THE WILLOWDALE KENNELS
As Harry Barton had said, it was only a short run on the train to
Thornboro. The three boys disembarked at the station and walked up a
winding, muddy road, for the sun was gathering strength and the snow
had been melting fast. The fields and hillsides lay brown and dry, but
not uninviting. It was a glorious day to be out of doors, especially
upon such a quest.
They came at length to an entrance in a privet hedge and passed up a
long driveway with maple trees along both sides. At the end of it they
could see a large brick house with white pillars along the front.
"My, but this is a big place," said Ernest.
"Sure," said Harry. "Mr. Hartshorn is a rich man. If he wasn't, how do
you s'pose he could keep so many dogs and hire a man just to take care
of them?"
"What does he do with so many?" inquired Jack, to whom the care of one
small puppy seemed a considerable responsibility.
"Oh, he shows them," was Harry's somewhat vague explanation. "He takes
prizes with them at dog shows. Some of them are champions. He breeds
them, too, and he sells the puppies he doesn't want to keep. I guess
he makes a good deal of his money that way."
"What kind of dogs are they?" asked Ernest.
"Mostly Airedale terriers and white bull terriers," said Harry. "Not
common bull terriers, like Frank Symonds's, but the finest kind, all
white."
As they neared the house, Harry led them into a path through the
shrubbery which brought them at last around to the rear, where there
was a big stable and garage, a greenhouse, and some other buildings.
"That long low building is the kennels," said Harry. "The dogs are in
their runs out back, I expect, and prob'ly Tom is out there, too."
"Why!" exclaimed Jack, "it's just like a house for people."
The Willowdale kennel house was indeed a more elaborate affair than
the boys had imagined could ever have been built just for dogs. It
made Rome appear very humble in comparison. It was a well-built house,
long and low, with windows all along the front and a door in the
middle. Over this door was an ornamental gable and there was a cupola
at the top. The whole was painted white.
The boys passed around the end of the building, from behind which
issued the voices of many dogs which they presently saw running
about in yards built of wire fencing. Some of the dogs were smooth and
pure white and some were wiry-coated and a rich black and tan--tan on
the legs and head and black or a very dark grizzle on the neck and
body. They all appeared to be very lively, active dogs, and some of
them seemed rather pugnaciously anxious to get at one another through
the wire fences.
"There's Tom," announced Harry, and the other boys, following his
pointing finger, observed a man in brown clothes and leather leggings
apparently engaged in mending the fence at the rear of one of the
runs. As they approached he straightened up and came forward to meet
them, with a little smile on his broad face.
"Well," said he, "'ere we are. An' 'ow's the little man to-day? An'
'ow's the dog Mike?"
"Pretty well, thank you," said Harry, in a rather more subdued tone
than he had been using toward Jack and Ernest. "These are my friends,
Ernest and Jack Whipple. They want to see your dogs."
Tom Poultice regarded the newcomers quizzically. "Sure you aren't
afraid o' gettin' bit?"
"Oh, no, we aren't afraid of dogs," asserted Ernest.
"Right-o," said Tom. "Come along and I'll show you our new Hairedale,
Bingo's Queen Molly. She's a 'ummer, Molly is."
He led the way through a wire gate into one of the runs and called the
new dog to him, whereat the dogs in the neighboring runs set up a loud
barking.
"They're all jealous," said Tom, "but they wouldn't touch 'er. A male
dog scarcely ever attacks a female."
[Illustration: White English Bull Terrier]
Molly proved to be a sweet, gentle creature, and allowed the boys to
pat and stroke her hard little head.
"She's the genooine harticle," said Tom. "See the straight legs of 'er
an' the square muzzle. She'll win something, or I'm no judge."
"She's a little smaller than some of them, isn't she?" asked Harry.
"Yes, but she's just about the right size for showing," said Tom.
"Thirty-seven she weighs. I'm partial to the bigger dogs, myself, but
the judges generally favor a smaller dog if he's got the points.
Molly's certainly got the points."
Much to the edification of the boys, Tom went on to describe the
standard points of the Airedale, illustrating with several of the
dogs, all of whom seemed to be very fond of the kennelman. Then he
took them in to see the bull terriers.
"'Ere's a different kind of dog entirely," he said. "As good a fighter
and watchdog as the Hairedale, but not useful in so many ways. It's an
older breed than the Hairedale. I can remember when the bull terrier
was a heavier dog, and brindles were just as good as whites, but now
they want only this kind in the shows, with a long skull and pure
white. Eyes small and shaped like almonds, and set wide apart. That's
the kind. The ears have to be cropped in this country to win prizes.
Beastly custom. They don't do it in Hengland any more. I'm glad they
let the Hairedales' ears alone."
For some time Tom Poultice discoursed learnedly on these two breeds
and answered numerous questions.
"What-ho," he exclaimed suddenly. "'Ere's Mr. 'Artshorn coming. Get
'im to tell you about dogs. 'E knows a thing or two 'imself."
A well-dressed gentleman in a gray overcoat and hat, with a gray
pointed beard, and carrying a cane, appeared around the end of the
kennel house. The boys appeared a little ill at ease.
"Don't be scared of 'im," said Tom. "'E likes boys."
"Well, Tom," said Mr. Hartshorn, stopping now and then to poke his
stick through the fence at the dogs that came yelping down their runs
to greet him, "how's Molly?"
"Mighty fine, sir," said Tom; "mighty fine."
"Some of your friends?" he inquired, indicating the boys.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "This is Harry Barton, sir, from Boytown, and
these--what did you say your names were?"
"Ernest and Jack Whipple," said Ernest.
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Hartshorn, just as though he had been reading
about these boys in the paper. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. Came up to
have a look at the finest dogs in Connecticut, I suppose."
He had a pleasant, friendly face, and though the boys were a little
awed by his imposing appearance and courtly manner, they soon lost
their shyness and found themselves asking him many questions about
dogs.
"Come up to the house," said he at length. "I can explain things
better up there, where I have some pictures."
Tom went back to his work and the boys, bidding him good-by, followed
Mr. Hartshorn up to the big house. He took them into a room that he
said was his den. There was a big desk in it, all littered up with
papers, and well filled bookcases around the room.
"Are all these books about dogs?" inquired Harry.
"Well, a good many of them are," said Mr. Hartshorn. "I have about
every book on dogs that has been printed, I expect."
On the walls above the bookcases were photographs and colored pictures
of dogs and horses in frames, and at one side of the room was a long
leather sofa. Mr. Hartshorn seated himself at his desk and began
rummaging in a drawer full of photographs, while he told the boys to
be seated on the sofa.
"Now, then," he said when they were all settled, "you were asking me
about the different kinds of terriers, and I guess I've got pictures
of good specimens of about every kind. How many kinds of standard
breeds of terriers do you suppose there are?"
"About eight, I guess," said Harry, who was a little more forward than
the Whipple boys.
"Wrong," said Mr. Hartshorn. "There are nearly a hundred recognized
breeds of dogs in this country, all different, and eighteen of these
are terriers. To make them easier to remember, I will divide them into
three classes, smooth-coated, wire-haired, and long-haired. The
smooths are the bull terrier, the Boston, the smooth fox terrier, the
Manchester, and the Doberman pinscher. The wires are the wire-haired
fox terrier, the Airedale, the Bedlington, the Irish, the Welsh, the
Scottish, the West Highland white, the Dandie Dinmont, the cairn, and
the Sealyham. The long-haired ones are the Skye, the Clydesdale, and
the Yorkshire."
"My!" exclaimed Ernest. "I never heard of some of them before."
"Lots of people haven't," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but they're all worth
knowing. You can see nearly all of them at a big show like the one
held every year in New York. I'm going to tell you something about
them all, if you'd like to listen."
"Oh, yes, please do," said Ernest.
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, arranging his photographs, "first let me
explain what a terrier is. Most of them come from England and
Scotland. A few from Wales and Ireland. Terrier means earth dog, and
that's what they were called hundreds of years ago when they were
first used to hunt animals that run into the ground or under stones.
They had to be brave and gamey and not too big, and they became very
active little dogs and mighty efficient. At first, some were
smooth-coated and some wire-coated. Finally, however, Englishmen began
to breed certain favorite kinds, and so the different breeds were
gradually established.
"One of the oldest kinds is the Manchester or black-and-tan terrier.
He was first bred by the mill hands in the Midland counties of England
where he was famous as a ratter. Here's a picture of one. Handsome
chap, isn't he? Nice, intelligent dog, too. His ears are cropped but
his tail isn't. The white bull terrier is a near relative of the
Manchester. I've already told you about him.
"Now here's the Boston. I guess you know this kind."
"Oh, yes," said Ernest. "Theron Hammond has one named Alert."
"This is an American-made breed," said Mr. Hartshorn, "out of British
raw material. Some Boston fanciers developed it from the brindle bull
terrier about 1890. It's one of the most popular breeds here now. A
smallish dog--sometimes too small, I think--brindle and white. And
here's the smooth fox terrier. You've seen lots of those. Another
small one, not over twenty pounds. He was developed from the old
English working terrier about fifty years ago.
[Illustration: Airedale Terrier]
"Now here's one that I don't believe you know. It's a Doberman
pinscher. Funny name. Wonderfully smart dog, though. They call him the
dog with the human brain. He comes from Germany, where he was first a
watchdog and was later trained as a police dog. I believe the first
ones were brought over here in 1907. A muscular dog, weighing forty or
fifty pounds. He is marked like the Manchester but his coat is less
silky.
"Now we come to the wires. The wire-haired fox terrier is really just
like the smooth, but he looks quite different because of his stiff,
wiry coat. Then there's the Airedale. You know about those. Best
all-round dog in the world in my opinion. This is a Bedlington. You
won't see many of those. Has a head like a lamb, hasn't he? And notice
the silky topknot. He's a good little sporting dog if he does look so
mild. They're mostly blue-gray and tan, and weigh about twenty-four
pounds.
"Here's the liveliest one of the lot, the Irish terrier. Sometimes
they call him the dare-devil. He's a great little scrapper. He comes
from Ireland, of course. He's a red dog, weighs twenty-four pounds,
and makes one of the best comrades a boy can have. The Welsh terrier
is related to the wire-haired fox, though he looks more like a small
Airedale, being black and tan. He's a little smaller than the
Irishman.
"Several terriers come from Scotland, and as you can see from these
pictures they're a short-legged, strong-headed, long-bodied lot.
That's because they were bred to go into the ground and the piles of
rocks after badger and such-like game. They had to be pretty tough to
manage it, too. This is the cairn terrier. He used to be called the
Highland terrier, and I guess he's more nearly like the original
terrier of Scotland than any of the others, He came from the
Hebrides Islands. I expect you've never seen one, for they aren't
common in this country. But they're jolly little beggars. They're the
smallest of the lot, weighing only twelve to fifteen pounds, but
mighty hardy and gamey. They are various sandy and grizzled colors and
always have this foxy little head.
"You may have seen one of these. It's a Scottish terrier, once called
the Aberdeen, and we have a lot of good ones over here now. Some call
him the Scottie or the die-hard. See how wise he looks, with his
bright eyes under his big eyebrows. Notice the big head and short legs
and upright tail. There are some sandy ones, but mostly they're a dark
grizzled gray. They weigh eighteen to twenty pounds. Here's his first
cousin, the West Highland white terrier. He comes from Argyllshire, on
the west coast of Scotland, and he's always pure white. Like most of
the other Scotchmen he has a harsh outer coat and a soft under coat,
which are practically waterproof. He has a more pointed muzzle than
the Scottie and he's smaller."
At the next picture the boys all laughed. It was such a queer-looking
dog, with such a big head and long body, and a face like that of an
old Scotchman.
"He's a Dandie Dinmont," said Mr. Hartshorn. "If you ever read 'Guy
Mannering' by Sir Walter Scott, you may remember that he speaks of
Dandie Dinmont's pepper and mustard terriers. The book was published
in 1814, and Dandie Dinmont terriers have been popular in the border
countries of Scotland ever since. The Dandie is related to the
Bedlington. You see he has the same drooping ears and the topknot.
Gray and fawn are the colors.
"This is the last of the wires. It's a Sealyham. He looks as though he
might be related to the Scotch breeds, with his short legs and strong
head. He was, in fact, bred for badger hunting, as they were, but he
comes from Wales. We have had them in this country only since 1912.
The Sealyham is a mighty lovable little dog. He is white, often with
black or brown markings, and he's about the same size as the West
Highlander.
"Now we come to the long-coated ones, and the first of them is the
Skye, another of the Scotch breeds. He's a close relative of the
cairn, but he has a long coat and hair over his eyes. He's about the
same size as the West Highlander and he's blue-gray or fawn. They used
to be much more common than they are now. By the way, did you ever
read the story of Greyfriars Bobby?"
None of the boys had read it.
"Well, do so the first chance you get. That's on of the loveliest dog
stories ever written, and it's true. Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye
terrier.
"This is the Clydesdale or Paisley terrier. Not at all a common breed.
I doubt if you'll ever see one in the United States. He looks
something like the Skye, but his coat is silkier. He's steel blue on
the body and head, with golden tan feet. The Yorkshire comes from the
other side of the border, and he's something like the Clydesdale, only
with longer legs and shorter body. He's a fancy dog with a wonderful
coat, parted down the middle and sweeping the ground. He's steel blue
with tan markings on the head, chest, and legs.
"There you have all the terriers," he concluded, "and I guess you've
had a long enough lesson for one day. These facts are all very
interesting, but they become prosy and confusing if taken in too large
doses. Here, take this book home with you, and look it over at your
leisure. You'll find in it all the things I've told you and a lot more
besides."
"Terriers are the smartest dogs there are, I guess," said Harry.
"Well, I don't know as I should want to say quite that," said Mr.
Hartshorn. "Smartness and other qualities are as much a matter of
individuals as of breeds. However, the terriers certainly have won
that reputation."
"Do you know any good stories about them?" asked Harry, who was
never backward in such matters. Mr. Hartshorn laughed.
"Unfortunately my memory for stories isn't very good," said he, "but I
have lots of stories in books, and before you boys come up again, I'll
look up some of them. Meanwhile, see if they have a book in the
Boytown Library by Edward Jesse, called 'Anecdotes of Dogs.' It was
published in London in 1858, and it isn't very common, but if you can
find a copy, it's a dandy. It contains most of the historic dog
stories. It includes several stories about terriers, chiefly
illustrating their intelligence, but also their devotion. Many of
them, I recall, are stories of dogs that found their way home over
unknown roads after being carried away for long distances. This homing
instinct seems to be very strong in the terrier. The breed has always
been a very close and intimate companion of man, and that has
sharpened his wits and deepened his sympathies.
"The only terrier story that I recall at the moment is a little
anecdote that illustrates the terrier's shrewdness rather than his
uprightness of character. A lady music teacher was going to the home
of one of her pupils one day when some sort of wire-haired terrier
surprised and startled her by running out from a field and seizing her
skirt in his teeth. She tried to drive him away, but he wouldn't go.
Becoming somewhat alarmed by his actions, she called to two laborers
who were working in the field, and they came to her assistance.
"'He wants you to go with him, ma'am," one of the men said. 'I've
heard of dogs actin' like that. Maybe it's a murder or something. I
guess we'd better go along.'
"They followed the dog to the rear of a cottage, and he at once began
to dig feverishly at a heavy plank. The workmen, half expecting to
find a corpse, lifted the plank, only to disclose a large beef bone.
This the terrier at once appropriated and made off with it, without
waiting to express his thanks for assistance."
The boys laughed over this story, and thanked Mr. Hartshorn warmly for
the interesting things he had told them. Then, squabbling
good-naturedly over the possession of the dog book, they hurried off
to catch the late afternoon train back to Boytown.
It was not long before they had another lesson in dog lore, though
this time it was not Mr. Hartshorn who was their teacher. The next
Saturday the three of them made another trip to Thornboro to return
the book, in the fascinating contents of which they had been reveling
for a week. They met Tom Poultice on the road with half a dozen of the
dogs out for exercise. They were a lively lot, and it took about all
of Tom's attention to keep them in hand.
"Mr. 'Artshorn isn't 'ome to-day," said Tom. "You come along with me
and the dogs and I'll show you some fun. You can leave the book up at
the 'ouse when we get back."
The boys accepted this as a rare privilege, and for an hour or two
accompanied Tom and his troublesome pack about the country roads. The
bull terriers were fairly well behaved, but the Airedales seemed bent
upon getting into all kinds of mischief. On two occasions Tom had his
hands full breaking up what promised to become a free-for-all fight.
But the boys could not help admiring the boundless vigor of these dogs
who seemed hardly able to contain all the youth and joy and life
within them. It made the boys want to run and romp and caper in
sympathy.
As they entered the drive at Willowdale on their return, they saw a
sweet-faced woman standing on the porch with a little woolly white dog
beside her.
"That's Mrs. 'Artshorn," said Tom. "You can give the book to 'er.
She'd like you to stop and speak to 'er."
Somewhat shyly the boys followed his advice, but Mrs. Hartshorn, like
her husband, seemed to have the faculty of making them soon feel at
their ease. She at once introduced them to Daisy, her toy white
poodle. Daisy's long hair had been trimmed and clipped in a
ridiculous manner that made the boys laugh, but she soon proved
herself to be as smart as a whip. Mrs. Hartshorn put her through all
her pretty tricks.
"I suppose, after seeing all those Airedales and bull terriers, you
won't think much of my little dogs," said Mrs. Hartshorn. "Tom
Poultice is very scornful about toys. But a dog is a dog, no matter
how little. I want you to come in and see my prize Pomeranian, Tip."
They followed her into the house and up a broad staircase. At the top
she turned and said:
"I think Tip is in the nursery with the baby. Don't be startled if he
tries to eat you up. You needn't be quiet, because it's about time for
baby's nap to be over."
She ushered them into the nursery, a pretty pink and white room, and
there lay a handsome, chocolate-colored little dog on a mat beside a
white crib. At the sight of strangers Tip growled a little and showed
his white teeth.
"Don't you want to take a look at the baby?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn,
with a twinkle in her eyes.
Harry Barton stepped bravely forward, but was met by an attack so
savage that he hastily retired. Tip did not bark; barking was not
permitted in the nursery. But he defended his charge with a ferocity
quite out of proportion to his diminutive size.
"Lie down, Tip," said Mrs. Hartshorn, laughing. "It's all right." And
Tip retired, grumbling, to his rug.
[Illustration: Pomeranian]
"He's little, but, oh, my!" said Mrs. Hartshorn. "I don't believe one
of you would dare to touch that baby with Tip anywhere around. Now
isn't he a dog, after all?"
The boys admitted quite readily that he was.
"He chased a tramp away once," said she. "The tramp came to the
front door when Mr. Hartshorn was away, and spoke so roughly to my
maid that I was really quite frightened. Tip heard him and came out
like a flash. The man swore and kicked at him. Nothing makes a dog so
angry as kicking at him, and Tip jumped and nipped the man's finger.
He swore again, but Tip renewed his attack to such good purpose that
the man backed away and finally retreated in disorder with Tip at his
heels. I've known big dogs that couldn't do so much."
The boys looked upon Tip with new respect.
"Now come and see my Pekes," said Mrs. Hartshorn.
The boys followed her into another room where two Pekingese spaniels
got lazily out of a basket and came forward to greet her. And for the
next few minutes the boys found infinite amusement playing with the
fluffy little pets.