Renni the Rescuer

by Felix Salten

  After a short, grim laugh came the answer: “The man would have to be remarkably patient and the dog wonderfully gifted.” Renni’s head was lying on George’s knee. He stroked it tenderly. Vogg continued as if he were thinking aloud, “Without whipping? . . . Nowadays, trainers who make lions or tigers jump through burning hoops or do some other stupid thing, why, these fellows actually assert they’ve accomplished it without punishment. I don’t believe it.” He was almost shouting now. “I can’t, and don’t, and won’t believe it!” Again he gave a short, angry laugh. “It’s a lie, of course. Why should lions and tigers squat on silly pedestals, or ride on trembling horses, or do all those other fool things out of sheer good nature? You can tell just by looking at them how scared they are, how their spirit has been crushed out of them. Without whipping, without the iron bar, the rhinoceros whip and all the other tortures! Blazes! It’s absurd!

  “The public swallow such confounded crazy lies because they want to enjoy a thrill without having their consciences hurt them. Writers tell the dear people that a tiger can be happy only in prison. And the dear people believe what they’re told. All you need do is say something firmly enough and keep on saying it, and people will believe it no matter how absurd it is, how impossible. The legend that wild beasts from India and Africa long for the cage and the circus is far from the worst lie that’s being swallowed hook, line and sinker. Merciful God! They’re crowding far more horrible things than that into the empty heads and the calloused hearts of men. The poison is spreading like a contagion. Like a plague. Just because it’s dinned into them, people here in Europe accept the crushing idea that men themselves prefer slavery to freedom! . . . Well, let’s not talk about it.”

  He stopped and sat brooding, staring straight ahead. George was afraid to disturb him. Finally the man lifted his eyes again. “What was it I really wanted to say?”

  George said in a low tone, “I don’t know.”

  Vogg said, “I’m sorry. I get off the track when I’m talking with someone who treats dogs properly . . . . Well, come here to me, Renni.”

  The dog walked over to him at once. “You have a good master.” Renni wagged his tail and arched his body in pure friendliness.

  Chapter VI

  FOR DAYS AT A TIME rain had been pouring from the grey heavens. The water splashed incessantly on the roof, in the garden, in the street. The rain kept on obstinately without a pause, drumming loud at nights on the windowpanes, and the air had turned icy cold.

  Renni was let out for a run only now and then. He lay in front of the fireplace watching the flames contentedly with Kitty crowding close to his breast. She too watched the play of the flames with a deep show of interest. Renni, overcome by drowsiness, would blink and try to bed his head on his forepaws, but every time he tried it the cat would slap him warningly in the face. Renni would quiver, wake up obediently, hold up his head for a while until he got too drowsy again; then his head would sink slowly and he would get another warning. Finally he threw himself over on his side, and Kitty cuddled up against his neck. Now he could sleep.

  Once his master’s voice awakened him. George stood at the window and asked his mother, “Do you see what I see?”

  Mother Marie looked fixedly at the garden gate. “It looks like a bundle of rags washed down by the rain.”

  “No,” said George. “That rag bag moved just now. There it goes again. It’s alive.” He hastened to the entryway and rushed out. Lying close against the garden gate was an old, slick-haired pointer in a terrible state, completely exhausted, covered from head to foot with mud. He was dripping with rain and shivering. He shrank back in terror when the gate opened and drew into himself when George came near him. He tried to dodge, but he was too weak. He crouched down flat against the soaking wet ground and looked up fearfully and pitifully as only a dying animal can.

  “You poor chap,” said George softly. “Come on in.”

  But the dog did not dare risk a movement. “Come! Come on!” George begged him in gentlest tones. He was shocked. Still the dog did not move. George stooped down, petted the wet skin, felt the horrible thinness, and went on talking in a kind voice.

  “Come on, I want to help you. You’re hungry and cold. Trust me. Come on! Come on!”

  The dog looked up at George’s smiling face, doubting, amazed; he hesitated but finally began to understand that nothing threatened him. Still George had to push him over the threshold into the garden, had to encourage him with words and sometimes help him with his hands until at last he got the pointer to follow him, on crouching legs. In the entryway George rubbed him partially dry. It took a good many old rags and pieces of sacking.

  “Wait,” said Mother Marie. “I think there’s some milk and rice left. The poor thing’s almost starved to death. Let’s see whether he can eat anything at all, and if he eats it whether he can keep it down.” She too was deeply moved.

  At first the dog did not even dare to come up to the dish. Mother and son coaxed him. Finally he made up his mind, screwed up his courage and in the twinkling of an eye swallowed the few bites of soft rice that were allowed him.

  “That’s enough for the moment,” warned Mother Marie. “Give him a swallow of warm milk. Not much. Just a little.”

  George held the pointer’s muzzle shut, lifted his lips at one side so they made a kind of funnel and poured a teaspoonful of the milk down his throat. Then another and another. The dog accepted them as he had everything else, without will of his own. He seemed empty of life, almost unconscious.

  “Now a bed for him and a warm cover,” said George.

  Then they carried him to the kitchen stove from which the heat was still pouring, wrapped him up in an old quilt and laid him down carefully. The trembling had ceased. He went to sleep under their hands, the deep sleep of utter exhaustion.

  Meanwhile Renni had been snuffling and blowing with loud puffs outside the kitchen door. “In the morning, old boy, in the morning,” George comforted him. Renni knew there was a strange dog in the house and it was a long time before he quieted down.

  Even the next day Renni did not get to see the pointer for some little while. Only the kitten slipped into the room where they were washing the creature. There she sat on the little window sill, daintily washing her face. Once she’d seen the old pointer, her curiosity was satisfied. He stood unresisting, without any will of his own, in the warm water of the wooden tub, while the cleansing waves poured over him. Twice, three times mother and son filled the tub with fresh warm water, and every time the tub had to be washed out. They took great pains. When at length they let the hunter go, they helped him out of the tub and watched him shake himself, not very vigorously, for he did not have strength enough for that. Still, a fine spray of drops showered around his pitiful figure.

  “He must have been handsome once on a time,” George said, while Mother Marie busied herself rubbing the pointer dry. Big, brown spots appeared on his coat. His breast was snow-white, and his head brown with a narrow white stripe running from his nose up to his forehead. His dark brown ears hung low. They were so long they could be pulled together over his nose. There were scattering brown marks on his legs.

  “He’s going to be handsome again soon,” promised the mother, “if we can feed him up well.”

  “What’ll we call him?” asked George.

  They tried ever so many names but the pointer answered to none of them.

  “Let’s call him Nemo,” suggested George, who knew a little Latin. “He really isn’t anybody. Just a shipwrecked life, a lost soul.”

  Nemo had quickly swallowed a second portion of milk and rice. Then they brought him out into the hall. He still crept along with his legs bent and his tail close between his legs. So he met Renni. And at first he appeared terror-stricken. Renni was interested. Nemo threw himself on his back and stretched his four legs out—a gesture which meant, “Please don’t hurt me.” Renni had not the slightest idea of hurting the pitiful guest. He wagged his tail affectionately, sniffin
g Nemo all over. Kitty came up and thrust an experimental paw at the stranger. He was puzzled by the cat, puzzled by Renni’s friendliness. Very, very slowly he gathered himself together and risked a shy kiss in Renni’s direction. But he only reached one eye. Renni did not mind. On the contrary, he set in to wash the poor thin face thoroughly with his tongue.

  “Well,” smiled Mother Marie, “they’re going to make friends.”

  “Renni likes to get along well with everybody,” declared George. “He realises that Nemo is out of luck.”

  “Kitty seems to feel that too,” Mother Marie pointed out. There were three now bedded down together on Renni’s mattress.

  Nemo went to sleep again at once. Kitty crawled up, purred a while, and then fell asleep. Renni acted as though he were going to keep watch over them but in a few minutes he too drowsed off. In the middle of the night Nemo waked, stretched and sighed. Renni immediately was wide awake. That went along with his ability to fall asleep instantly, a gift he shared with all dogs. Kitty didn’t move. It was pitch dark in the house.

  “Why are you so sad?” asked Renni.

  “I want my master,” whispered Nemo.

  “You ought to have stayed with Him.”

  “How can I stay with Him when He drives me away?”

  “If He drove you away, why do you want Him?”

  “But . . . I love Him . . . in spite . . . ”

  “Why would He drive you away?”

  “Well, because I’m old, because I’m no longer good for anything. Oh, the last few days were terrible. Blows, nothing to eat, kicks.”

  “I don’t know anything about such things.”

  “Why, I always got whipped. A long time ago He whipped me whenever I couldn’t resist running after a rabbit. Of course, that was forbidden.”

  “You oughtn’t to have done it.”

  “I got over the habit, but how much pain it caused me! Or perhaps I could not find a partridge that He’d shot. A whipping for me! Maybe He’d really missed it. Still . . . a whipping.”

  “And you love Him, you dumb dog?”

  “No, I’m not dumb. Not at all. Oh, but He was nice to me, too. It was wonderful to be petted by Him when He was happy. I can never forget it . . . . Alas, He wasn’t happy very often.”

  “And can you forget how He drove you away?”

  “No, that was too awful.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “He kicked me out of the house. In spite of the pain in my body I scratched at His door. He whipped me away. Again and again. I felt as if I were going to die.”

  Kitty’s fine voice said, “I can’t understand you people. Things like that could happen to me only once, and a mighty short once, too. I’d scratch. I’d scratch until He bled, and then I’d run away.” Now with her back arched and her fur bristling with sparks she looked savage indeed. The dogs stared at her.

  “Don’t you love your master then?” stammered Renni.

  “Nobody’s my master,” declared Kitty. “To obey anyone who likes to whip—only you silly dogs are capable of that.”

  “I don’t know you when you’re like this,” said Renni in a humble tone.

  “Well then, you know me now.” Kitty quieted down, rolled up gently against Renni’s side and purred. For a while they were all silent.

  “What a kind master you have!” whispered Nemo. “I envy you. It’s great to have a thing like this happen to me at the end of my life. I’d never have thought there was so much kindness anywhere, so much pity. I haven’t any way to tell you how much good the help I’ve received here has done me. I was on my last legs after wandering about for days in this awful weather, after the loneliness, the hunger. It took all my strength. I’d like to love your master . . . but I don’t know. Love for my old master, cruel as He was to me, is still firm in my heart. I can’t root it out. Do you hear me?”

  But nether Kitty nor Renni heard the poor pointer’s whispering. They were asleep. For a long time Nemo looked sadly into the dark. Finally slumber wrapped him too. Uneasy dreams brought back vague images of the suffering he had endured. His legs pressed close against his body, twitching violently as though he were running. He whimpered in a high, choking voice which did not reach very far. Much later he slipped into the depths of unconscious sleep, and that gave him strength again.

  There is a barrier between man and beast; even when they live together on the best of terms, distance lies between them. Those two good people, George and his mother, had not the slightest inkling of the night-time conversation of their protégés. They were happy to see the friendship which Renni, Kitty and Nemo had formed. They were happy when the three ate their meals together from the same dish, and when Renni and Kitty drew back to leave most of it to Nemo, who devoured all that was left in gluttonous eagerness.

  “Renni acts like a gentleman,” George praised his dog.

  “And Kitty is a perfect lady,” smiled Mother Marie.

  “Look, won’t you, Mother? Nemo’s already getting a little stronger.”

  He called the pointer, who at once crept humbly up, lay down and rolled over on his back at George’s feet, wagging his tail timidly. George petted him, talked kindly to him.

  “Now, Nemo, don’t you be afraid. Don’t act so queer,” he said.

  It did not help. The old dog was hearing a strange name instead of the one he was used to. He had found a place of safety here, but he did not feel at home. His thoughts were elsewhere. At every second he expected some new abuse, and he could not believe in this continuing kindness. There was something uncanny about it. It disturbed him. Renni watched while Nemo was petted, without the slightest jealousy. Kitty often challenged Nemo to play, but Nemo could not play. Real freedom prevailed only when the three animals were left alone. George and his mother accepted the shy nature of the pointer, and gave up trying to change him or make a closer friendship with him.

  Chapter VII

  LIFE GLIDED ALONG IN THE same old peaceful way.

  “I’m anxious to try an experiment, to see whether kindness can accomplish all that we hope. Or more. You see, Mother, don’t you, how clever and willing Renni is? If it can be done, fine! If not, well, I’ll just let it go.”

  “What are you going to make of him?”

  “I don’t want him to become cruel, a man-hunter, leaping at the throats of criminals. That wouldn’t be the sort of job I’d like myself. Renni must be helpful. Do good. That’s what he’s fitted for by nature.”

  Now an interesting time began, for, very quietly George started to try Renni out in methodical training. To his delight he found remarkable talents in the dog, gifts which were quite obviously awakened by kindness, and increased more and more by praise. Again and again George caught a certain look in Renni’s eyes. A look of unlimited confidence, of utter devotion, and not only eagerness to understand, but joyful understanding itself. Moreover, there was a mute, insistent questioning, as though Renni encouraged George to give him some sort of command, which he would be eager to obey.

  It took very little to induce Renni to lie still when George walked away, perfectly still instead of jumping up and running after him. That was the first lesson. George would say, “Lie down, old man,” and Renni, at the fifth or sixth trial, grasped what was wanted of him. He would drop as though struck by lightning at the first word of the command. He was praised and petted without stint. George talked to him often and long, and Renni would listen with ears pricked up, nose pointed down.

  “We’re going to do something really worth while, we two,” said George. “We’ll show Karl all right what can be done without the whip. Perhaps then he’ll treat poor Pasha better, eh?”

  Renni acted as though he understood every word. The only thing he lacked was speech. The only thing, thought George, and every time he felt himself strangely moved by the word “only.” How close a dog can get to a man, and still how far, how very far we stay from each other, in spite of our friendship and devotion.

  * * *

 
It was a long time before Renni reached the point where he understood George’s outstretched hand as a sign for him to lie down. It was a long time before he would let George go away, would stay quietly in his place and only hurry after him when George raised his arm or called. Many a time during this period of training vexation welled up in George’s heart and he was near scolding, but he always took a few deep breaths and recalled his thoughts about the helpless fellow. And then he remembered, “Why, we’ve started Renni out a good deal younger than is usually recommended. I mustn’t forget that, must I, old man?” Sometimes he would stand in front of Renni and say softly to him, “How could anyone mistreat you, brother of mine?” So, ordinarily, good nature took the place of vexation. Yet, alone with the dog, George had a pretty tough time of it. He kept their difficulties from his mother. They took the most serious pains. They went out in the afternoons a long way from town, a long way from home, and if Renni had anything to do with it, a long way from Karl. Renni didn’t like to have Karl around one little bit, and felt he could get along nicely without Pasha.

  Meanwhile Nemo sunned himself on the gravel paths of the garden, accepting the kitten’s coquetry indifferently and the mother’s kindness with great humility. He rested as only a weary, broken exile rests after a life painful and burdensome.

  George and Renni did not work with any degree of regularity. There were days when George did not feel like it, gave it up and let his thoughts wander elsewhere—to memories of Olga, the wish for a new friend, man or woman, or the little everyday worries of his life.

  And then at times it was Renni who did not seem interested. He would apparently have forgotten all he had learned and be unable to learn anything new. The two would walk along mechanically side by side. Sometimes Renni would run ahead and swing about in wide circles; then at the least call he would come back to George’s left side. For in all circumstances and no matter what his humour, he was always obedient.

  * * *