THE MAD DOG
PRIVATE BRAVE was comfortably seated in the home living room with his
family gathered around to hear what had happened while he was in the
hospital.
“It was about four o’clock in the afternoon,” he began. “I had just
finished telling the boys about saving the baby, and all my other
experiences which you know, when suddenly we heard a woman crying as
she rushed past the ward door.
“‘Oh, Doctor,’ she sobbed, ‘will he die—will my little boy die? He
didn’t know the dog would bite, poor child! He says the dog isn’t mad,
but everybody else says he is!’
“‘Come,’ said the doctor, ‘mad or not, we’ll fix this young man up so
he’ll be quite safe. I’m glad you brought him to me immediately.’
“I was on my feet in an instant, and ran to the office door, for I was
very anxious to hear what would be done for the little boy.
“‘This must be cauterized, Nurse,’ said the doctor. ‘Get nitrate of
silver ready.’
“He dipped a wooden stick into the poison and turned it around in the
wound, the little boy screaming with the pain.
“‘Oh, Doctor,’ asked his mother, ‘must he be hurt so much?’
“‘Safety must first be considered,’ replied the doctor. ‘We are
probably destroying the dreadful germs of hydrophobia. And, next, this
little boy must be given Pasteur treatment with the wonderful serum
used to prevent hydrophobia, for hydrophobia means the most terrible
suffering anybody could imagine. Of course, no one is quite certain
that the dog was mad; for many a time a dog which has been nearly
crazed with thirst, or been the victim of bad boys’ pranks, has been
thought mad.’
“‘But this doggy wasn’t mad,’ the boy cried out, forgetting his pain.
‘A bad boy was twisting his tail and the poor doggy thought I did it
because I was near!’
“‘Are you certain, little fellow?’ asked the doctor.
“‘Yes, sir, and after he bit me, a big man beat him with his cane, and
the poor doggy ran yelping down the street. Oh, how you made my arm
ache, Doctor!’
“‘Poor boy!’ said the doctor, ‘I really had to hurt you.’
“‘What should I have done, Doctor, if we had been miles from a
physician?’ asked the mother.
“‘That’s a good question,’ replied Doctor Surecure. ‘I will tell you
the simplest treatment for an untrained person to use—
FOR DOG BITE
(_See Reference List_)
Whether there is _danger of hydrophobia_ or not, if
bite is on limb, tie a cloth tightly around limb
between wound and body, and encourage bleeding by
squeezing. Wash with soap and hot water. Apply iodine.
Loosen cloth in an hour.
If there is the _slightest_ danger of _hydrophobia_,
_get patient to a doctor!_ If impossible to get a
doctor, apply nitrate of silver, or pure carbolic
acid with a soft stick. But it seems that there are
few places where a doctor cannot be consulted within
twenty-four hours,—who will see that the patient is
given Pasteur treatment to prevent hydrophobia from
developing.
“Well, I am certainly glad to learn that, my son,” said Private Brave’s
mother. “We had a terrible fright the day the little boy was bitten,
for somebody said that our Mike did it.”
“What!” exclaimed Private Brave. “Did anybody dare accuse this most
faithful and wonderfully brave dog-member of the Brave family?”
Mike had been lying at his young master’s feet; in fact, he hadn’t left
him since he came home—not even to eat his dinner. On hearing his name,
Mike stood up, wagging his tail so hard that you would have thought it
would drop off unless it was nailed on.
He looked inquiringly upon the family, his mouth open and his
intelligent brown eyes questioning what all this talk meant.
“It wasn’t you, Michael, old boy, good old fellow!” exclaimed Ibee,
petting him.
[Illustration: “IT WASN’T YOU, MICHAEL, OLD BOY!”]
“Bow! Bow!” barked Mike, and Ibee declared he smiled.
“Well,” said Private Brave, “that was—” He didn’t finish the sentence,
for at that instant the next door neighbor came running into the room.
“Oh, come, Miss Shesa!” she exclaimed. “My baby’s dying—she’s swallowed
poison.”