Bonny's Boy: A Dog Story

By F. E. Rechnitzer

When the sunny and affectionate cocker spaniel Bonny dies while Nat is in the Navy, his younger brother Davy Edwards felt he had to bring up Bonny's one living puppy to make his brother proud. Plenty of action abounds, with the black cocker spaniel eventually entering the National Dog Show at Madison Square Garden!

Author F. E. Rechnitzer always had a dog of some sort around—from thoroughbred poodles to pooches—and cockers were one of his favorite breeds, being the proud owner of a pair of Cocker Spaniels himself.

This wonderful story, first published in 1946, is beautifully illustrated by English-born artist Marguerite Kirmse—another lifelong dog-lover, whose delightful drawings make the little black cocker seem very natural and lifelike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Muriwai Books
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789121674

F. E. Rechnitzer

F. E. RECHNITZER (1894-1965) was an RAF veteran, journalist and author. Born on September 21, 1894 in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, the son of a Methodist minister, after many exciting experiences in the RAF (No. 65 Squadron) during World War I, he worked as pilot, a chicken raiser, a laundryman, and as an automobile salesman, before returning to flying once more. As aviation editor for the New York Telegram, he covered the 1929 Mexican Revolution from the air, flying with Federal airmen on their bombing missions against the rebels. He then began writing aviation fiction and articles, including the successful 1943 biography of Quentin Reynolds, War Correspondent, and a book on cadet flight training, Take ‘Er Up Alone, Mister! A great dog lover, Rechnitzer owned all types of dogs, from a thoroughbred poodle to a mongrel Shepherd. The owner of a pair of Cocker Spaniels, he wrote Bonny’s Boy, the story of a black cocker pup. This was soon followed by the story of an English Sellter, Raff: The Story of an English Setter (1948), and then Jinx of Jayson Valley (1950), Captain Jeep (1951) and Bonny’s Boy Returns (1953), the follow-up to Bonny’s Boy. Rechnitzer passed away in March 1965, aged 70.

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Text originally published in 1946 under the same title.

© Muriwai Books 2017, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

BONNY’S BOY

A Dog Story

by

F. E. Rechnitzer

Illustrated by Marguerite Krimse

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 4

CHAPTER 1 — Coming Events 5

CHAPTER 2 — Bonny’s Boy Arrives 11

CHAPTER 3 — Troubles 20

CHAPTER 4 — Dad and Davy Make a Deal 27

CHAPTER 5 — Bon’s Training Begins 34

CHAPTER 6 — Fisherman’s Luck 40

CHAPTER 7 — A Job for Davy 47

CHAPTER 8 — Ch. Sable Star 54

CHAPTER 9 — The Show Bug Bites 62

CHAPTER 10 — The Match Show 69

CHAPTER 11 — Surprise for Mr. Hooker 77

CHAPTER 12 — Hooker Begins to Scheme 84

CHAPTER 13 — No Sale 90

CHAPTER 14 — A Lesson Well Learned 96

CHAPTER 15 — The Trap 104

CHAPTER 16 — Stader Splint 111

CHAPTER 17 — Bon’s Return 117

CHAPTER 18 — The Cave 124

CHAPTER 19 — Hooker Is Outwitted 132

CHAPTER 20 — Madison Square Garden 139

CHAPTER 21 — The Battle of the Cockers 145

CHAPTER 22 — Greater Than Glory 150

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 157

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Bonny’s Boy

Bonny watched the ball bounce lazily from step to step

Bonny’s Boy lay with his nose cradled between his paws

Bonny’s Boy snuggled closer

A blue ribbon and a purple rosette were tacked to the back wall of Bonny’s Boy’s cubicle

The cocker sat looking up at Davy

There were five dogs in the ring with Bonny’s Boy

CHAPTER 1 — Coming Events

THAT she would soon be whelping a litter of pups was quite evident as Bonny came from the kitchen and waddled across the living-room floor to where Davy lay leafing through a magazine. Pushing her soft muzzle toward his face, she attempted to explore his left eye with her tongue. When he gently repulsed her she wagged her tail to show there were no hard feelings and lay down close to his left hand. Reaching out with her paw she tried to pull his hand toward her just as Davy turned a page to a colored photograph of a Navy fighter plane.

Jeepers! Davy exclaimed softly, ignoring Bonny’s persistent entreaty to be scratched. Sure is a super job. Look, Dad, here’s a picture of the plane Nat’s flying.

His father nodded absent-mindedly and took out his watch. There was impatience in every gesture as he glanced at it, flipped it back into his vest pocket and hitched himself around in his favorite chair under the bridge lamp where he had been reading the evening paper. Your mother’s timing is off tonight, he said brusquely.

Davy, his blue eyes eagerly absorbing every detail of the plane, finally succumbed to Bonny’s persistence. She lay on her back, utterly relaxed, while he gently scratched the taut skin of her distended stomach. It was a full minute or more before it registered that his father had spoken. Still engrossed with the picture, he answered dreamily, I’ll do it in a minute, Dad.

Startled, Mr. Edwards demanded, Do what?

Didn’t you ask me to do something? Davy inquired.

I simply said your mother’s timing was off. She shifted from ‘yes’ to ‘uh-huh’ two minutes ahead of her usual schedule.

Davy cocked his head and listened to the voice of his mother coming from the shadowy hall entrance. Who’s she talking to? he asked.

A smile crinkled his father’s face. Three guesses. First two don’t count.

Aunt Sadie! Davy chuckled. He attempted to take his hand away from the spaniel, but she quickly hooked her paw over his wrist and pulled it back.

His father listened for a moment and shrugged. She averages just about one ‘uh-huh’ every four minutes when your Aunt Sadie gets a head of steam up. What was it you said about Nat a minute ago?

Davy handed him the magazine. That’s a Corsair. The kind Nat’s flying. Keen, isn’t it?

His father’s eyes lighted with pride as he studied the picture. Then, to Davy’s dismay, he began to turn the pages slowly. Davy watched hopefully for a while and then shrugged in resignation. "Am I a stupe? he muttered, lowering himself beside the dog. Should’ve kept my mouth shut until I was through looking at it, shouldn’t I?"

Bonny’s ecstatic wriggle of welcome ended in a sharp yelp of pain. As Davy’s hand went out to comfort her, her tail flicked to indicate she was all right again.

What did you do? his father asked sharply, without looking up from the magazine.

Nothing, Davy said, studying the dog with anxious eyes.

Bonny, to a spaniel breeder, would have been just another buff cocker. But Davy thought her brown eyes that almost talked as they followed his every move, her small compact body, ready to romp by the hour or quiver with joy when he came home from school, and silky coat that glinted with golden high lights in the sun, made her the finest dog in all his world. There had been a time when he was painfully jealous of the little cocker. He still felt a pang of shame when he recalled the day five years before when Nat had first brought her home, and he found himself sharing his brother’s affection with a dog. Davy had wanted a dog he could call his own and always claimed fate had played him a goonish trick when somebody had given Nat the cocker pup. He had not liked sharing Nat with the dog nor had he relished sharing Bonny with Nat.

Then, one day Nat had come home to announce proudly his acceptance by the Navy for pilot training. The day previous to his leaving for Florida, Nat had given Bonny over to Davy’s care for the term of his enlistment. Davy had solemnly accepted the responsibility. But since then there were times when he felt a bit guilty as a close attachment sprang up between himself and the merry, light-hearted, yet earnest little cocker.

Davy checked his father’s progress with the magazine and then turned back to watch Bonny’s heavy breathing. Apprehension clouded his face as he searched for the tell-tale undulations along her side his mother had informed him were the movement of the pups she would whelp one day soon. He could see no sign of them.

Dad, he asked, do puppies go to sleep at night?

What puppies? his father asked with a trace of impatience.

The puppies inside Bonny, Davy said. Suppose they’re asleep?

Probably, his father replied and squirmed to a more comfortable position.

Davy passed his palm gently over the dog’s side. That there could be wriggling pups beneath Bonny’s golden coat was a miracle he couldn’t quite fathom. While he watched the dog he heard his mother murmur a last weary uh-huh, echoed by the click of the receiver.

How long, Dad? he smiled as his father looked at his watch.

Thirty-five minutes flat, his father snorted when Davy’s mother entered the room. What was that sister of yours spouting about this time?

She wants one of the pups, Davy’s mother said quietly. She sat down in her Cape Cod rocker by the table and took up the sock she had been darning when the telephone rang.

Don’t tell me Sadie wants a mongrel, Davy’s father snorted incredulously. Thought she always insisted on having nothing but the best!

They won’t be mongrels, Davy retorted stoutly. You wait and see.

Davy’s mother unreeled a length of darning cotton from the spool, snapped it, and began to thread her needle. She wants a particolor if there is one, she said.

Mr. Edwards began to laugh, then said: There isn’t a cocker in the whole neighborhood. For my money it’s either that English Bull of Larkins or Healy’s Scottie. If either of those combinations doesn’t produce a fine mess of color, I don’t know what would. Particolor, huh!

Davy’s father reached for the radio and dialed the nine o’clock news.

That reminds me, he said when the commentator I had finished. Where’s last night’s paper, Martha? Mrs. Edwards smoothed the sock she had darned and picked up its mate. She pushed two fingers through a gaping hole and frowned. Davy, let me see those shoes.

Why, Mom? Davy asked. His mother held out her hand. From the look on her face Davy knew there would be no answer to his query. He took off his shoes and handed them over. Bonny immediately discovered the big toe sticking out of his right sock. She followed it playfully when Davy tried to draw it out of her reach. Stop it, Bonny, Davy giggled.

His mother shook her head and handed the shoes back. I don’t know how you manage these holes. I can’t find any nails.

It’s a wonder he has any shoes left the way he gallops around, Davy’s mother went on. I saw him this afternoon with Tommy Miller. The two of them were clambering up and down the rock garden like a pair of mountain goats.

Davy, she said, turning her attention to the boy, you shouldn’t have made Bonny chase her rubber ball so long. She was so tired she didn’t eat her supper.

Davy finished tying his laces. He nodded toward Bonny, who lay with her nose between her paws, watching him intently. She kept pestering us to throw it, he said in his own defense.

She’d chase a ball if she were dying, his father interrupted. Now can we get off the subject of dogs long enough for me to inquire once more about last night’s paper? Seems as if ever since one of you was careless with her at the wrong time the only subject for discussion around this house is dogs and pups.

I’m sorry, Jim, Mrs. Edwards smiled. I picked up the paper this morning and put it on that pile in the garage.

Will you get it for me, Davy? his father asked.

Davy, believing the opportunity to retrieve his magazine had arrived, started to get up.

Wait, Davy, his mother countermanded. You didn’t give me a chance to finish, Jim. Bonny carried the paper down to her box. I heard her tearing it up while I was getting supper.

Davy’s father took a deep breath and then deflated himself as he examined the dog speculatively. That’s a sign, isn’t it?

Mrs. Edwards completed the operation of pushing another length of darning cotton through the eye of her needle and nodded.

You mean she’s going to have her pups soon, maybe tonight? Davy exclaimed eagerly. Gosh!

He stroked Bonny’s silky ear a moment and then looked up at his mother. Mom, he asked soberly, did Bonny tear up the paper to make a nest for the puppies?

Mrs. Edwards nodded and continued with her repairs on the sock.

But, Davy persisted, how does she know so far ahead of time? And how does she know what she ought to do? This is the first time she’s ever had pups, you know.

It’s instinct, I suspect, his mother replied.

But people have instinct, don’t they, Mom?

I suppose so. Why?

Well, why aren’t they smart as dogs then? Davy frowned.

A look of bewilderment flashed across Mr. Edwards’ face as his glance shifted from his son to his wife.

Don’t you think they are? his mother inquired, while she folded the darned socks together and put them in her work basket.

Davy shrugged. "Tubby Miller’s big sister Alice is going to have a baby soon. Tubby says she goes to the doctor every couple weeks to see what to do next. There are books all over their house about babies, even one that tells how to be a baby’s father. Why does she need books when Bonny doesn’t?"

That’s the modern way, son, Mr. Edwards said, joining the conversation. And what’s more, they keep right on raising them by the book. For me, I’ll take the old-fashioned way. Less chance of getting something like those fresh Nash kids or that undisciplined Hooker brat I hear so much about!

What’s the old-fashioned way, Dad? Davy inquired.

Hand raising, Mr. Edwards asserted. Beats book raising any day, specially if a parent is interested in results. From what I’ve seen, a lot of parents around this neighborhood never consider what the finished product is going to be.

What’s hand raising? Davy asked.

Remember a couple of months ago when you disobeyed your mother and didn’t come directly home from school to do the errand she wanted you to do? his father asked.

Davy blushed and nodded. He remembered the incident very well.

That session we had in the cellar that night is what I call hand raising. Might be termed psychology applied in the right place.

Do you think she’s really going to have them soon, Mom? Davy asked his mother, to escape a painful subject.

I’m certain it won’t be long, Davy, she replied. Not long before we have a litter of mongrels on our hands, Davy’s father declared querulously. Nat’s going to be plenty sore about this bit of business. Can’t for the life of me see how one of you could be so negligent. Who let her out anyway?

Davy, his mother cut in, it’s getting late. Don’t you think you’d better give Bonny her biscuit and put her in the cellar?

With a grunt Davy pushed himself to his feet. Come on, Bonny, want a biscuit?

As Bonny started for the kitchen, Davy’s father leaned forward in his chair. By the way, didn’t you have any homework tonight?

Davy hesitated. He shifted from one foot to the other under his father’s close scrutiny.

You got into junior high by the skin of your teeth, his father admonished. This year I want to see some improvement. Better spend your evenings studying your lessons rather than looking at air magazines. Understand?

Yes, Dad, Davy answered and turned quickly to follow Bonny to the kitchen. As he opened the biscuit box he overheard his mother speaking to his father. He caught the word pups. His father’s reply carried much too distinctly: I’ll save one for Sadie. The rest go in a bucket of water.

Davy broke out in a rash of goose pimples. He shuddered and motioned Bonny toward the cellar door. When she was in her box he gave her the biscuit and waited until she had eaten it. He watched her as she turned around twice in the torn paper and lay down.

Kneeling beside the box, Davy leaned forward and rested his elbows by her side. Bonny, he implored. You must be careful and not have mongrels. Do you hear?

Bonny rustled her tail reassuringly against the paper. She reached over and licked his knuckles.

Nat trusted me, Davy pleaded. Please have good pups for my sake....Besides, maybe if you have good ones, Dad won’t drown them.

Bonny pulled Davy’s hand toward her chest. Her eyes closed in contentment as his fingers worked through the long silky fur.

Davy! his father clarioned from upstairs.

Coming, Dad, he answered, and with a last quick scratch he left Bonny and hurried up the cellar steps.

CHAPTER 2 — Bonny’s Boy Arrives

THE strident protest of the loose board outside his bedroom door roused Davy from a dream in which he had frantically wielded a net in an attempt to dip a grotesquely colored pup out of a bucket of water. Each time he succeeded in getting the net under the struggling pup the net had shrunk and the whimpering pup splashed back into the water. Grateful that it was only a dream, he listened as someone made his way cautiously down the hall stairs. The possibility of its being his father brought him sitting up with a panicky start.

Gosh! he murmured. Maybe they’ve come.

He heard the cellar door open. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. Despite its warmth, an icy, choking sensation gripped him. Minutes stretched to eternities. He finally heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the cellar door close. The board at the top of the stairs creaked, and a moment later the door to his parents’ room opened.

Jim! he heard his mother call urgently. Jim, are you awake? Come to the cellar with me.

Breathless, Davy listened to his father’s fussing search in the dark for his slippers. A few seconds later his father hurried downstairs. His ears attuned to every sound, Davy prayed hard and earnestly that he would not catch the sound of water splashing into a bucket. But all he heard was the