky was streaked with deep shades. It was Indian summer, and there was a mel- owness and sweetness in the air that ‘was somehow like the smell of a stone cellar filled with apples when the door fs opened. And in the dusk grand- father carried the old wash-tub from the back porch and set it down on the hard bare earth, (Continued on page 24)GRANDFATHER’S DOG (Continued from page 22) But then this hateful job was just begun. The next thing was to fetch the pup. Going back into the house, he found the pup beneath the stove, where it had crawled as if in protec- ton from danger. “Hyuh, pup; hyuh pup,” he called, and felt like ‘a criminal as the pup looked on him with bleared, reproach- ful eyes. Nevertheless, it got up and followed him through the settin’- room, the kitchen, and out on the back’ porch, limping a little from stifiness. . Grandfather said, “Plague on (which sounded like Play Gone It), and lifted up one side of the wash-tub; hhe called grufly: “Here now, hop under there.” ‘Trustingly, the pup limped under the upraised tub, made a lazy half- circle and lay down. Grandfather slowly saturated the cotton with the chloroform, emptying the bottle. At last he lowered the wash-tub on the soaked wad which he had dropped close to the pup's nose. ‘Then he stood there for a few minutes and waited to hear if the pup would make any attempts to break free of his sulfocating place. “IE he takes it quietly,” grandfather muttered, ‘TI just let it go. But if I hear him whining and scratching around, by thunder I'll kick the tub into the middle of next week, and ‘Matt ean say what she had a mind to.” He stood by for a while, tempted to lift up the tub and discover what hhad happened, But to have done so ‘would have undone all of the work which he had so far accomplished. . At last he turned away and went to the back poreh and into the house. Grandfather didn’t eat very much that night for supper, even though grandmother had made dumplings to be cooked with the boiling beef, a dish of which he was especially fond. He was no more partial to dumplings than to a number of other kinds of food; but, as he always said, there was to be mentioned in favor of dumplings the fact that they were soft and did not require a great deal of chewing, Grandmother kept a disapproving eye on him across the red-and-white checked table-cloth; in all their many ‘years together she had never failed to become piqued when his appetite ‘was sluggish. For she took it as a ‘personal reflection if any one who sat fat her table did not eat until all of the food hed disappeared. Tt was em~ barrassing for grandfather on this particular evening. They had their supper in the a kitchen, by lamplight. And there were mountainous banks of soft, shadows outside the window. Grandfather's beard moved shythmically and slowly. Now and again he would be utterly still and his dim blue eyes would stare vacuously in front of him toward the window. This did not pass grandmother's notice. She said: “Now what's the matter?” ‘And grandfather replied uneasily “Why, nothing. Nothing at al” ‘Of course grandmother knew there was something the matter; she also knew what it was. “Thinking about ‘that dog! I never saw such a man in all my born days. You take on just like a baby.” ‘There was a cer~ tain sharpness in her tone, calculated ‘to rouse him out of his foolishness. But grandfather did not answer. And they finished their supper in silence, Afterward grandfather went into the settin’-room and lowered hhimself on the cushion which lay at the bottom of the big easy chair which stood by the outside window. Grand~ mother stayed in the kitchen, clearing off the table and washing the evening dishes. She could be heard, as al- ‘ways, padding heavily about on the pine floor as she dried the cups and saucers and plates and carried them to the cherrywood cupboard, Grandfather sat back in his arm- chair and stared out of the window where the unpaved street was barely distinguishable in the deepening night. Patently, he was thinking about the pup, thinking of it as a poor little devil and wondering what could have got into him that he would do such a thing, Taking away the life of that harmless litle pup! “Sam!” ‘The voice came from the Kkitehen. Grandfather had heard it too often not to know what it meant. ‘The dishwater was ready to be emp- tied. That was his part of the work each evening. He got up slowly and ‘went into the kitchen. “All right!” he said, as if to forestall a repeated command, “Be sure to throw it ‘way out,” said grandmother. “I don't want any puddles of water right next to the back door.” “T reckon [know that much by this time,” grandfather growled —good~ humoredly. But he didn’t possess a very good humor at the moment ‘Walking out some distance from the porch he swept the dish-water widely upon the ground with a great swish-sh-sh which had an ominous sound in the stil, clear night. Then he stood silent and motionless, listen ing for any slight scuffle or moan which might come from the wash-tub. He heard not the slightest of sounds. “Thunderation!” he muttered as he tured and carried the empty dish- pan into the kitcken, Slowly he seated himself in his chair, his knees lengthened out before, hhim, ‘his hands slack on the broad arms. Those hands were rough and had ‘knotted blue veins showing through the fine hair on the back of them, and square, stubby fingers His soxe gripped in’ those hands and whistling through the air, he had felled more trees in his lifetime. than he could have counted. And he had Dusted a good deal of sod, enough to take in fifty of the little plots the size ‘of the one which he now owned, But—so he sometimes said—he didn’t amount to much any more, He just puttered around this little green house and vegetable-garden, rately ‘ever doing a full day’s work since his sixty-fifth birthday had come and departed. It seemed as if there wasn't much work for a man of his age to be had. Nobody wanted him. Sometimes, "Doggone it, quit following me around”when grandmother seolded because he sat in the house for so long that he seemed to have become a part of the chair, he would venture forth in search of a job. And now and then he would find something to do: cutting up a pile of wood and cording it for some man whose employment kept ‘him away from home all day, helping in John Kitson's cooper shop, or haul- ing some light load for somebody who did not require a dray. But in the ‘main he just sat in the house and lived on what few dollars he had to his name, helped out occasionally by one of his daughters, by Martha Adel- aide who, nearly every Saturday when she came into market, brought her parents a pound of butter or a sack of potatoes. Sometimes she would bring @ ham, Grandfather would hang it jin the smoke-house which he had made of part of the woodshed, Grand- mother kept a coopful of chickens, and unless company came too often she gathered a basketful of eggs nearly every week. Elizabeth, who was working in a hospital in Chicago, often sent small sums of money with in- ‘structions for “mother to buy this” or for “daddy to buy that.” And Nancy's bbusband, now that she had a good re- liable man, would occasionally buy ‘grandfather a box of his favorite Vir- ginia cheroots or mail a box of eandy for grandmother. Except for those events grandfather had little to look forward to, His world was either close at hand or far away, with nothing in the middle distance, Grandmother came in and sat down slowly in her wicker rocker, which was low-seated enough for her to rest her feet comfortably on the floor. Picking up the evening newspaper, ‘The Democrat, with a sigh, she peered through her gold-rimmed spectacles at the print while grandfather sat mo- tionless by the window. ‘They had achieved a kind of silent ‘communion during their long life to- gether, a way of knowing what the other was thinking about, of knowing without asking; which was possibly intuitive, but somewhat explainable in ‘hat from many years of acquaintance they knew what the other would think and do under a given condition. And now grandmother, sitting in her rocker by the table on which the kkerosene-lamp rested, lowered the paper to her generous lap and. said: “TIL declare, Sam, if you ain't the biggest goose I ever knew in my born days.” Grandfather reared back his griz~ | led head so that his reddish-gray beard stood out truculently. what's the matter?” “The way you fret about that pup. I swam to man if you don't just take ena ‘on the same as if it had been a human being.” Grandfather thumped rhythmically fon the arm of his chair for an answer. No doubt that he was worrying about the pup. It had been a sin and a shame for him to have taken away the life of the poor little thing, so pitiful and friendly. He could recall the times, years before, when it had gone burrowing after ‘moles in the back yard, and caught them too; when it had cleaned the rats out of the ‘woodshed. And the little pup had al- ways been so friendly, wagging its stump of a tail, as if it would make up for the shortcoming by its fervor, thrusting its cold, black nose into your wand for sympathy and appreciation. Grandmother said: “I suppose you ‘would rather have had that pup sick all winter, not being able to crawl a foot away from the stove. I suppose you think it would have been better off that way than to die a nice easy way like being chloroformed?” ‘Grandfather seratched his beard in vexation, “Well, I guess I would. It don't sound reasonable, maybe, but that’s exactly what Td like to see. ‘That poor little pup could lie in front of that stove all winter long and never budge and I wouldn't say a word against it” Grandmother exclaimed, “My con- science! You take on like a five- year-old!” and lifted up The Dem- erat and continued her reading of the Personal Items. So far as she was concerned the discussion was ended, But grand- father continued to brood. He searce- ly spoke during the rest of the eve- ning. His beard remained sunk on the lapels of his worn coat, his faded eyes staring blankly into the shadows of the room. And thus the evening passed, and the hands of the old clock fon the mantle came round to nine. (Continued from preceding page) was thick with angleworms. He worked slowly and steadily; by the time grandmother appeared on the ‘back porch to summon him to break- fast he had completed the small, rec- tangular hole in which the body of the pup was to rest. “Sam!” called grandmother. “Your breakfast’s ready.” "Go ahead, Tl come in a minute,” he answered, and moved off toward ‘the wash-tub. That poor little pup! He stood over the wash-tub a mo- ‘ment before lifting it up, and on his | face was a sad, lugubrious expression, ‘That was the hour for retiring, as they always called the bedtime hour Grandmother folded up the paper fand laid it on the table. She ssid: “Well?” to let grandfather know that she was going to bed and that she expected him to follow her. She did not like to have any one sit up in the house after she had gone to her bedroom; it seemed as if the day were incomplete. ... Grandfather waited up to blow out’ the light. And when, the little green house in darkness, he settled himself between the quilts and the feather-bed, his last words for the night were: “That poor little pup.” He heard the crowing of the Leghorn rooster from the chicken- coop before he went to sleep. But in the morning he was dressed by_ six o'clock, out in the kitchen building a fire in the cook-stove for grandmother to make breakfast. And after the flames were roaring and he had filled the tea-kettle and set it on the stove to heat, he stepped out- of-doors into the morning light. ‘The wash-tub loomed reproachfully in the back yard. Grandfather averted his eyes from the sight of it. For now came the most hateful part of the whole disagreeable job: the burying of the pup. Going into the woodshed where he kept his tools, grandfather picked up a spade, then stood for a moment, debating on where he would dig the grave, whether he would dig it by the sunflower row or over at the ‘west end of. the lot where the canal flowed past. Down by the canal would bbe the best place, and there he went, his congress boots reluetantly tracking ‘over the earth made hard by the coolness of the night, He set his spade in the ground, pushed it down with his foot, and threw out the first slab of earth, which was thick” with angleworms. He (See Next Page) Bending over, he raised the tub, under which he reached for the inanimate body— ‘A cold nose touched his hand, and in a moment the pup was crawling out from under. It stood in the sun~ shine, blinking and shaking itself, try- ing'to caper about on stiff legs, ‘none the worse for the chloroform. ‘And at the sight, of it grandfather lost his temper. "You—damned little devil!” he' muttered, as he realized that all of his worries, his self-indiet- ‘ment, his sleepless night, his spading, hhad gone for nothing. He threw down spade and would not even look at the pup, whe scampered along be- side him as he walked to the house 25