Walter A. Dyer (1878–1943)

The Boys of Boytown, copyright 1918, is a great book but maybe tries to do too much while covering the topic of dogs. Of the town of Boytown, it says:

‘You will not find it on a map, for that is not its real name. It is not always wise to call people and places by their real names in a book, and so I have given this name to the Connecticut town where lived all the boys and the dogs I am going to tell about.’

This would be a good time to stop and guess what dog related things or events will show more be within the book. If you are someone who has read many dog books from the era, you can probably make a list of them and get most of them. (I am serious, make a list of common dog themes to try to check off.) I will give you a hint, in that a dog rescuing someone from a wild animal is one of the few not included from that type of list.

The main characters are two boys. They meet a man and his dog out hunting. When they ask him about his hunting, he brings out quail that are described as ‘pretty dead things out of his pockets.’ The boys ask him “Don’t you hate to shoot them?’

“Say,” he said, “I’ll tell you a secret. I s’pose I’ve shot more birds and rabbits than any man in this county, if I do say it, and I never bring down a partridge or kill a chicken that I don’t feel sorry for it. I ain’t never got over it and I guess I never shall. But it’s only thing old Sam Bumpus is good for, I reckon, and it has to be done. Folks has to eat and I have to make a livin’. I don’t do it for fun, though I don’t know any finer thing in this world than trampin’ off ‘cross country with a gun and a good dog on a fine mornin’.

The boys are offered some puppies from Mr. Bumpus. For anyone reading this review who made a list of story themes common to dog books, winning a parent over, or of a person who is not a fan of dogs to one that is, would be a couple of items you can check off.

‘“Papa, when can we have a dog?”
“When your mother says you can,” replied Mr. Whipple, with a smile.
Sorrowfully the boys went off to bed, well knowing what that mean. For Mrs. Whipple was one of the people that Sam Bumpus had spoken of—the kind that don’t like dogs.’

Probably those thinking of dog themes would not think of the Pointer versus Setter debate, but when it comes to bird dogs this also is very common discussion. Seems like more books are written by the fans of setters. Here is a bit on this discussion:

“Setters,” he was saying, “are usually supposed to be the keenest and pointers the strongest, but in my opinion it all depends on the partic’lar dog. Nowadays I hear a good deal about the pointer bein’ the best dog, and I’ve owned some good ones myself. There’s nothing prettier than strong, wiry pointer doublin’ and turnin’ in the brush and freezin’ to a steady point. But for my own part, give me a well-bred Llewellyn setter; they’re the humanist dog they is. They’ve got the bird sense, too. Oh, you can’t beat ‘em.”

Sam helps the boys train their dogs, which is another item of common dog themes that can be checked off. Nice to see he tells them not to whip the dogs when they disobey.

I like the opinions of the boys about Sam:

‘Clothes do not make the man, and boys are apt to overlook certain superficial peculiarities and defects which seem more significant to their elders. In Sam Bumpus they saw only a man of good humor and wonderful wisdom, a man whose manner of life was vastly more interesting than that of the common run of people, whose knowledge of the lore of woods and fields, of dogs and hunting, entitled him to a high place in their estimation. They overlooked the externals, the evidence of poverty and shiftlessness, his lack of education, and saw only his native wit and shrewdness, his kinship with the world of nature, and his goodness of heart.’

The boys are taught to care for the dogs, including how to treat for worms:

“Tell the druggist,” said Sam, “to make you up half a dozen pills with half a grain of calomel and half a grain of santonin in each one. For big dogs we make ‘em one grain each.”

And fleas:

“Wash ‘em in cresolin or cresoleum or whatever your druggist wants to call it.”

It is noteworthy to think of a time when druggists had to make up the drugs instead of everything being a branded finished product.

The boys are also given advice on diet for dogs:

“in feedin’ dogs,” he continued, “remember they’re like humans. They ought to have meat and grain and vegetables to get all they want to build ‘em up and keep ‘em healthy.’

We are also introduced to a Mr. Hartshorn, owner of the Willlowdale Kennels for Airedale and white bull terriers. Throughout the book, he educates the boys on all the breeds of dogs, often telling a story of famous dogs of the breed. If you have a favorite breed of dog, you can be fairly sure it will be mentioned or make an appearance in the book. He also sounds like a man after my own heart, with his den full of books-

“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.”

Also in the book, Mr. Hartshorn mentions a fair number of old dog books, so fun for me to see how many I have read or heard of, and to look into getting any that I don't have yet.

At one point the dogs get sick with distemper, but they know what to do-

“Ave you any castor oil?’

There was more on that part of the story but I do not want to give it away what happens. (Another check for anyone keeping track of themes in dog stories with dogs getting sick or hurt?)

Unfortunately, distemper seems to be common in the days before the vaccine was developed, and sadly there was no cure other than trying to keep the dog’s strength up and hydrated. Everyone did seem to have their own remedy for it though, so you can read about one in this book.

The boys form a sort of freemasonry of dog lovers among the boys of Boytown. This group of boys get together regularly outdoors with their dogs. They organize a a dog show in town. They also organize a camping outing which goes on more than a week. I find this a nice fantasy that is hard to imagine kids nowadays doing. There are too many distractions for youth to organize on their own and have the time and gumption to do something. I can believe their parents who are dog fans doing something like that, yes, but not any significant event generated from kids actions where they need to take time away from the TV, video games, and school sponsored activities. Plus, the world is different now where boys are not so free to safely go off on their own for long periods. (And for anyone wondering, what about the girls? I don’t remember any mention of them in this book, so in that respect, it is better now where girls can also be more involved with adventures.)

For those who ask if there is Kleenex needed at the end of the book, well no, but there is one place in the middle-

“I’m afraid ‘e’s going, sir,” said he.

So, this book has almost everything, including an AKC dog show (with results you would probably expect), and a field trail (with results you would probably expect), and teaching boys how to take care of dogs (by the standards of 1918), and at least one rescue by a dog, and at least mention of most every kinda dog there is. So, lots of good stuff you like to see in a dog book, but as I mentioned at first, a bit uneven cramming all that into one book, so I give it 4 and half stars, but since you can’t do a half, I rate it 5 for all the good. show less

There are a lot of vintage books out there but often it is hard to get much information on them. ‘Many Dogs There Be,’ copyright 1924, I believe I found just browsing ebay searching under ‘vintage dog books.’ I am glad I found it. I never claim to be a great eloquent reviewer, mostly I just say, “I really liked the book” and give you passages I liked.

This book is made up of 13 stories. I will give a comment on each and quotes from most. I enjoyed them all, but some came together show more in a more balanced way than others. When I read a book, I leave a post-it note where I find a quote I liked to copy it out, and there were a lot of post-it notes in the book when I finished.

First in the Dedication from Walter A. Dyer:
‘It is a small thing I do for him in dedicating this volume of tales to Sandy, my brother in error, my never-failing friend of thirteen years. He will not comprehend it, of he cannot read books. But I shall tell him, and his stub tail will wag and his moist nose will seek my ear, and he will make little whining noises in his throat. And we shall understand each other, for we are brothers.’

OK on to the Stories—
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG:
This is a romantic drama about a bit of a recluse who inherits a dog ‘Togo’ from his uncle. A common theme to write about people who have never had a dog before, because they have that fresh amazement of how wonderful a dog is.

‘The dog came before I was in any degree prepared for him. I shouldn’t have known what constituted preparing for a dog anyway. I had owned cats—quiet, unemotional, self-sufficient, domestic creatures—but my lot had never been to go into the lion-taming business or to keep a dog.’

In the story the dog helps him to get to start falling for the lady next door, and then get infatuated with her sister, and back to the lady. At one point the lady is accosted by a brute and is aided by the dog. Our hero thinks:

“Hell,” I thought, “hat no fury like a woman scorned, except one whose dog has been kicked.”
In the story they use the phrase ‘Love me, love my dog’ in an interesting way to come to the expected conclusion.

THE MIRACLE:
An extra charming tale of a crippled boy. Sad to think before they discovered the polio vaccine there were a fair number of them. He entertains himself by pretending he is a character in the book Treasure Island. (I remember fondly my dad reading that book with me.) As he can’t get out much, he is forced to look out his window and use his imagination. Then he starts to get regular visits outside of his window by a small black dog –

“Black Dog!” cried Jim Hawkins. He had hardly dared to hope that the little cocker spaniel would come again.

For the dog-
‘Life is, more or less, a quest for new smells, with always the possibility of running upon the rare scent that will lead to a great adventure. That is why one sniffs so eagerly and with always such an air of intense expectancy.’

This story has a bit of a sad part before the expected happy ending.

THE PHANTOM HOUND OF HARDHACK:
‘I have been a long time bringing myself to set down this strange story of Etta Farnsworth and the phantom hound of Hardhack Hill because I have doubted my ability to make it credible. It is not the sort of thing that happens to highly civilized communities where people are born, marry, and die without tragedy and without superstitious terrors.’

Part of what makes this story so fun is the description of this Hardhack Hill and setting a stage for the phantom hound to be its character.

‘It is like a battle-ground of the Titans, who, in their fury, cleft the massive ledges, hurled high the shapeless ridges, and cast about them great, rugged boulders and huge piles of lightning-hewn rocks.’

Poor Etta is blighted with melancholy:
‘No doubt a modern physician would have diagnosed her case quite readily and set it down to nerve-strain, overwork, and lack of natural recreation. But she had a way of casting frightened glances over her shoulder toward Hardhack when the clouds hung low which seemed significant to me.’

Her condition is not helped by some deaths involving her sister Sally and husband John. There is more of the story, but Sally has a baby that dies, and it becomes the obsession of her life and her chief topic of conversation. Then:

‘On the child’s birthday, she announced, she would spend the day on the grave, without food or drink. Some busybody carried the news to John. He grew black but was ominously calm.
“if she does that, I will kill her,” said he.
She did it, and he killed her.’

Anyway, back to the dog aspect, John had a hound named Roderick:

‘He was John’s Hound, a big, rangy, heavy-jawed brute, who partook of his master’s surliness toward the bulk of mankind. But he had redeeming qualities, as most dogs have. He would guard John’s flock of flee-bitten sheep against all comers, and he was a renowned hunter. And I think I never heard of a dog more utterly devoted to one man than was Roderick. When John was in drink, which happened periodically, he had been known to beat the dog cruelly, but without producing the slightest resent on Roderick’s part.’

I imagine you can guess where the story is going, after John gets killed and his dog disappears, and a phantom dog starts to be seen:

‘He was always described as huge, gaunt, and ghostly white. Always he was running and never veered from his course if he caught the scent of man near-by. Always he appeared suddenly and disappeared as if by magic, and always there was the fear which sent men hurrying home, undesirous of a second glimpse.’

I will leave it to you to read the story or imagine the end where Etta’s and Roderick intersect.

THE ARMISTICE:
‘I cannot yet see why it was considered necessary or in any way desirable to introduce another member into our household; particularly a loathsome, evil-minded, treacherous, and altogether useless and selfish Cat. We were, to my way of thinking, quite a complete and satisfactory family group as it was. There were Master and Mistress, without whom, of course, no household could be. There was Baby to provide occupation and a necessary object of worship. There was Nurse to look after Baby; there was Cook to feed us all; and there was myself, the Dog, to look after the rest of them and to make the many comforts of the establishment more completely worth while. It was, I think you will agree with me, a well-balanced organization. The addition of the Gray Devil was, to say the least of it superfluous.’

The dog and the cat don’t get along:

‘The Gray Devil I was implacably resolved to slay. Come what might to me, I was determined to rid our once happy home of the menace of her malignant presence. They might kill me, but I would save them.’

I will let you guess how as the title implies, an armistice comes about between the dog and the Gray Devil.

PALS OF THE SQUAD:
This is the story of a patrolman and his dog Pete. Pete has a rival dog on the force named Vos.
‘Pete, the experts decided, was a full-blooded Airedale terrier of the “outside” type. By that I mean that he bored but slight resemblance to the small, nervous, inbred Airedales that figure at Madison Square Garden in February.’

Sergeant Dorlan found him one day in a motley group of mongrels gathered in a round-up of stray dogs in Manhattan. He resolves to train him to be a Police Dog.

‘The New York police-dogs are not as finely trained as those of Ghent and other European cities. Not as much is asked of them. But they are expected to stick to their official masters, to recognize men in uniforms as friends and all others as possible enemies, to answer at once to the police-whistle or the rap of a night-stick, to hurl themselves upon a man attacking a policeman, to lie still and watch when commanded, to pursue and throw a fleeing criminal, to search around buildings at night, and to give notice by barking of the presence of persons lurking in the shadows. Pete showed not the slightest inclination to do any of these things.’

Of course, the dogs have to come to the rescue, especially when:
‘The policeman had no time to rap or whistle for help, for as he closed in he caught the gleam of a swiftly drawn revolver.’

HOP MING:
This is the story of a missing prize Chow, with a lady playing the part of an amateur detective. The chow is owned by a fine lady and:

‘By her side walks the aristocratic Hop Ming, fluffy-maned, prick-eared, his brush curled tightly over his back, and the characteristic chow scowl between his bright eyes giving him at times a thoughtful and at times a menacing appearance; Hop Ming, twice a champion, possessor of a chest full of silver trophies and blue ribbons, and Miss Cornelia Hutton’s latest enthusiasm.’

Her friend in the story who plays the detective knows that:
“Often it needs the fresh viewpoint of an amateur with brains to straighten out some of these absurd criminal tangles.”

HEZEKIAH:
Is a cute little story of a dog overcoming its fears to come to aid someone, and without giving away what he did, it ends with:

‘For my part, I say that Hezekiah was no less of a hero than some of the grand dogs who wear medals, and he has proved to me that devotion and fidelity may be bred in the breasts of little mongrels of the streets as well as fine dogs born in costly kennels. It is the dog heart and not the pedigree that counts, and the next time I run across a poor, stray, frightened pup, looking as useless and forlorn as any creature can look, I shall say, “There goes a potential hero,” and I shall see what can be done for him.’

THE DOG DOCTOR:
This story has a lonely veterinarian, unlucky at love, but with an affinity for animals. There is a lady involved in the story, and a poor boy with a dog sick with distemper who overcomes his fears to take the dog to the odd vet doctor. Cute little story that in some ways didn’t come together for me but was overall nice. There was not a cure for distemper at that time, but I liked this one bit of part of the cure he forced on the dog:

‘He mixed a wee grog of tea with a drop of whisky in it and poured it down Wishbone’s throat.’

HOME:
This is the story of a fine lady who sees a fine hunting dog in the company of a small boy in a poor part of time and endeavors to take the dog to the countryside where it can be free to follow his natural inclinations.

‘Abington did not realize that she, with her white gaiters and her white furs and her dainty grace of manner, was the most incongruous thing in Rivington Street. It did not cocur to her that she was a much more noticeable object of attention than the little red-haired boy and the old setter dog sitting in the doorway over Jacob Strunsky’s basement hardware establishment.’

‘To Mrs. Abington, swayed by the prejudice which every honest dog lover must confess, a good English setter was the last word in canine development. She fairly gasped at the sheer beauty of this one, at the heart and brain which every motion, every glance reflected. And he was no common member of his breed; she was well enough versed in dog lore to recognize nobility when she saw it.’

‘And there on the door-step beside the red-headed boy, alert but calm and unmoved, sat the contrast of it all, a creature whose attitude and being flooded Mrs. Abington’s mind with visions of brown fields and gorgeous autumn woods, of men in khaki with guns, of the sudden, startling whir of quail and grouse, of the wide ranging of tireless dogs with a scent more keen than eyesight. He appeared to her as the incarnation of the out-of-doors, the genius of wood and field, the spirit of wide spaces, held prisoner within these walls of brick.’

She convinces the boys mom to let her take the dog away but:

‘Meanwhile, a small, red-headed boy, who didn’t count, was wont to sit alone on a hard stone step in the heart of the great, noisy, populous city, gazing out upon the human tide with sullen eyes in which lay the melancholy of a repressed grief.’

Of course for a time the dog takes joy in being in a setting and able to do the work for which his ancestors were bred for but:

‘There came to him a picture of a crowded street that never slept, of a hot city roof whereon lay slumbering forms to be guarded. Who was guarding them now? Who lay, watchful and alert, beside the little master, in that fearful, strange-smelling, strange-sounding city? The touch of kind hands, the sound of kind voices had become an every-day matter in old Spot’s life, but into his heart there crept an intense, insistent longing for just one pair of arms about his neck, for the sound of just one voice in his ear.’

PORTYGEE PETE:
This is the story of a three-masted schooner Homer Bell, Captain David Pike, his fox terrier Middy, and a sailor Portygee Pete. The ship gets caught in a gale and is in the process of being shipwrecked. Hope is kindled when they see a flare from the shore by the surfman there. Sorry, I didn’t find any quotes I wanted to pass on but the description of them fighting the dangerous surf and the efforts to save the crew were wonderful.

PRINCE CHARMING:
This is a truly charming story of a princess in her castle tower, although a passerby would see:

‘We would perhaps have observed a little clapboarded white house, badly needing paint, standing back a little from the street between a blacksmith’s shop and a Chinese laundry. In place of the moat we would have noticed only an uneven brick sidewalk, and the courtyard we would have found crowded full of new gravestones of granite and marble. If we were very observing we might have caught a glimpse of the white face of a serious little girl of ten or thereabouts in a second-story window of the house.’

Those in the book are elevated with magical titles, like the Queen-Mother, the Numidian Giant, and the Oriental Astrologer. Prince charming comes in the form of a dog.

Unfortunately, the dog is picked up by the dog-catcher for not having a muzzle, and the crisis to overcome is to rescue prince charming:

‘She was a woman fighting a woman’s fight for her beloved, and her thoughts were all upon velvet-nosed Prince Charming and the five days left in which he must be rescued or disappear forever.’

KILFANE:
‘It is a rare engagement that does not leave something to be adjusted after marriage.’

Harry Winton and Ruth Emory seem like the perfectly matched pair, but she was afraid of his dog.
‘Ruth, indeed, though she dearly loved horses and was an expert rider, did not care at all for dogs. She could tolerate a cocker spaniel and admire a well-bred collie, but how any one could lavish affection on a great brute like Kilfane she could not understand.’

Kilfane was a wolfhound:

‘In the days when the fairies still populated Erin and the minstrels sang the ballads of Oisin, the kings of Ireland and their nobles bred the greatest of all dogs for the hunting of the gray wolf and the gigantic Irish elk—a sport for men of heart and brawn. Kin to the greyhound and as fleet, owning the blood of the wire-haired terrier of the north and as gamy as he, this dog was bred the largest and bravest of his kind—the sagh clium, or wolf-dog’

Stories of dog’s changing the hearts of those who don’t like dogs are always one of my favorites.

THE MISSION OF McGREGOR:
This is the story of a poor orphan who finds a dog and I think my favorite in the book:

‘To Howard’s starved heart this close and voiceless comradeship meant joy unspeakable. It was the great friendship that crowned his life. In the warm glow of it his soul opened and expanded. He dreamed of Mac at night. Mac was the center of his first thoughts on awaking. Mac entered into all the plans and activities of his day. Mac was the trusted confidant of his youthful aspirations, the companion of his nautical adventures. Into Mac’s ever-sympathetic ears he poured all his boyish woes and fears. With Mac he set his face toward a rosy to-morrow. And then came the bitter ending of it all.’

Poor orphan stories just work, and you know what they say, like in somewhere in this story, “Every dog should have a boy to play with, and every boy a dog.” (I wonder if that is sexist with today’s standards, what about the girls?).

Very nice book I would of course recommend and happy to add it to my shelf of favorites. show less

There are a lot of vintage books out there but often it is hard to get much information on them. ‘Many Dogs There Be,’ copyright 1924, I believe I found just browsing ebay searching under ‘vintage dog books.’ I am glad I found it. I never claim to be a great eloquent reviewer, mostly I just say, “I really liked the book” and give you passages I liked.

This book is made up of 13 stories. I will give a comment on each and quotes from most. I enjoyed them all, but some came together show more in a more balanced way than others. When I read a book, I leave a post-it note where I find a quote I liked to copy it out, and there were a lot of post-it notes in the book when I finished.

First in the Dedication from Walter A. Dyer:
‘It is a small thing I do for him in dedicating this volume of tales to Sandy, my brother in error, my never-failing friend of thirteen years. He will not comprehend it, of he cannot read books. But I shall tell him, and his stub tail will wag and his moist nose will seek my ear, and he will make little whining noises in his throat. And we shall understand each other, for we are brothers.’

OK on to the Stories—
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG:
This is a romantic drama about a bit of a recluse who inherits a dog ‘Togo’ from his uncle. A common theme to write about people who have never had a dog before, because they have that fresh amazement of how wonderful a dog is.

‘The dog came before I was in any degree prepared for him. I shouldn’t have known what constituted preparing for a dog anyway. I had owned cats—quiet, unemotional, self-sufficient, domestic creatures—but my lot had never been to go into the lion-taming business or to keep a dog.’

In the story the dog helps him to get to start falling for the lady next door, and then get infatuated with her sister, and back to the lady. At one point the lady is accosted by a brute and is aided by the dog. Our hero thinks:

“Hell,” I thought, “hat no fury like a woman scorned, except one whose dog has been kicked.”
In the story they use the phrase ‘Love me, love my dog’ in an interesting way to come to the expected conclusion.

THE MIRACLE:
An extra charming tale of a crippled boy. Sad to think before they discovered the polio vaccine there were a fair number of them. He entertains himself by pretending he is a character in the book Treasure Island. (I remember fondly my dad reading that book with me.) As he can’t get out much, he is forced to look out his window and use his imagination. Then he starts to get regular visits outside of his window by a small black dog –

“Black Dog!” cried Jim Hawkins. He had hardly dared to hope that the little cocker spaniel would come again.

For the dog-
‘Life is, more or less, a quest for new smells, with always the possibility of running upon the rare scent that will lead to a great adventure. That is why one sniffs so eagerly and with always such an air of intense expectancy.’

This story has a bit of a sad part before the expected happy ending.

THE PHANTOM HOUND OF HARDHACK:
‘I have been a long time bringing myself to set down this strange story of Etta Farnsworth and the phantom hound of Hardhack Hill because I have doubted my ability to make it credible. It is not the sort of thing that happens to highly civilized communities where people are born, marry, and die without tragedy and without superstitious terrors.’

Part of what makes this story so fun is the description of this Hardhack Hill and setting a stage for the phantom hound to be its character.

‘It is like a battle-ground of the Titans, who, in their fury, cleft the massive ledges, hurled high the shapeless ridges, and cast about them great, rugged boulders and huge piles of lightning-hewn rocks.’

Poor Etta is blighted with melancholy:
‘No doubt a modern physician would have diagnosed her case quite readily and set it down to nerve-strain, overwork, and lack of natural recreation. But she had a way of casting frightened glances over her shoulder toward Hardhack when the clouds hung low which seemed significant to me.’

Her condition is not helped by some deaths involving her sister Sally and husband John. There is more of the story, but Sally has a baby that dies, and it becomes the obsession of her life and her chief topic of conversation. Then:

‘On the child’s birthday, she announced, she would spend the day on the grave, without food or drink. Some busybody carried the news to John. He grew black but was ominously calm.
“if she does that, I will kill her,” said he.
She did it, and he killed her.’

Anyway, back to the dog aspect, John had a hound named Roderick:

‘He was John’s Hound, a big, rangy, heavy-jawed brute, who partook of his master’s surliness toward the bulk of mankind. But he had redeeming qualities, as most dogs have. He would guard John’s flock of flee-bitten sheep against all comers, and he was a renowned hunter. And I think I never heard of a dog more utterly devoted to one man than was Roderick. When John was in drink, which happened periodically, he had been known to beat the dog cruelly, but without producing the slightest resent on Roderick’s part.’

I imagine you can guess where the story is going, after John gets killed and his dog disappears, and a phantom dog starts to be seen:

‘He was always described as huge, gaunt, and ghostly white. Always he was running and never veered from his course if he caught the scent of man near-by. Always he appeared suddenly and disappeared as if by magic, and always there was the fear which sent men hurrying home, undesirous of a second glimpse.’

I will leave it to you to read the story or imagine the end where Etta’s and Roderick intersect.

THE ARMISTICE:
‘I cannot yet see why it was considered necessary or in any way desirable to introduce another member into our household; particularly a loathsome, evil-minded, treacherous, and altogether useless and selfish Cat. We were, to my way of thinking, quite a complete and satisfactory family group as it was. There were Master and Mistress, without whom, of course, no household could be. There was Baby to provide occupation and a necessary object of worship. There was Nurse to look after Baby; there was Cook to feed us all; and there was myself, the Dog, to look after the rest of them and to make the many comforts of the establishment more completely worth while. It was, I think you will agree with me, a well-balanced organization. The addition of the Gray Devil was, to say the least of it superfluous.’

The dog and the cat don’t get along:

‘The Gray Devil I was implacably resolved to slay. Come what might to me, I was determined to rid our once happy home of the menace of her malignant presence. They might kill me, but I would save them.’

I will let you guess how as the title implies, an armistice comes about between the dog and the Gray Devil.

PALS OF THE SQUAD:
This is the story of a patrolman and his dog Pete. Pete has a rival dog on the force named Vos.
‘Pete, the experts decided, was a full-blooded Airedale terrier of the “outside” type. By that I mean that he bored but slight resemblance to the small, nervous, inbred Airedales that figure at Madison Square Garden in February.’

Sergeant Dorlan found him one day in a motley group of mongrels gathered in a round-up of stray dogs in Manhattan. He resolves to train him to be a Police Dog.

‘The New York police-dogs are not as finely trained as those of Ghent and other European cities. Not as much is asked of them. But they are expected to stick to their official masters, to recognize men in uniforms as friends and all others as possible enemies, to answer at once to the police-whistle or the rap of a night-stick, to hurl themselves upon a man attacking a policeman, to lie still and watch when commanded, to pursue and throw a fleeing criminal, to search around buildings at night, and to give notice by barking of the presence of persons lurking in the shadows. Pete showed not the slightest inclination to do any of these things.’

Of course, the dogs have to come to the rescue, especially when:
‘The policeman had no time to rap or whistle for help, for as he closed in he caught the gleam of a swiftly drawn revolver.’

HOP MING:
This is the story of a missing prize Chow, with a lady playing the part of an amateur detective. The chow is owned by a fine lady and:

‘By her side walks the aristocratic Hop Ming, fluffy-maned, prick-eared, his brush curled tightly over his back, and the characteristic chow scowl between his bright eyes giving him at times a thoughtful and at times a menacing appearance; Hop Ming, twice a champion, possessor of a chest full of silver trophies and blue ribbons, and Miss Cornelia Hutton’s latest enthusiasm.’

Her friend in the story who plays the detective knows that:
“Often it needs the fresh viewpoint of an amateur with brains to straighten out some of these absurd criminal tangles.”

HEZEKIAH:
Is a cute little story of a dog overcoming its fears to come to aid someone, and without giving away what he did, it ends with:

‘For my part, I say that Hezekiah was no less of a hero than some of the grand dogs who wear medals, and he has proved to me that devotion and fidelity may be bred in the breasts of little mongrels of the streets as well as fine dogs born in costly kennels. It is the dog heart and not the pedigree that counts, and the next time I run across a poor, stray, frightened pup, looking as useless and forlorn as any creature can look, I shall say, “There goes a potential hero,” and I shall see what can be done for him.’

THE DOG DOCTOR:
This story has a lonely veterinarian, unlucky at love, but with an affinity for animals. There is a lady involved in the story, and a poor boy with a dog sick with distemper who overcomes his fears to take the dog to the odd vet doctor. Cute little story that in some ways didn’t come together for me but was overall nice. There was not a cure for distemper at that time, but I liked this one bit of part of the cure he forced on the dog:

‘He mixed a wee grog of tea with a drop of whisky in it and poured it down Wishbone’s throat.’

HOME:
This is the story of a fine lady who sees a fine hunting dog in the company of a small boy in a poor part of time and endeavors to take the dog to the countryside where it can be free to follow his natural inclinations.

‘Abington did not realize that she, with her white gaiters and her white furs and her dainty grace of manner, was the most incongruous thing in Rivington Street. It did not cocur to her that she was a much more noticeable object of attention than the little red-haired boy and the old setter dog sitting in the doorway over Jacob Strunsky’s basement hardware establishment.’

‘To Mrs. Abington, swayed by the prejudice which every honest dog lover must confess, a good English setter was the last word in canine development. She fairly gasped at the sheer beauty of this one, at the heart and brain which every motion, every glance reflected. And he was no common member of his breed; she was well enough versed in dog lore to recognize nobility when she saw it.’

‘And there on the door-step beside the red-headed boy, alert but calm and unmoved, sat the contrast of it all, a creature whose attitude and being flooded Mrs. Abington’s mind with visions of brown fields and gorgeous autumn woods, of men in khaki with guns, of the sudden, startling whir of quail and grouse, of the wide ranging of tireless dogs with a scent more keen than eyesight. He appeared to her as the incarnation of the out-of-doors, the genius of wood and field, the spirit of wide spaces, held prisoner within these walls of brick.’

She convinces the boys mom to let her take the dog away but:

‘Meanwhile, a small, red-headed boy, who didn’t count, was wont to sit alone on a hard stone step in the heart of the great, noisy, populous city, gazing out upon the human tide with sullen eyes in which lay the melancholy of a repressed grief.’

Of course for a time the dog takes joy in being in a setting and able to do the work for which his ancestors were bred for but:

‘There came to him a picture of a crowded street that never slept, of a hot city roof whereon lay slumbering forms to be guarded. Who was guarding them now? Who lay, watchful and alert, beside the little master, in that fearful, strange-smelling, strange-sounding city? The touch of kind hands, the sound of kind voices had become an every-day matter in old Spot’s life, but into his heart there crept an intense, insistent longing for just one pair of arms about his neck, for the sound of just one voice in his ear.’

PORTYGEE PETE:
This is the story of a three-masted schooner Homer Bell, Captain David Pike, his fox terrier Middy, and a sailor Portygee Pete. The ship gets caught in a gale and is in the process of being shipwrecked. Hope is kindled when they see a flare from the shore by the surfman there. Sorry, I didn’t find any quotes I wanted to pass on but the description of them fighting the dangerous surf and the efforts to save the crew were wonderful.

PRINCE CHARMING:
This is a truly charming story of a princess in her castle tower, although a passerby would see:

‘We would perhaps have observed a little clapboarded white house, badly needing paint, standing back a little from the street between a blacksmith’s shop and a Chinese laundry. In place of the moat we would have noticed only an uneven brick sidewalk, and the courtyard we would have found crowded full of new gravestones of granite and marble. If we were very observing we might have caught a glimpse of the white face of a serious little girl of ten or thereabouts in a second-story window of the house.’

Those in the book are elevated with magical titles, like the Queen-Mother, the Numidian Giant, and the Oriental Astrologer. Prince charming comes in the form of a dog.

Unfortunately, the dog is picked up by the dog-catcher for not having a muzzle, and the crisis to overcome is to rescue prince charming:

‘She was a woman fighting a woman’s fight for her beloved, and her thoughts were all upon velvet-nosed Prince Charming and the five days left in which he must be rescued or disappear forever.’

KILFANE:
‘It is a rare engagement that does not leave something to be adjusted after marriage.’

Harry Winton and Ruth Emory seem like the perfectly matched pair, but she was afraid of his dog.
‘Ruth, indeed, though she dearly loved horses and was an expert rider, did not care at all for dogs. She could tolerate a cocker spaniel and admire a well-bred collie, but how any one could lavish affection on a great brute like Kilfane she could not understand.’

Kilfane was a wolfhound:

‘In the days when the fairies still populated Erin and the minstrels sang the ballads of Oisin, the kings of Ireland and their nobles bred the greatest of all dogs for the hunting of the gray wolf and the gigantic Irish elk—a sport for men of heart and brawn. Kin to the greyhound and as fleet, owning the blood of the wire-haired terrier of the north and as gamy as he, this dog was bred the largest and bravest of his kind—the sagh clium, or wolf-dog’

Stories of dog’s changing the hearts of those who don’t like dogs are always one of my favorites.

THE MISSION OF McGREGOR:
This is the story of a poor orphan who finds a dog and I think my favorite in the book:

‘To Howard’s starved heart this close and voiceless comradeship meant joy unspeakable. It was the great friendship that crowned his life. In the warm glow of it his soul opened and expanded. He dreamed of Mac at night. Mac was the center of his first thoughts on awaking. Mac entered into all the plans and activities of his day. Mac was the trusted confidant of his youthful aspirations, the companion of his nautical adventures. Into Mac’s ever-sympathetic ears he poured all his boyish woes and fears. With Mac he set his face toward a rosy to-morrow. And then came the bitter ending of it all.’

Poor orphan stories just work, and you know what they say, like in somewhere in this story, “Every dog should have a boy to play with, and every boy a dog.” (I wonder if that is sexist with today’s standards, what about the girls?).

Very nice book I would of course recommend and happy to add it to my shelf of favorites. show less

There are a lot of vintage books out there but often it is hard to get much information on them. ‘Many Dogs There Be,’ copyright 1924, I believe I found just browsing ebay searching under ‘vintage dog books.’ I am glad I found it. I never claim to be a great eloquent reviewer, mostly I just say, “I really liked the book” and give you passages I liked.
This book is made up of 13 stories. I will give a comment on each and quotes from most. I enjoyed them all, but some came together show more in a more balanced way than others. When I read a book, I leave a post-it note where I find a quote I liked to copy it out, and there were a lot of post-it notes in the book when I finished.
First in the Dedication from Walter A. Dyer:
‘It is a small thing I do for him in dedicating this volume of tales to Sandy, my brother in error, my never-failing friend of thirteen years. He will not comprehend it, of he cannot read books. But I shall tell him, and his stub tail will wag and his moist nose will seek my ear, and he will make little whining noises in his throat. And we shall understand each other, for we are brothers.’
OK on to the Stories—
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG:
This is a romantic drama about a bit of a recluse who inherits a dog ‘Togo’ from his uncle. A common theme to write about people who have never had a dog before, because they have that fresh amazement of how wonderful a dog is.
‘The dog came before I was in any degree prepared for him. I shouldn’t have known what constituted preparing for a dog anyway. I had owned cats—quiet, unemotional, self-sufficient, domestic creatures—but my lot had never been to go into the lion-taming business or to keep a dog.’
In the story the dog helps him to get to start falling for the lady next door, and then get infatuated with her sister, and back to the lady. At one point the lady is accosted by a brute and is aided by the dog. Our hero thinks:
“Hell,” I thought, “hat no fury like a woman scorned, except one whose dog has been kicked.”
In the story they use the phrase ‘Love me, love my dog’ in an interesting way to come to the expected conclusion.
THE MIRACLE:
An extra charming tale of a crippled boy. Sad to think before they discovered the polio vaccine there were a fair number of them. He entertains himself by pretending he is a character in the book Treasure Island. (I remember fondly my dad reading that book with me.) As he can’t get out much, he is forced to look out his window and use his imagination. Then he starts to get regular visits outside of his window by a small black dog –
“Black Dog!” cried Jim Hawkins. He had hardly dared to hope that the little cocker spaniel would come again.
For the dog-
‘Life is, more or less, a quest for new smells, with always the possibility of running upon the rare scent that will lead to a great adventure. That is why one sniffs so eagerly and with always such an air of intense expectancy.’
This story has a bit of a sad part before the expected happy ending.
THE PHANTOM HOUND OF HARDHACK:
‘I have been a long time bringing myself to set down this strange story of Etta Farnsworth and the phantom hound of Hardhack Hill because I have doubted my ability to make it credible. It is not the sort of thing that happens to highly civilized communities where people are born, marry, and die without tragedy and without superstitious terrors.’
Part of what makes this story so fun is the description of this Hardhack Hill and setting a stage for the phantom hound to be its character.
‘It is like a battle-ground of the Titans, who, in their fury, cleft the massive ledges, hurled high the shapeless ridges, and cast about them great, rugged boulders and huge piles of lightning-hewn rocks.’
Poor Etta is blighted with melancholy:
‘No doubt a modern physician would have diagnosed her case quite readily and set it down to nerve-strain, overwork, and lack of natural recreation. But she had a way of casting frightened glances over her shoulder toward Hardhack when the clouds hung low which seemed significant to me.’
Her condition is not helped by some deaths involving her sister Sally and husband John. There is more of the story, but Sally has a baby that dies, and it becomes the obsession of her life and her chief topic of conversation. Then:
‘On the child’s birthday, she announced, she would spend the day on the grave, without food or drink. Some busybody carried the news to John. He grew black but was ominously calm.
“if she does that, I will kill her,” said he.
She did it, and he killed her.’
Anyway, back to the dog aspect, John had a hound named Roderick:
‘He was John’s Hound, a big, rangy, heavy-jawed brute, who partook of his master’s surliness toward the bulk of mankind. But he had redeeming qualities, as most dogs have. He would guard John’s flock of flee-bitten sheep against all comers, and he was a renowned hunter. And I think I never heard of a dog more utterly devoted to one man than was Roderick. When John was in drink, which happened periodically, he had been known to beat the dog cruelly, but without producing the slightest resent on Roderick’s part.’
I imagine you can guess where the story is going, after John gets killed and his dog disappears, and a phantom dog starts to be seen:
‘He was always described as huge, gaunt, and ghostly white. Always he was running and never veered from his course if he caught the scent of man near-by. Always he appeared suddenly and disappeared as if by magic, and always there was the fear which sent men hurrying home, undesirous of a second glimpse.’
I will leave it to you to read the story or imagine the end where Etta’s and Roderick intersect.
THE ARMISTICE:
‘I cannot yet see why it was considered necessary or in any way desirable to introduce another member into our household; particularly a loathsome, evil-minded, treacherous, and altogether useless and selfish Cat. We were, to my way of thinking, quite a complete and satisfactory family group as it was. There were Master and Mistress, without whom, of course, no household could be. There was Baby to provide occupation and a necessary object of worship. There was Nurse to look after Baby; there was Cook to feed us all; and there was myself, the Dog, to look after the rest of them and to make the many comforts of the establishment more completely worth while. It was, I think you will agree with me, a well-balanced organization. The addition of the Gray Devil was, to say the least of it superfluous.’
The dog and the cat don’t get along:
‘The Gray Devil I was implacably resolved to slay. Come what might to me, I was determined to rid our once happy home of the menace of her malignant presence. They might kill me, but I would save them.’
I will let you guess how as the title implies, an armistice comes about between the dog and the Gray Devil.
PALS OF THE SQUAD:
This is the story of a patrolman and his dog Pete. Pete has a rival dog on the force named Vos.
‘Pete, the experts decided, was a full-blooded Airedale terrier of the “outside” type. By that I mean that he bored but slight resemblance to the small, nervous, inbred Airedales that figure at Madison Square Garden in February.’
Sergeant Dorlan found him one day in a motley group of mongrels gathered in a round-up of stray dogs in Manhattan. He resolves to train him to be a Police Dog.
‘The New York police-dogs are not as finely trained as those of Ghent and other European cities. Not as much is asked of them. But they are expected to stick to their official masters, to recognize men in uniforms as friends and all others as possible enemies, to answer at once to the police-whistle or the rap of a night-stick, to hurl themselves upon a man attacking a policeman, to lie still and watch when commanded, to pursue and throw a fleeing criminal, to search around buildings at night, and to give notice by barking of the presence of persons lurking in the shadows. Pete showed not the slightest inclination to do any of these things.’
Of course, the dogs have to come to the rescue, especially when:
‘The policeman had no time to rap or whistle for help, for as he closed in he caught the gleam of a swiftly drawn revolver.’

HOP MING:
This is the story of a missing prize Chow, with a lady playing the part of an amateur detective. The chow is owned by a fine lady and:
‘By her side walks the aristocratic Hop Ming, fluffy-maned, prick-eared, his brush curled tightly over his back, and the characteristic chow scowl between his bright eyes giving him at times a thoughtful and at times a menacing appearance; Hop Ming, twice a champion, possessor of a chest full of silver trophies and blue ribbons, and Miss Cornelia Hutton’s latest enthusiasm.’
Her friend in the story who plays the detective knows that:
“Often it needs the fresh viewpoint of an amateur with brains to straighten out some of these absurd criminal tangles.”
HEZEKIAH:
Is a cute little story of a dog overcoming its fears to come to aid someone, and without giving away what he did, it ends with:
‘For my part, I say that Hezekiah was no less of a hero than some of the grand dogs who wear medals, and he has proved to me that devotion and fidelity may be bred in the breasts of little mongrels of the streets as well as fine dogs born in costly kennels. It is the dog heart and not the pedigree that counts, and the next time I run across a poor, stray, frightened pup, looking as useless and forlorn as any creature can look, I shall say, “There goes a potential hero,” and I shall see what can be done for him.’

THE DOG DOCTOR:
This story has a lonely veterinarian, unlucky at love, but with an affinity for animals. There is a lady involved in the story, and a poor boy with a dog sick with distemper who overcomes his fears to take the dog to the odd vet doctor. Cute little story that in some ways didn’t come together for me but was overall nice. There was not a cure for distemper at that time, but I liked this one bit of part of the cure he forced on the dog:
‘He mixed a wee grog of tea with a drop of whisky in it and poured it down Wishbone’s throat.’
HOME:
This is the story of a fine lady who sees a fine hunting dog in the company of a small boy in a poor part of time and endeavors to take the dog to the countryside where it can be free to follow his natural inclinations.
‘Abington did not realize that she, with her white gaiters and her white furs and her dainty grace of manner, was the most incongruous thing in Rivington Street. It did not cocur to her that she was a much more noticeable object of attention than the little red-haired boy and the old setter dog sitting in the doorway over Jacob Strunsky’s basement hardware establishment.’
‘To Mrs. Abington, swayed by the prejudice which every honest dog lover must confess, a good English setter was the last word in canine development. She fairly gasped at the sheer beauty of this one, at the heart and brain which every motion, every glance reflected. And he was no common member of his breed; she was well enough versed in dog lore to recognize nobility when she saw it.’
‘And there on the door-step beside the red-headed boy, alert but calm and unmoved, sat the contrast of it all, a creature whose attitude and being flooded Mrs. Abington’s mind with visions of brown fields and gorgeous autumn woods, of men in khaki with guns, of the sudden, startling whir of quail and grouse, of the wide ranging of tireless dogs with a scent more keen than eyesight. He appeared to her as the incarnation of the out-of-doors, the genius of wood and field, the spirit of wide spaces, held prisoner within these walls of brick.’
She convinces the boys mom to let her take the dog away but:
‘Meanwhile, a small, red-headed boy, who didn’t count, was wont to sit alone on a hard stone step in the heart of the great, noisy, populous city, gazing out upon the human tide with sullen eyes in which lay the melancholy of a repressed grief.’
Of course for a time the dog takes joy in being in a setting and able to do the work for which his ancestors were bred for but:
‘There came to him a picture of a crowded street that never slept, of a hot city roof whereon lay slumbering forms to be guarded. Who was guarding them now? Who lay, watchful and alert, beside the little master, in that fearful, strange-smelling, strange-sounding city? The touch of kind hands, the sound of kind voices had become an every-day matter in old Spot’s life, but into his heart there crept an intense, insistent longing for just one pair of arms about his neck, for the sound of just one voice in his ear.’
PORTYGEE PETE:
This is the story of a three-masted schooner Homer Bell, Captain David Pike, his fox terrier Middy, and a sailor Portygee Pete. The ship gets caught in a gale and is in the process of being shipwrecked. Hope is kindled when they see a flare from the shore by the surfman there. Sorry, I didn’t find any quotes I wanted to pass on but the description of them fighting the dangerous surf and the efforts to save the crew were wonderful.
PRINCE CHARMING:
This is a truly charming story of a princess in her castle tower, although a passerby would see:
‘We would perhaps have observed a little clapboarded white house, badly needing paint, standing back a little from the street between a blacksmith’s shop and a Chinese laundry. In place of the moat we would have noticed only an uneven brick sidewalk, and the courtyard we would have found crowded full of new gravestones of granite and marble. If we were very observing we might have caught a glimpse of the white face of a serious little girl of ten or thereabouts in a second-story window of the house.’
Those in the book are elevated with magical titles, like the Queen-Mother, the Numidian Giant, and the Oriental Astrologer. Prince charming comes in the form of a dog.
Unfortunately, the dog is picked up by the dog-catcher for not having a muzzle, and the crisis to overcome is to rescue prince charming:
‘She was a woman fighting a woman’s fight for her beloved, and her thoughts were all upon velvet-nosed Prince Charming and the five days left in which he must be rescued or disappear forever.’
KILFANE:
‘It is a rare engagement that does not leave something to be adjusted after marriage.’
Harry Winton and Ruth Emory seem like the perfectly matched pair, but she was afraid of his dog.
‘Ruth, indeed, though she dearly loved horses and was an expert rider, did not care at all for dogs. She could tolerate a cocker spaniel and admire a well-bred collie, but how any one could laish affection on a great brute like Kilfane she could not understand.’
Kilfane was a wolfhound:
‘In the days when the fairies still populated Erin and the instrels sang the ballads of Oisin, the kings of Ireland and their nobles bred the greatest of all dogs for the hunting of the gray wolf and the gigantic Irish elk—a sport for men of heart and brawn. Kin to the greyhound and as fleet, owning the blood of the wire-haired terrier of the north and as gamy as he, this dog was bred the largest and bravest of his kind—the sagh clium, or wolf-dog’
Stories of dog’s changing the hearts of those who don’t like dogs are always one of my favorites.
THE MISSION OF McGREGOR:
This is the story of a poor orphan who finds a dog and I think my favorite:
‘To Howard’s starved heart this close and voiceless comradeship meant joy unspeakable. It was the great friendship that crowned his life. In the warm glow of it his soul opened and expanded. He dreamed of Mac at night. Mac was the center of his first thoughts on awaking. Mac entered into all the plans and activities of his day. Mac was the trusted confidant of his youthful aspirations, the companion of his nautical adventures. Into Mac’s ever-sympathetic ears he poured all his boyish woes and fears. With Mac he set his face toward a rosy to-morrow. And then came the bitter ending of it all.’
Poor orphan stories just work, and you know what they say, like in somewhere in this story, “Every dog should have a boy to play with, and every boy a dog.” (I wonder if that is sexist with today’s standards, what about the girls?). show less