True Dog Stories - True Tales of Working Dogs, Including Stories of Gun Dogs, Sheep Dogs, Police Dogs, Guide Dogs, Military Dogs and More

By Lilian Gask

“True Dog Stories” is a collection of short stories dealing with ordinary dogs and their extraordinary exploits, written for children by the prolific author of dog-based stories, Albert Terhune. This delightful collection of dog tales is the perfect choice for parents to read to their dog-loving children at bedtime, full of heart-warming and entertaining stories sure to be remembered fondly for many years to come. Included in this collection is: “Bud: The Collie with a Sixth Sense”, “The `Pi-Hound' of Nine News Bulletins”, “Treve: The Strangest Dog”, “ The Spitz Heroine of a Queer Melodrama”, and many more. Albert Payson Terhune (1872 – 1942) was an American novelist most famous for his novel “Lad: A Dog”, which follows the adventures and travails of a dog called Lad. Following the success of this novel, Terhune went on to produce over thirty other novels based around the lives of dogs. Other notable works by this author include: “Dr. Dale: A Story Without A Moral” (1900), “The New Mayor” (1907), and “Caleb Conover, Railroader” (1907). Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. It is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially-commissioned new biography of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vintage Dog Books
• Release date: Feb 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781528784917

Book preview

I

Sheep-dog Puppies at the Farm

DRYBECK FARM was a low, rambling farm-house with the date 1710 just legible over its low stone doorway. It stood beside a deep, boulder-strewn river-bed with a crooked, spindly bridge across it. Under the bridge two light iron gates could be dropped, almost on to the stones beneath, to prevent sheep from straying beyond it in dry weather. James Linton and his family lived in the farm and kept about eight hundred sheep on the fells, besides a handful of cows, two goats, and a quantity of poultry.

The beck was rarely quite dry. A little runnel of water generally ran tinkling over the stones at the far side of the channel, but when rain fell higher up the valley a swift, heavy torrent came crashing and roaring down towards the farm-house, and the farmer or his wife had to hurry to lift the gates under the bridge before the force of the water swept away both bridge and gates.

In quiet weather, when the stream was low and lazy, Jim and Martha, the farmer’s children, could hear the ewes crying to their lambs away up on the hills, high above them, and sometimes they stopped and shaded their eyes to see if they could catch a glimpse of Matthew, the shepherd, and his dogs.

Matthew was a great hero to eight-year-old Jimmy. He lived at the farm, but was a man of few words. Often he came and went with no more than a jerky nod to Mrs Linton and a smile (which was mostly in his eyes) for the children. Whenever he got up to go out his four dogs cocked their ears and followed him with their eyes. At his call, which was half a whistle and half a sort of chirrup, they rose silently and ran after him. Jimmy already longed for the day when he too would stride at that slow, heavy pace through the village with just such a group of dogs behind him, like dark moving shadows.

Martha was only fifteen months younger than her brother, and she often cried Me too! as Jimmy tramped across the long meadow where the fowls were, practising the shepherd’s whistles and trying to look as much like him as possible, setting down his feet with a flat clump, clump, as though he too wore the heavy nailed boots that carried Matt over hill and dale, rock and stone.

Me too, Jimmy; I shall be a shepherd too, when I grow up, she insisted, and watched his mouth to see how he brought out those passable imitations of Matthew’s calls. But Jimmy only stopped his game to say, Girls can’t be shepherds, in tones of withering scorn.

They can, then, declared Martha stoutly—but added on a plaintive note, Why not?

Matt says they can’t, said Jimmy, and, as far as he was concerned, that was all there was to it.

Of Matt’s four dogs Ben, the eldest, was older than Jimmy. Then came Bounce and Boom, who were young and rare good dogs. Lastly there was Bess, who at this very moment had a litter of four pups groping blindly about her in a shed near the house.

Martha watched Jimmy enviously for a while, thinking that though she was more than a year younger and smaller than he, she could do most things that he did. They were even in the same class at school. She stood quite still for so long that Jimmy had marched right round the field and back again before she spoke again. Then she said, very distinctly, "They’ve got land-girls over at Dale End, and they work with the sheep."

Jimmy paused to survey her in silence. He was still copying Matt, and, as I have already said, Matt was a man of few words.

Suddenly Martha stamped her foot angrily.

I shall ask Matt if I can have one of Bess’s puppies, she cried furiously, and I’ll make her the best sheep-dog in the fells, an’ I’ll win all the prizes with her, and then Matt’ll have to say girls can be shepherds!

You’ll not get the best one, Jimmy retorted jealously. He had his own plans about that.

A few days later, when Matt came home for his tea, he saw Bess and her puppies lying out in the afternoon sun, and looked them over. She got up at once to greet him, and he rubbed her head pleasantly as he watched the squirming brood. Presently he picked one out from the rest, and set it outside the basket on the earth, to stagger about with foolishly wavering head and a piping whimper.

Matt liked the children, and was as fond of Martha as of Jimmy, though he treated her as he thought fitting for a small girl, playfully, teasing a little. Now she crept up to him and caught the edge of his hard old tweed coat in her hand and cried, Matt, Matt, can I have one of Bess’s pups to look after? Say yes!

Hey, hey, hey! he replied, as though taken by surprise. One of Bess’s pups, eh? Bless me! What does a little lady like yourself want with a sheep-dog puppy? Eh? You’ll have to ask your Daddy about that. You can if he says so, of course.

Martha screamed with joy.

There! she cried. I said you would! I’m sure Daddy’ll say yes. And it’s going to be the best sheep-dog on the fells, Matt. You see!

Matt laughed, and lifted her up on a level with his face.

Is it indeed? he demanded. Well, I never! And who’s going to train it for you, if I may be so bold as to ask?

I am, Martha declared hopefully.

Well, well, murmured the shepherd. We’ll see, we’ll see.

Two of Bess’s litter were bespoke by neighbouring farmers. One Matt meant to keep and train himself, and the other (of which he privately thought but little) was given to Martha. The shepherd’s pup was to be called Bay.

I shall call mine Meg, declared Martha promptly.

But you can’t, her brother objected as promptly. All Drybeck dogs are called by names beginning with a B.

Mine isn’t, Martha replied calmly. She’s going to be something extra special, so she can be an M. M for Meg and M for Matt and M for Martha.

Jimmy was silenced, but not convinced.

As the puppies grew Matt told Jimmy to see what he could do with Bay.

No fussing over him, mind. You mustn’t pet a working dog. See first that you teach him to answer to his name and to come when he’s called. Then make him follow on the lead.

The summer had gone, and the sides of the fells were ablaze with the orange and gold and tawny russet of withering bracken and scrub. The long, light evenings were over, but, in the hour between school and tea-time, and in the last of the twilight when tea was over, Jimmy took Bay out in front of the house and coaxed him over and over again to come when he was called. Martha used to sit on the step of the bridge and look on. Sometimes Matt came out and watched or gave words of advice. These were not addressed to the girl, but she listened, treasured every one, and applied them to her own handling of Meg. Martha worked with her puppy in the mornings before she went to school and in the dinner-hour. She was scrupulously careful not to pet the little creature, though her voice was always soft and loving as she gave her orders.

Aye, Matt said one evening to Jimmy, you’ve not done so badly so far. Now see if you can teach him to stand still when he’s told. You’ll need to press him back every time he tries to rise and follow you after you’ve given him the word to stand. And remember, Jimmy, you must always give him the same word, same whistle, same movement of the hand, for the one action ye’re wanting from him.

Patiently, day after day, Jimmy wrestled with Bay, pressing his soft, fat little body firmly back each time the pup tried to come towards him.

Stand, Bay, stand! he would cry, as Bay panted and yelped and flickered his pink tongue up at Jimmy’s face or at his strong, grubby little hands.

And every day Martha taught Meg the same lessons in her own way. She was terribly in earnest over the plan to make Meg the best dog on the fells, and she seemed to have great faith in the spoken word, for she read the puppy long lectures on the ways of sheep, and urged her to grow as fast as she could and to be as clever as the champions Martha heard her father and Matt talk about sometimes. Meg used to sit before her, looking brightly up into her eyes trying to keep her ears cocked, putting her head first a little to one side, then to the other.

Both puppies took longer to learn to stand still than merely to come when they were called, but learn it they did, and one dull November day, when mists were swirling half down the sides of the big hill behind Drybeck, Matt came and sat on the bridge and talked to the children about their dogs. Martha kept her distance with a cool little air of dignity which tickled the shepherd very much. He quite understood that she wanted him to pay attention to Meg, not to herself, and after he had explained about teaching the pups to follow on the leash without pulling she looked up from where she was squatting beside Meg and said, Meg follows on the lead already. She’s the best pup on the fells.

Eh, Martha, Matt cried kindly, you’ve done right well with her, and no mistake, but Meg won’t make a champion for you, lass, so don’t set thy heart on it.

Martha stood up at that, and her eyes slowly filled with tears. She knew this was none of Jimmy’s teasing. Matt was not playing. He meant every word.

Meg’s a good dog, she managed to say at last, in a voice weak with tears; and it’s M for you, Matt, and me, Martha, as well as Meg.

The shepherd stood up.

Aye well, you do your best with her, he said, and then we’ll see. She’ll start a new strain for Drybeck, maybe.

You should see her with the hens, Martha pleaded desperately. She herds them fine already.

Matt glanced thoughtfully towards the pup, but shook his head again.

Maybe, he said, and again, maybe. He glanced at the sky, then up the dale towards the source of the beck. Water’s coming down pretty heavily, he remarked. The river’ll be full pretty soon now. See you keep the pups out of it. They’d be done for in that spate.

Jimmy stood, hands in pockets, looking down at Meg. He could not, for the life of him, see why Matt thought less of her than of Bay. Secretly he was half afraid that Meg was the better dog. She certainly seemed to obey Martha more smartly than Bay obeyed him. He drew a long breath.

I like Meg all the same, he said generously. She’s pretty clever, it seems to me.

Martha’s face brightened. They took the puppies round to the back of the house away from the treacherous beck, and set them to herding a few hens.

Soon the puppies were ready for the next lesson—the hardest yet, Matt said—to go away when they were told. A dog naturally wants to come when it hears its master’s voice—for one thing, there might be something to eat! But to turn and run away from him, that’s hard—against nature, as Matt said. He smoked his old pipe in silence—a lively silence—for a while, seeming to be considering both pups and children.

Martha, lass, he said at last; how will you start teaching Meg to go away?

Martha had already puzzled over this, but had found, as yet, no solution. Sometimes when she got cross and pushed her little dog away (though this rarely happened) Meg cringed against the earth miserably and stole back to her little mistress the very second she felt Martha’s eyes had strayed from her. Jimmy had nothing to suggest either, except just to point over there and keep on till Bay goes.

Aye, said Matt wisely, mebbe he’ll go, but more likely he’ll sit down there, and not run. This is a right hard lesson, but there’s a trick to help ye teach it. Come away over to the meadow yonder, the both of you.

He went ahead of the children and their pups, looked into the garage as he passed, and brought out a long, light rope and two strong sticks. In the meadow he hammered the sticks into the ground about a dozen feet apart. They stood well up.

Now we’ll try first with Meg, said the shepherd.

He tied one end of the rope comfortably round her neck, and told Martha to run with the other end, round the two sticks and back to him, leaving it looped over them and trailing behind her. Matt then held Meg with one hand, and the loose end of the rope with the other; then he pulled in the slack until the whole length of rope was taut, and a gentle pull on it drew the pup away from him.

Away, Meg, away! he cried. Give her the word, Martha.

Away, Meg, away! the little girl echoed earnestly, and Meg looked anxiously from her to Matt and back again, wanting to stay, but feeling the jerk on her neck and not yet understanding what was required.

Call her again, and pull on the rope gently, said Matt. Point out to her what you want with your other arm, too.

Martha called and waved her arm and pulled with Matt on the rope, but to no purpose. The pup did not like the rope and did not want to leave her mistress. She cowered down, and Matt shook his head despondently.

Aye, there it is, he told Martha. You’ll do nothing with her. She hasn’t the spirit.

Oh, she has! Martha promised frantically. She will! I’ll teach her. You see I will.

Matt called Jimmy, and the performance was repeated with Bay. Even to Martha the difference in his response was plain. Bay did not cower or cringe. He grumbled at the pull on his neck, and tried to wriggle free, but as the pull could not be escaped from he ran a few steps away, as he was meant to, and Matt cried, Good dog! that’s the way of it! Good dog!

Martha was undaunted all the same. She gave Meg her lesson for a few minutes every day, and never lost patience. She never turned the lessons into a game, either. She hoarded every word she ever heard Matt say about training a dog, and applied it to Meg, but still she saw that Bay learned more easily, though Jimmy took less trouble than she did. Nevertheless in the end both puppies learned that hard lesson too.

When will we take Bay out on the fells, Matt? Jimmy asked one day. He was impatient now to see him working with sheep.

Oh, when the days get longer, maybe, the shepherd replied carelessly. Keep him at his lessons, and we’ll see.

There was a school party at the end of the Christmas term, and this year Jimmy and Martha were looking forward to it eagerly, for Jimmy was in the play. He was to be St George and wear a fine silver shield and helmet, with a wooden sword to brandish. Martha had a part in the charade of the First Christmas, and no one knew how happy she felt just because she was to be one of the shepherds.

"That means I will be one when I grow up, she told herself. I know it does!"

As they came home from school the day before the party they saw Matt going along the road ahead of them with Bay on a lead. Jimmy yelled after him, Matt! Ma-att! What’ve you been doing with Bay? Has he been out with the sheep?

Aye, replied the shepherd when the children caught up with him. I’ve been trying him with a few sheep.

Was he good? Jimmy asked quickly. Oh, I wish I’d been there. Couldn’t we go back and do it again, so’s I could see?

Not now, not now, Matt replied absently. He was thinking that the time had about come when he must take over the training of the pup himself, and he did not know how to put it to the boy. Martha had dropped a pace or two behind. She did not even ask if Matt had tried Meg.

The school party was a rare success. Jimmy enjoyed himself as St George, and Martha got permission to have Meg with her as the shepherd’s dog, and the sight of the pup’s clever little face turned so trustingly up to hers won an extra round of clapping.

Then school was over, and Jimmy was praying for weather so that he could go with Matt sometimes over the hills, with the four grown dogs and Bay. Martha was determined to be on the spot if Matt did agree to take Jimmy out, and to make him promise to try Meg as well.

The last days before Christmas were not half long enough for all the children had to do in them. Now that they were free all day there were Christmas presents to make or to buy and many little jobs to do for their parents, as well as the puppies to see to. One day they went to market with their mother, across the moor road, and as the sheep were out on the hills all the gates were shut, and Jimmy had to get down out of the car and open each one, let the car through, and shut it securely behind them—and there were eight of the gates altogether. They had money to spend that day, and their presents to buy. The stalls in the market-place were gay with holly and paper-chains, and every one was hearty and happy and hurried. Their mother knew and was known by practically every one there, and greetings flew over the children’s heads all the time. Once Mrs Linton said, Look, Jimmy, Mr Buckton’s over there with his dog Rover that won the championship at the last Trials.

Jimmy looked briefly at the dog, but Martha stood and stared so long that her mother lost sight of her, and she was still standing, staring, when Mrs Linton came back and found her.

She’s daft about champions, Jimmy explained, on account of Meg.

Matt went away to his home across the fells for a few days at Christmas, and somehow the children did not manage to get hold of him before he set out. When he returned there were sick ewes to claim his attention, and nothing else seemed to matter to him. So the holidays passed and school began again without their having once been out with Matt