Dog Diaries 07 - Stubby (10 page)

She had that right.

The doctor said to the nurse in a low voice, “The war’s over for this soldier.”

Well, THAT got my attention, I can tell you that.

The doctor said, “I’m going to ship him off to the American Hospital in Paris. As soon as I get authorization and a free ambulance, that’s where he’s headed. Of course, the dog will have to stay here.”

I lifted my head. My lips started to curl. A deep growl vibrated in my gut. I was a whisker away from taking a bite out of this guy. How
dare
they separate Conroy and me! Not even the Germans had succeeded in doing that, and they had tried awfully hard.

“With all due respect, doctor,” the nurse said, “Stubby is probably as important to Corporal Conroy’s recovery as medicine. You’re new to the Front, sir, but I’ve been here for months. And I’ve
seen the wonders this dog has done for the sick and wounded.”

“Is that so?” the doctor said. “In that case, I’ll see what I can do.”

While we were waiting for the transfer to come through, Conroy began to get a little better. He and I slept like we hadn’t slept in months, like a couple of babies. Every so often, I’d wake up and leave him alone just long enough to make the rounds and visit the other wounded soldiers. I was allowed to go where I needed to go and to lick whoever needed attention. Now and then the doctor stopped and gave me a good scratch on the back. I guess that meant we were on friendly terms now.

The ambulance finally came. When they loaded Conroy up, the doctors, nurses, medics, and patients who were strong enough to stand all
lined up outside the field hospital. They saluted me. I returned their salute, and then jumped in the back of the ambulance next to Conroy.

The doctor stuck his head in. “I’ve put on your chart that Stubby needs to stay with you no matter what. If anyone gives you any guff, tell them to get in touch with me.”

The ambulance ride was rough going over the bumpy roads to Paris. Conroy was strapped onto his stretcher, but I was banging around loose like a marble in a jar. By the time we got to Paris, I might have been more in need of a doctor than Conroy!

We stayed in the Paris hospital until Conroy cooled down and could stand up without getting dizzy. I walked with him through the streets of Paris. The sight of an American soldier made the locals so happy! The women hugged and kissed him on both cheeks, the men shook his hand, and
the soldiers saluted us both. My saluting amused the Parisians.

—

After a couple of weeks in Paris, Conroy got his ticket home. He packed up our gear. My soldier boy was returning to the States a hero. You would have thought, after all I had done for the war effort, that I could travel like the rest of the soldiers. But that was not the case. Just like in the bad old days, Conroy had to hide me in his cabin and smuggle me out on deck wrapped up in his coat. The only difference was, Conroy’s coat was worn, dirty, and ripped up now—a lot like me, with my scarred chest and legs and my scorched lungs. We had been through four offenses and seventeen battles—and had lived to tell the tale.

We went home, not to the base in New Haven but to Conroy’s real home in Massachusetts, where
his mom and dad waited for him. I liked Conroy’s place just fine. His mom and dad smelled buttery, like him, minus the gunpowder and wet boots. They were so glad to see us! They folded Conroy in their arms and wept with happiness. They hugged me, too. I didn’t know whether to salute them or kiss them. So I did both.

“We’ve heard all about you from John’s letters,” his teary-eyed mom told me. “Welcome to our home.”

I’d never lived in a house before. When I was a street dog, a home was all that I longed for. Since meeting Conroy, I’d lived in barracks, tents, trenches, and hospitals, but never in a house. It was warm and comfortable and quiet. I slept with Conroy in the room that had been his as a boy. When I needed to do my business, he let me outside. But he always welcomed me back into the house.

I was just getting used to the place, when Conroy said we had to leave.

He dressed me in my jacket, and he put on his uniform.

I couldn’t believe it! What was the deal? Were we going back to war?

Conroy just laughed. “Don’t worry, boy. This is going to be fun.”

Together, we boarded a train bound for a place called New York City, where the Hotel Majestic made an exception to its No Dogs Allowed rule. They let me stay with Conroy in his very fancy room. The Brass there even gave me a bone for my dinner and another for my breakfast.

We continued by train to the city of Washington, D.C. There, Black Jack Pershing, one of the tip-top army Brass, presented me with a special award. I sat next to him on a table, and he gave me
a medal to wear around my neck on a chain. It was gold and my name was spelled out on it, according to Conroy. I saluted. The crowd clapped.

Other awards followed. The YMCA gave me a lifetime membership and three bones a day for the rest of my life. I marched in parades with the old soldiers who had fought in previous wars. I raised
money for the Red Cross. At American Legion conventions, I met two more American presidents, Harding and Coolidge, both dog-lovers, from the smell of them.

After a while, we made a return trip down to Washington, D.C., where Conroy was going to study at a place called Georgetown University. Once again, there were No Dogs Allowed, but they made an exception for me. In fact, they were so taken with me, I was made the official mascot for the Georgetown football team! On a field a lot like the one in New Haven where I first trained to be a soldier, I learned a new trick—pushing a football with my nose. It was not all that clever. Truth to tell, I sometimes felt just a bit foolish doing it. But it drove the crowds crazy. They cheered and tossed me flowers and treats. They chanted my name.

“Stub-by! Stub-by! Stub-by!”

And once again, I was a hero. What a life!

But the hero business aside, what I really liked best was being with Conroy. He’d sit at his desk reading great big law books, and I’d lie by his feet, dozing and dreaming. Every so often, he’d reach a hand down, and I’d give it a lick for old time’s sake.

It’s a fact that war is a mean and low-down thing. A world without war would be a much better place. But Conroy and I had learned that some things are worth fighting for. I liked to think that I served Uncle Sam to the best of my ability. But most important of all, I served Conroy. And I continued to serve him until the day I was ready to be planted in Soldiers’ Field. Until then, I enjoyed the good life. And in my book, it just doesn’t get any better than that.

APPENDIX

Great War, Great Dog

The causes of World War I were numerous and complex. The single event that many say triggered it occurred on June 28, 1914, when a Serbian patriot—who sought independence from the Austro-Hungarian Empire—assassinated the heir to its throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand. This shocking event prompted the Austrian-Hungarians to declare war against Serbia. Russia and Germany, who were vying against each other to build their own empires, were quick to choose sides. Russia came to the aid of Serbia. Germany allied with Austria-Hungary. When Germany invaded France through Belgium, France joined the war, and Britain soon followed. The Turks sided
with Germany. The Italians joined France against Austria-Hungary. Soon it seemed like all of Europe had piled onto the bloody, multinational heap that would later be known as World War I. At the time it was fought, however, most everyone called it the Great War.

What was so
great
about it? The sheer brutality of its weapons, for one: airplanes, U-boats (which we now call submarines), machine guns, and poison gas. Its range, for another: from the Atlantic Ocean in the west across Europe to the Russian Empire in the east and south as far as the Persian Gulf. Its consequences were certainly great, resulting in the destruction of old empires—Austria-Hungary’s Hapsburg, Russia’s Romanov, and Turkey’s Ottoman—and the formation of new countries, such as Czechoslovakia, Syria, and Yugoslavia. And certainly the casualties were great: over
37 million dead, including civilians and military.

American president Woodrow Wilson did everything he could to keep the United States out of the Great War. It was a European turf dispute, he said, and the U.S. had no stake in it. The war raged on for three years while the U.S. remained in isolation. But in April 1917, Wilson had had enough. He went before Congress to get their support for America’s entering the war. The reason he cited was that Germany had violated its pledge to suspend submarine warfare in the North Atlantic and the Mediterranean. But it was Germany’s secret attempt to lure Mexico—America’s neighbor to the south—into the war that might have been the final straw. On April 4, 1917, the U.S. Senate voted to support Wilson’s declaration of war. Two days later, on April 6, 1917, the House supported
the motion. The United States declared war on Germany.

The 102nd Infantry Regiment, Twenty-sixth Yankee Division, with Stubby in tow, were the first to make up the American Expeditionary Forces. They were shipped to France in June 1917. There, on the battlegrounds of France, the Twenty-sixth fought the longest—210 days—and sustained the greatest number of gas casualties of any American unit. For a bunch of green boys from New England, they fought hard and bravely. In fact, the Germans considered them one of the four best assault divisions in the U.S. Army. Fighting alongside his master, Private John Robert Conroy, Stubby participated in all four major offenses—St. Mihiel, Meuse-Argonne, Aisne-Marne, and Champagne Marne—and in seventeen battles, including Chemin
des Dames, Seicheprey, and Chateau-Thierry. He was wounded twice, first by gas and later by grenade. In Donremy, the birthplace of Joan of Arc, the grateful ladies of Chateau-Thierry presented Stubby with his own chamois army jacket, having lovingly sewn onto it medals and decals marking his career campaigns.

Stubby had earned every one of those medals. He warned the men about gas and mortar attacks. He caught a German spy by the seat of his pants. He kept up morale in the trenches. And in every field station and Red Cross hospital he visited, he offered comfort and encouragement to the wounded and sick. By December 1918, when President Wilson came to Humes, France, to review the troops on his way to negotiating a peace settlement, Stubby’s exploits had made him as famous as he was beloved.

Stubby returned stateside following the Armistice to a hero’s welcome. In a highly publicized ceremony, General “Black Jack” Pershing, Supreme Commander of the American Forces, presented Stubby with a gold medal minted by the Humane Education Society (a forerunner of the Humane Society). Naturally, Stubby saluted the general with his paw, just as Conroy had taught him to do at the start of the war. The YMCA granted Stubby lifelong membership, including three bones a day. He posed for paintings, participated in parades, and raised funds for the Red Cross at American Legion conventions, where he met two more presidents—Harding and Coolidge. When John Conroy went to study law at Georgetown University, Stubby accompanied him to Washington, D.C. There, Stubby became the official mascot of the university football team, the Hoyas. In what might have been
the earliest known version of the halftime show, he entertained fans by pushing a football across the field with his nose—a far cry from dodging sniper fire on the battlefields of Europe. But the crowds adored him.

Stubby died in Conroy’s arms at the age of ten, but he was not buried in Soldiers’ Field. The remains of the most decorated dog in military history were preserved. You can visit them in Washington, at the National Museum of American History, a part of the Smithsonian Institution. In addition to Stubby himself, you can see his collar, his harness, a scrapbook kept by John Conroy, and Stubby’s spiffy army jacket, which still sports his numerous war medals and souvenirs. The German cross he got off the spy, unfortunately, seems to have disappeared. While the evidence of that escapade has vanished, the tale lives on. It is only one chapter
in the long story of the little bull terrier mix who fought hard alongside his master, lending his great valor and heart to the Great War.

For more information about World War I, check out a site sponsored by the U.S. Department of State:

•  
history.state.gov/milestones/1914-1920/wwi

The National World War I Museum’s website includes activities and educational information for kids and families—plus downloadable lesson plans for educators:

•  
theworldwar.org/learn/kids-families

•  
theworldwar.org/learn/educators-students

To read more about Stubby, visit the terrific Smithsonian site at:

•  
amhistory.si.edu/militaryhistory/collection/object.asp?ID=15

War Dogs

Dogs have been used in wars since ancient times. As early as 327 BC, Alexander the Great conquered the known world with the help of a giant war dog called a molosser, who wore a studded collar. Most likely an ancestor of today’s mastiff, the molosser could supposedly hold its own against a lion. In 236 BC, armor-clad dogs fought alongside the Roman legions. Farther north, in 55 BC, the Britons used mastiffs with spiked helmets to ward off the invading armies of Caesar. Much later, in 1798, another conqueror named Napoléon chained dogs to the walls of Alexandria to warn of the approaching British troops.