My friends lived on a farm, which was situated in that part of the
country where storms and floods were frequent. A stream, quite a small
river, in fact, divided their land, the house being on one side of the
stream and the pasture lands on the other. The connecting link was a
bridge over the stream.
On one occasion, after a heavy storm, this stream was swollen beyond
its banks. It became a seething, rushing torrent, carrying the bridge
away, leaving no way, except to make a detour of five miles, by which
the cows could come from the pasture to the barn. A council was held,
and ways and means were discussed. The question was, how were they
to get those milkers across to the other side? Everyone had some
suggestion. Their little mongrel dog, within whose veins flowed a
strain of water spaniel, sat blinking his eyes, and holding his own
council.
When the family had given up in despair and returned to the house, the
dog swam across to the pasture. He rounded up the herd and, driving
them before him, swam the stream again, keeping the cows ahead of him
until they were safe on the other side. Every day he repeated this
performance until the bridge was built.
The water spaniel recollected another story about a dog named Prince.
This one he had heard a gentleman telling his owner.