The Dog Megapack
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COPYRIGHT INFO
The Dog Megapack: 25 Curly Canine Tales, Old and New is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. Cover art copyright © Complot / Fotolia. All rights reserved. For more information, contact the publisher.
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“Introduction: Between a Bark and a Ruff Place,” by Robert Reginald, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.
“My Friend Bobby,” by Alan E. Nourse, was originally published in Orbit #3, July-August, 1954.
“Neb,” by Robert Reginald, was originally published in Xenograffiti: Essays on Fantastic Literature and Other Divers Topics, Sceond Edition, by Robert Reginald, The Borgo Press, 2005, and was reprinted in Romanian as “Nab,” by Robert Reginald, translated by Petru Iamandi, in Axis Libri, An IV, nr. 11, Iunie, 2011. Copyright © 2005, 2011, 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.
“The Monster,” by S. M. Tenneshaw, was originally published in Amazing Stories, April, 1949.
“The Dogs of Hannoie,” by E. C. Tubb, was originally published in Science Fantasy #15, September, 1955. Copyright © 1955 by E. C. Tubb; Copyright © 2013 by Lisa John. Published by arrangement with Lisa John and the author’s agent, Cosmos Literary Agency.
“Guard Dog,” by Robert Hood, was originally published in Time Warps, edited by Paul Collins and Meredith Costain. Melbourne: Longman, 2002. Copyright © 2002, 2013 by Robert Hood. Published by arrangement with the author.
“Grab a Knife and Save a Life,” by Mark E. Burgess, was originally published as Chapter One of Dog Daze and Cat Naps: A Vet Student’s Odyssey, by Mark E. Burgess, Borgo Press, 2011. Copyright © 2011, 2013 by Mark E. Burgess. Published by arrangement with the author.
“Dogs Questing,” by John Gregory Betancourt, was originally published in Grails: Quest, Visitations, and Other Occurrences, edited by Richard Gilliam, Martin H. Greenberg, and Edward E. Kramer. Unnameable Press, 1992. Copyright © 1992, 2013 by John Gregory Betancourt. Published by arrangement with the author.
“The Beast of Space,” by F. E. Hardart was originally published in Comet, July, 1941.
“Spirit Dog,” by Jack Dann, was originally published in The Crow: Shattered Lives and Broken Dreams, edited by Ed Kramer and J. O’Barr, Del Rey/Ballantine Books, 1998. Copyright © 1998, 2013 by Jack Dann. Published by arrangement with the author.
“Little Doggerel,” by Robert Reginald, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.
“The Sound of the Barkervilles,” by Robert Reginald, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”
The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Mary Wickizer Burgess, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!). This volume was edited by Robert Reginald and Mary Wickizer Burgess.
—John Betancourt
Publisher, Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidepress.com
A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS
The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)
RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?
Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).
Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.
TYPOS
Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.
If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at wildsidepress@yahoo.com or use the message boards above.
THE MEGAPACK SERIES
MYSTERY
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Anna Katharine Green Megapack
The Charlie Chan Megapack
The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack
The Dashiell Hammett Megapack
The Detective Megapack
The Father Brown Megapack
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack
The Mystery Megapack
The Penny Parker Megapack
The Pulp Fiction Megapack
The Raffles Megapack
The Victorian Mystery Megapack
The Wilkie Collins Megapack
GENERAL INTEREST
The Adventure Megapack
The Baseball Megapack
The Cat Megapack
The Second Cat Megapack
The Christmas Megapack
The Second Christmas Megapack
The Classic American Short Stories Megapack
The Classic Humor Megapack
The Military Megapack
SCIENCE FICTION, FANTASY, HORROR
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Edward Bellamy Megapack
The E.F. Benson Megapack
The Second E.F. Benson Megapack
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack
The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack
The Philip K. Dick Megapack
The Ghost Story Megapack
The Second Ghost Story Megapack
The Third Ghost Story Megapack
The Horror Megapack
The M.R. James Megapack
The Murray Leinster Megapack
The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
The Macabre Megapack
The Second Macabre Megapack
The Martian Megapack
The Mummy Megapack
The Andre Norton Megapack
The Pinocchio Megapack
The H. Beam Piper Megapack
The Pulp Fiction Megapack
The Randall Garrett Megapack
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack
The First Science Fiction Megapack
The Second Science Fiction Megapack
The Third Science Fiction Megapack
The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack
The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack
The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack
The Robert Sheckley Megapack
The Steampunk Megapack
The Time Travel Megapack
The Vampire Megapack
The Werewolf Megapack
The Wizard of Oz Megapack
WESTERNS
The B.M. Bower Megapack
The Max Brand Megapack
The Buffalo Bill Megapack
The Cowboy Megapack
The Zane Grey Megapack
The Western Megapack
The Second Western Megapack
The Wizard of Oz Megapack
YOUNG ADULT
The Boys’ Adventure Megapack
The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack
The G.A. Henty M
egapack
The Rover Boys Megapack
The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack
The Tom Swift Megapack
AUTHOR MEGAPACKS
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Edward Bellamy Megapack
The B.M. Bower Megapack
The E.F. Benson Megapack
The Second E.F. Benson Megapack
The Max Brand Megapack
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack
The Wilkie Collins Megapack
The Guy de Maupassant Megapack
The Philip K. Dick Megapack
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack
The Randall Garrett Megapack
The Anna Katharine Green Megapack
The Zane Grey Megapack
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack
The Dashiell Hammett Megapack
The M.R. James Megapack
The Murray Leinster Megapack
The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
The Andre Norton Megapack
The H. Beam Piper Megapack
The Mack Reynolds Megapack
The Rafael Sabatini Megapack
The Saki Megapack
The Robert Sheckley Megapack
INTRODUCTION: BETWEEN A BARK AND A RUFF PLACE, by Robert Reginald
Almost everyone likes dogs, even those who prefer cats as pets (well, almost everyone: Ambrose Bierce abhored anything small and furry, not to mention babies, as can be seen here in his mordant tale, “Oil of Dog”!). So it’s not surprising that writers have devoted a great deal of verbiage indeed to describe their ongoing love affair with the canine breed.
This anthology is a case in point. Here you’ll find all kinds of tales focusing on dogs: science fiction stories, mysteries, horror stories, westerns, memoirs and memorials, humorous accounts, and first-person doggie narratives, not to mention some poignant poetry. You’ll also read some true classics of the genre: “The Call of the Wild,” by Jack London; “A Dog of Flanders,” by Ouida;
and “Kazan,” by James Oliver Curwood, to name but a few.
Plus a few surprises as well. We’d completely forgotten that the early American classic, “Rip Van Winkle,” revolved around a dog, as does Saki’s equally famous ironic short-short, “The Open Window.” We’re pleased to feature both of these tales within.
Plus…plus the unusual story-poem, “Mercy’s Reward,” by Sir Edwin Arnold; Robert W. Chambers’s marvelous romance, “A Pilgrim,” and Elliott O’Donnell’s spooky tales of “Phantom Dogs.” Among modern writers, Mark E. Burgess’s riveting “Grab a Knife and Save a Life” (from his novel, Dog Daze and Cat Naps), gives a realistic view of what it’s like to be a budding veterinarian. But you’ll also find compelling pieces by E. C. Tubb, John Gregory Betancourt, Robert Hood, and Jack Dann, among many others.
Here are twenty-five marvelous stories of dogs and their interactions with humans, plus five bonus poems. And yes, to answer your unspoken question, there will be a SECOND DOG MEGAPACK, coming your way VERY soon now! Have fun with these! Enjoy!
—Robert Reginald & Mary Wickizer Burgess, 16 July 2013
THE CALL OF THE WILD, by Jack London
Chapter I. Into the Primitive
“Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom’s chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.”
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tidewater dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.
Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller’s place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by graveled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants’ cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller’s boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.
And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.
But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge’s sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge’s daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge’s feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge’s grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king—king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller’s place, humans included.
His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge’s inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was not so large—he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds—for his mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.
And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener’s helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting weakness—faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener’s helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.
The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers’ Association, and the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel’s treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between them.
“You might wrap up the goods before you deliver ’m,” the stranger said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck’s neck under the collar.
“Twist it, an’ you’ll choke ’m plen
tee,” said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a ready affirmative.
Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger’s hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.
The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had traveled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king. The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of him once more.
“Yep, has fits,” the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the baggage man, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. “I’m takin’ ’m up for the boss to ’Frisco. A crack dog-doctor there thinks that he can cure ’m.”
Concerning that night’s ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front.
“All I get is fifty for it,” he grumbled; “an’ I wouldn’t do it over for a thousand, cold cash.”
His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.
“How much did the other mug get?” the saloon-keeper demanded.
“A hundred,” was the reply. “Wouldn’t take a sou less, so help me.”