by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER IV
FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY
The best alibi I can think up is that I did it offhand and casual.Somehow, at the time it didn't seem like what people would call animportant step in my career. No. Didn't strike me that way at all.Looked like a side issue, a trifle. There was no long debate overwhether I would or wouldn't, no fam'ly council, no advice from friends.Maybe I took a second look, might have rubbed my chin thoughtful once,and then I said I would.
But most of the big stuff, come to think of it, gets put over like that;from gettin' engaged to havin' the news handed you that you're agrand-daddy. Course, you might be workin' up to it for a long time, butyou're so busy on other lines that you hardly notice. Then all of asudden--Bing! Lots of young hicks' start in on a foxtrot all free andclear, and before the orchestra has swung into the next one-step they'vesaid the fatal words that gets 'em pushing a baby carriage within ayear. Same with a lot of other moves that count big.
Gettin' Buddy wished on us, for instance. I remember, I wasn't payin'much attention to what the barber was sayin'. You don't have to, youknow; 'specially when they're like Joe Sarello, who generally has a lotto say. He'd been discoursin' on several subjects--how his cousin Carmelwas gettin' on with his coal and wood business up in New Rochelle, whatthe League of Nations really ought to do to the Zecho-Slovacks, how muchthe landlord has jumped his rent, and so on.
Then he begun talkin' about pups. I was wonderin' if Joe wasn't takingtoo much hair off the sides, just above the ears. He's apt to when hegets runnin' on. Still, I'd rather take a chance with him than get mytrimmin' done in the big shop at the arcade of the Corrugated Buildin',where they shift their shear and razor artists so often you hardly getto know one by sight before he's missin'. But Joe Sarello, out here atHarbor Hills, with his little two-chair joint opposite the station, he'sa fixture, a citizen. If he gets careless and nicks you on the ear youcan drop in every mornin' and roast him about it. Besides, when he opensa chat he don't have to fish around and guess whether you're a reg'larperson with business in town, or if you're a week-end tourist just blownin from Oconomowoc or Houston. He knows all about you, and the family,and your kitchen help, and about Dominick, who does your outside workand tends the furnace.
He was tellin' me that his litter of pups was comin' on fine. I expect Isays "Uh-huh," or something like that. The news didn't mean much to me.I was about as thrilled as if he'd been quotin' the f. o. b. price ofnew crop Brazil nuts. In fact, he'd mentioned this side line of hisbefore. Barberin' for commuters left him more or less time for suchenterprises. But it might have been Angora goats he was raisin', orwater buffalo, or white mice.
"You no lika da dogs, hey?" asks Joe, kind of hurt.
"Eh?" says I, starin' critical into the mirror to see if he hadn'tamputated more from the left side than the right. "Oh sure! I like dogswell enough. That is, real doggy dogs; not these little imitation parlorinsects, like Poms and Pekes and such. Ain't raisin' that kind, are you,Joe?"
Joe chuckles, unbuttons me from the apron, brushes a lot of short hairdown my neck, and holds a hand mirror so I can get a rear elevation viewof my noble dome. "Hah!" says he. "You must see. I show you dogs what isdogs. Come."
And after I've retrieved my collar and tie I follows him out back wherein a lean-to shed he has a chicken wire pen with a half dozen or so ofas cute, roly-poly little puppies as you'd want to see. They're sort ofrusty brown and black, with comical long heads and awkward big paws, andstubby tails. And the way they was tumbling over each other, tryin' tochew with their tiny teeth, and scrimmagin' around like so many boysplayin' football in a back lot--well, I couldn't help snickerin' justwatchin' 'em for a minute.
"All spoke for but dees wan," says Joe, fishing out one of the lot."Meester Parks he pick heem first wan, but now he hafta go by Chicagoand no can take. Fine chance for you. With beeg place like you got youneed good watch dog. Hey? What you say?"
"What's the breed, Joe?" I asks.
Joe gawps at me disgusted. I expect such ignorance was painful. "Wotkind?" says he. "Wot you t'ink? Airedale."
"Oh, yes! Of course, Airedales," says I, like it was something I'dforgotten.
And then I scratches my head. Hadn't I heard Vee sayin' how she likedsome particular kind of a dog? And wasn't it this kind? Why, sure, itwas. Well, why not? Joe says they're all ready to be delivered, justweaned and everything.
"I'll go you," says I. "How much?"
Say, I had to gasp when Joe names his bargain price. You see, I'd neverbeen shoppin' for dogs before, and I hadn't kept track of the puppymarket quotations. Course, I knew that some of these fancy, full-grownspecimens of classy breeds brought big money at times. But little pupslike this, that you could hold in your hand, or tuck into your overcoatpocket--why, my idea was the people who had 'em sort of distributed 'emaround where they would have good homes; or else in the case of a partylike Joe you might slip him a five or a ten.
No, I ain't tellin' what I paid. Not to anybody. But after sayin' what Ihad I couldn't back out without feelin' like a piker. And when Joe saysconfidential how he's knockin' off ten at that I writes out the checkmore or less cheerful.
"Ought to be good blood in him, at that figure," I suggests.
"Heem!" says Joe. "He got pedigree long lak your arm. Hees mothair eesfrom Lady Glen Ellen III., hees father ees blue ribbon winner two tam,Laird Ben Nevis, what was sell for----"
"Yes, I expect the fam'ly hist'ry's all right," I breaks in. "I'll takeyour word for it. But what do we feed him--dog biscuit?"
"No, no!" says Joe. "Not yet. Some bread wit' milk warm up in pan.T'ree, four tam a day. Bymeby put in leetle scrap cook meat an' let himhave soup bone for chew. Mus' talk to heem all tam. He get wise quick.You see."
"You flatter me, Joe," says I. "Nobody ever got wise from my talkin' to'em. Might be interestin' to try it on a pup, though. So long."
And as I strolls along home with this warm, wriggly bunch of fur in thecrook of my arm I get more and more pleased with myself. As I dopes itout I ought to make quite a hit, presenting Vee with something she'sbeen wantin' a long time. Almost as though I'd had it raised specialfor her, and had been keepin' it secret for months. Looked like I wasdue to acquire merit in the domestic circle, great gobs of it.
"Hey, Vee!" I sings out, as soon as I've opened the livin' room door."Come see what I've brought you."
She wasn't long coming, and I got to admit that when I displays Mr. Pupthe expected ovation don't come off. I don't get mixed up in any fondand impetuous embrace. No. If I must tell the truth she stands therewith her mouth open starin' at me and it.
"Why--why, Torchy!" she gasps. "A puppy?"
"Right, first guess," says I. "By the way you're gawpin' at it, though,it might be a young zebra or a baby hippopotamus. But it's just a merepuppy. Airedale."
"Oh!" says Vee, gaspier than ever. "An--an Airedale?"
"Well?" says I. "Wasn't that the kind I've heard you boostin' allalong?"
"Ye-e-es," says she, draggy, "I--I suppose it was. And I do admire themvery much, but--well, I hadn't really thought of owning one. They--theyare such strenuous dogs, you know; and with the baby and all----"
"Say, take a look!" I breaks in. "Does this one size up like he was achild eater? Here, heft him once." And I hands him over.
Course, it ain't five minutes before she's cuddlin' him up and cooin' tohim, and he's gnawing away at her thumb with his little puppy teeth.
"Such a dear!" says Vee. "And we could keep him out in the garage, andhave Dominick look after him, couldn't we? For they get to be such bigdogs, you know."
"Do they?" says I.
I didn't see quite how they could. Why, this one was about big enough togo in a hat, that's all, and he was nearly two months old. But say, whatI didn't know about Airedale pups was a heap. Grow! Honest, you couldalmost watch him lengthen out and fill in. Yet for a couple of weeksthere he was no more'n a kitten, and just as cute and playful. Everynight after dinner I'd spend about an hour rollin'
him over on his backand lettin' him bite away at my bare hand. He liked to get hold of mytrouser leg, or Vee's dress, or the couch cover, or anything else thatwas handy, and tug away and growl. Reg'lar circus to see him.
And then I begun to find scratches on my hands. The little rascal wasgettin' a full set of puppy teeth. Sharp as needles, too. I noticed afew threads pulled out of my sleeve. And once when he got a good grip onVee's skirt he made a rip three inches long. But he was so cunnin' aboutit we only laughed.
"You young rough houser!" I'd say, and push him over. He'd come rightback for more, though, until he was tuckered and then he'd stretch outon something soft and sleep with one paw over his nose while we watchedadmirin'.
We had quite a time findin' a name for him. I got Joe to give hispedigree all written out and we was tryin' to dope out from thatsomething that would sound real Scotch. Vee got some kennel catalogues,too, and read over some of those old Ian MacLaren stories for names, butwe couldn't hit on one that just suited. Meanwhile I begins callin' himBuddy, as the boys did everybody in the army, and finally Vee insiststhat it's exactly the name for him.
"He's so rough and ready," says she.
"He's rough, all right," says I, examinin' a new tooth mark on the backof my hand.
And he kept on gettin' rougher. What he really needed, I expect, was acouple of cub bears to exercise his teeth and paws on; good, husky,tough-skinned ones, at that. Not havin' 'em he took it out on us. Oh,yes. Not that he was to blame, exactly. We'd started him that way, andhe seemed to like the taste of me 'specially.
"They're one-man dogs, you know," says Vee.
"Meanin'," says I, "that they like to chew one man at a time. See myright wrist. Looks like I'd shoved it through a pane of glass. Hey, youtarrier! Lay off me for a minute, will you? For the love of soup eatsomething else. Here's a slipper. Now go to it."
And you should see him shake and worry that around the room. Almost asgood as a vaudeville act--until I discovers that he's gnawed a holeclear through the toe. "Gosh!" says I. "My favorite slipper, too."
At four months he was no longer a handful. He was a lapful, and thensome. Somewhere near twenty-five pounds, as near as we could judge byholding him on the bathroom scales for the fraction of a second. Andmuch too lively for any lap. Being cuddled wasn't his strong point.Hardly. He'd be all over you in a minute, clawin' you in the face withhis big paws and nippin' your ear or grabbin' a mouthful of hair; allplayful enough, but just as gentle as being tackled by a quarterback onan end run.
And he was gettin' wise, all right. He knew to the minute when mealtimecame around, and if he wasn't let out on the kitchen porch where hischow was served he thought nothing of scratchin' the paint off a door ortryin' to chew the knob. Took only two tries to teach him to stand up onhis hind legs and walk for his meals, as straight as a drum major. Alsohe'd shake hands for a bit of candy, and retrieve a rubber ball. Butchiefly he delighted to get a stick of soft wood and go prancin' throughthe house with it, rappin' the furniture or your shins as he went, andend up by chewin' it to bits on the fireplace hearth rug. Or it might bea smelly old bone that he'd smuggled in from outside. You could guessthat would get Vee registerin' a protest and I'd have to talk to Buddy.
"Hey!" I'd remark, grabbin' him by the collar. "Whaddye think this is, asoap fact'ry? Leggo that shin-bone."
"Gr-r-r-r!" he'd remark back, real hostile, and roll his eyes menacin'.
At which Vee would snicker and observe: "Now isn't he the dearest thingto do that, Torchy? Do let him have his booful bone there. I'll spread anewspaper under it."
Her theory was good, only Buddy didn't care to gnaw his bone on anevening edition. He liked eatin' it on the Turkish rug better. Andthat's where he did eat it. That was about the way his trainin' workedout in other things. We had some perfectly good ideas about what heshould do; he'd have others, quite different; and we'd compromise. Thatis, we'd agree that Buddy was right. Seemed to me about the only thingto do, unless you had all day or all night to argue with him and showhim where he was wrong. I could keep it up for an hour or two. Then Ieither got hoarse or lost my disposition.
You remember there was some talk of keepin' him in the garage at first.Anyway, it was mentioned. And he was kept there the first night, untilsomewhere around 2 A. M. Then I trailed out in a bathrobe and slippersand lugged him in. He'd howled for three hours on a stretch and seemedto be out for the long-distance championship. Not havin' looked up thepast performances in non-stop howlin' I couldn't say whether he'd hungup a new record or not. I was willin' to concede the point. Besides, Iwanted a little sleep, even if he didn't. I expect we was lucky that hepicks out a berth behind the kitchen stove as the proper place for himto snooze. He might have fancied the middle of our bed. If he had, we'dcamped on the floor, I suppose.
Another good break for us was the fact that he was willin' to betethered out daytimes on a wire traveler that Dominick fixed up for him.Course, he did dig up a lot of Vee's favorite dahlia bulbs, and healmost undermined a corner of the kitchen wing when he set out to put achoice bone in cold storage, but he was so comical when he tamped thebone down with his nose that Vee didn't complain.
"We can have the hole filled in and sodded over next spring," says Vee.
"Huh!" I says. "By next spring he'll be big enough to tunnel clear underthe house."
Looked like he would. At five months Buddy weighed 34 pounds and tojudge by his actions most of him was watchspring steel geared in highspeed. He was as hard as nails all over and as quick-motioned as a cat.I'd got into the habit of turnin' him loose when I came home andindulgin' in a half hour's rough house play with him. Buddy liked that.He seemed to need it in his business of growin' up. If I happened toforget, he wasn't backward in remindin' me of the oversight. He'ddeveloped a bark that was sort of a cross between an automobile shriekerand throwin' a brick through a plate glass window, and when he put hiswhole soul into expressin' his feelin's that way everybody within a mileneeded cotton in their ears. So I'd drape myself in an old raincoat, puton a pair of heavy drivin' gauntlets, and frisk around with him.
No doubt about Buddy's being glad to see me on them occasions. Hisaffection was deep and violent. He'd let out a few joy yelps, take aturn around the yard, and then come leapin' at me with his mouth openand his eyes rollin' wild. My part of the game was to grab him by theback of the neck and throw him before he could sink his teeth into anypart of me. Sometimes I missed. That was a point for Buddy. Then I'd pryhis jaws loose and he'd dash off for another circle. I couldn't say howthe score averaged. I was too busy to keep count. About fifty-fiftywould be my guess. Anyway, it did Buddy a lot of good and must have beenfine practice. If he ever has to stop an offensive on the part of aninvadin' bull-dog he'll be in good trim. He'd tackle one, all right. Thebook we bought says that an Airedale will go up a tree after a mountainlion. I can believe it. I've never seen Buddy tuck his tail down foranything on four legs. Yet he ain't the messy kind. He don't seemanxious to start anything. But I'll bet he'd be a hard finisher.
And he sure is a folksy dog with the people he knows around the house.Most of 'em he treats gentler than he does me, which shows that he's gotsome sense. And when it comes to the baby; why, say, he'll gaze asadmirin' at young Master Richard toddlin' around as if he was some bloodrelation; followin' him everywhere, with that black nose nuzzled underone of the youngster's arms, or with a sleeve held tender in his teeth.Any kid at all Buddy is strong for. He'll leave a bone or his play anytime he catches sight of one, and go prancin' around 'em, waggin' hisstubby tail friendly and inviting 'em to come have a romp.
Maybe you wouldn't accuse Buddy of being handsome. I used to thinkAiredales was about the homeliest dogs on the list. Mostly, you know,they're long on nose. It starts between their ears and extends straightout for about a foot. Gives 'em kind of a simple expression. But you geta good look into them brown eyes of Buddy's, 'specially when he'slistenin' to you with his head cocked on one side and an ear turnedwrong side out, and you'll decide he must have so
me gray matterconcealed somewhere. Then there's that black astrakan coat-effect on hisback, and the clean-cut lines of his deep chest and slim brown legs,which are more or less decorative. Anyway he got so he looked kind ofgood to me.
Like people, though, Buddy had his bad days. Every once in a while hisfondness for chewin' things would get him in wrong. Then he'd have tobe scolded. And you can't tell me he don't know the meanin' of the wordswhen you call him a "bad, bad dog." No, sir. Why, he'd drop his head andtail and sneak into a corner as if he'd been struck with a whip. Andhalf an hour later he'd be up to the same sort of mischief. I asked JoeSarello about it.
"Ah!" says Joe, shruggin' his shoulders. "Hees puppy yet. Wanna do w'athe lak, all tam. He know better, but he strong in the head. You gottabeat him up good. No can hurt. Tough lak iron. Beat him up."
But Vee won't have it. I didn't insist. I didn't care much for the job.So Buddy gets off by being informed stern that he'd a bad, bad dog.
And then here the other day I comes home to find Buddy locked in thegarage and howlin' indignant. Vee says he mustn't be let out, either.
"What's the idea?" I asks.
Then I gets the whole bill of complaint. It seems Buddy has started theday by breakin' loose from his wire and chasin' the chickens all overthe place. He'd cornered our pet Rhode Island Red rooster and nipped outa mouthful of tail feathers. It took the whole household and some of theneighbors to get him to quit that little game.
This affair had almost been forgiven and he was havin' his lunch on theback porch when Vee's Auntie blows in unexpected for a little visit.Before anybody has time to stop him Buddy is greetin' her in his usualimpetuous manner. He does it by plantin' his muddy forepaws in threeplaces on the front of her dress and then grabbin' her gold lorgnetteplayful, breakin' the chain, and runnin' off with the loot.
I expect that was only Buddy's idea of letting her know that he welcomedher as a member of the fam'ly in good standin'. But Auntie takes itdifferent. She asks Vee why we allow a "horrible beast like that to runat large." She's a vivid describer, Auntie. She don't mind droppin' aword of good advice now and then either. While she's being sponged offand brushed down she recommends that we get rid of such a dangerousanimal as that at once.
So Buddy is tied up again outside. But it appears to be his day fordoing the wrong thing. Someone has hung Vee's best evenin' wrap out on aline to air after having a spot cleaned. It's the one with the silverfox fur on the collar. And it's hung where Buddy can just reach it.Well, you can guess the rest. Any kind of a fox, deceased or otherwise,is fair game for Buddy. It's right in his line. And when they discoveredwhat he was up to there wasn't a piece of that fur collar big enough tomake an ear muff. Parts of the wrap might still be used for polishin'the silver. Buddy seemed kind of proud of the thorough job he'd made.
Well, Vee had been 'specially fond of that wrap. She'd sort of blownherself when she got it, and you know how high furs have gone to thesedays. I expect she didn't actually weep, but she must have been near it.And there was Auntie with more stern advice. She points out how a brutedog with such destructive instincts would go on and on, chewin' up firstone valuable thing and then another, until we'd have nothing left butwhat we had on.
Buddy had been tried and found guilty in the first degree. Sentence hadbeen passed. He must go.
"Perhaps your barber friend will take him back," says Vee. "Or theEllinses might want him. Anyway, he's impossible. You must get rid ofhim tonight. Only I don't wish to know how, or what becomes of him."
"Very well," says I, "if that's the verdict."
I loads Buddy ostentatious into the little roadster and starts off, withhim wantin' to sit all over me as usual, or else drapin' himself on thedoor half-way out of the car. Maybe I stopped at Joe Sarello's, maybe Ionly called at the butcher's and collected a big, juicy shin-bone.Anyway, it was' after dark when I got back and when I came in to dinnerI was alone.
The table chat that evenin' wasn't quite as lively as it generally is.And after we'd been sitting around in the livin' room an hour or so witheverything quiet, Vee suddenly lets loose with a sigh, which is a newstunt for her. She ain't the sighin' kind. But there's no mistake aboutthis one.
"Eh?" says I, lookin' up.
"I--I hope you found him a good home," says she.
"Oh!" says I. "The impossible beast? Probably as good as he deserves."
Then we sat a while longer.
"Little Richard was getting very fond of him," Vee breaks out again.
"Uh-huh," says I.
We went upstairs earlier than usual. There wasn't so much to do aboutgettin' ready--no givin' Buddy a last run outside, or makin' him shake agood night with his paw, or seein' that he had water in his dish.Nothing but turnin' out the lights. Once, long after Vee should havebeen asleep. I thought I heard her snifflin', but I dozed off againwithout makin' any remark.
I must have been sawin' wood good and hard, too, when I wakes up to findher shakin' me by the shoulder.
"Listen, Torchy," she's sayin'. "Isn't that Buddy's bark?"
"Eh? Buddy?" says I. "How could it be?"
"But it is!" she insists. "It's coming from the garage, too."
"Well, that's odd," says I. "Maybe I'd better go out and see."
I was puzzled all right, in spite of the fact that I'd left him therewith his bone and had made Dominick promise to stick around and quiethim if he began yelpin'. But this wasn't the way Buddy generally barkedwhen he was indignant. He was lettin' 'em out short and crisp. Theysounded different somehow, more like business. And the light was turnedon in the garage!
First off I thought Dominick must be there. Maybe I wouldn't have dashedout so bold if I'd doped it out any other way. I hadn't thought of carthieves. Course, there had been some cases around, mostly young hicksfrom the village stealin' joy-rides. But I hadn't worried about theirwantin' to take my little bus. So I arrives on the jump.
And there in a corner of the garage are two young toughs, jumpin' anddodgin' at a lively rate, with Buddy sailin' into 'em for all he's worthand givin' out them quick short battle cries. One of the two has justmanaged to get hold of a three-foot length of galvanized water pipe andis swingin' vicious at Buddy when I crashes in.
Well, we had it hectic for a minute or so there, but it turns out a drawwith no blood shed, although I think Buddy and I could have made 'emsorry they came if they hadn't made a break and got past us. And when wegets back to where Vee is waitin' with the fire-poker in her hand Buddystill waves in his teeth a five-inch strip of brown mixture trousering.
"You blessed, blessed Buddy!!" says Vee, after she's heard the tale.
Oh, yes, Buddy finished the night behind the stove in the kitchen. Iguess he's kind of earned his right to that bunk. Course, he ain'tsprouted any wings yet, but he's gettin' so the sight of a switch wavedat him works wonders. Some day, perhaps, he'll learn to be less carelesswhat he exercises them sharp teeth of his on. Last night it was theleather covering on the library couch--chewed a hole half as big as yourhand.
"Never mind," says Vee. "We can keep a cushion over it."
