Renni the Rescuer (23 page)

“How are you, Corporal?” said the colonel. He saluted the other dog-handlers, who, like George, stood stiffly at attention.

“What's this pigeon business?”

“Begging the Colonel's pardon, that's something that
just happened. She came along and adopted Renni, and now she never leaves him.”

“Strange! . . . How about the fox terrier?”

“The poor little fellow, we found him in one of the houses. He's taken up with us and made friends, but he likes Renni better than me.”

“Yes, that Renni!” said the colonel. “Good old Renni! “He stroked the dog who looked up at him with laughter in his eye. “Seems to me his girl friend's a bit jealous.” He smiled, dodging the pigeon, who pecked angrily at his hand. “This dog's going to get you a whole menagerie, Corporal. Even animals trust him. That's easy to see. Does he act all right in war?”

“Perfectly, Colonel, perfectly.”

The colonel shook his head. “A dog like that, gentlemen—it's simply amazing what a lot of good he can do. And quietly, without looking for thanks or reward, just as a matter of course. He's a real aid, a real rescuer. Last year during manœuvres, he got me out of a mighty tight hole. This fellow Renni is worth a dozen other dogs, aren't you, Renni?” He
slapped him on the back. The pigeon did not understand this show of affection. Her neck stretched out and her wings lifted threateningly.

The colonel murmured, “Lo, the dove of peace!” and the officers laughed.

“Yes,” he continued, “he's grateful and loyal to me, merely because he saved my life! All right, Renni, old man, we're friends, and friends we shall remain!” His hand stroked Renni's back. “It's a strange thing, gentlemen, it seems to be the same with dogs as with human beings. If you've saved a man's life, or helped him out of some bad fix, you stay attached to him forever, even though your loyalty makes a nuisance of you. No, no, partner, you're not a nuisance, of course not. I didn't mean you.”

He turned to go. “Good-bye, Corporal! Good-bye, Renni! Good-bye, little Fox!”

A captain called to George, “Corporal, would you sell me your fox terrier?”

George saluted. “Just take him, Captain! I couldn't think of asking you anything for him!”

Fox was tied by a string. He refused to go, but the captain pulled him along, saying, “He'll soon grow used to me and get to like me. It's very nice of you to let me have him. I've wanted a dog for a long time.”

Fox stood as firm as he could, ploughing along on all four legs as the captain pulled. Renni sent one short bark after him. Fox growled and whined.

The officers went off, talking together, and disappeared with Fox still struggling and holding back. Renni sat before his master and looked at him. He did not understand what had happened, and George thought that his look was reproachful. He seemed to be asking in his mute way, “How could you do a thing like that?” Or he might have been thinking, “I'd never have expected it of you!”

George was embarrassed, almost ashamed. He took Renni's muzzle in his hand. The pigeon tried to peck him. George felt so uncertain as he faced the two animals that he let go of Renni's head. “Renni, you know I couldn't refuse a captain,” he excused himself. “I'm sorry about Fox, myself.”

At the word Fox Renni growled. “It doesn't help
much that I'm as sorry about Fox as you are, does it? But when a captain asks for him, what can I do? I can't say no, can I?” Renni wagged his tail. “Please be in good humour with me, old fellow. Don't be cross!” Renni swung his plume faster. Cordial relations were restored.

“Don't look so down in the mouth,” Nickel said, half in jest. He had been listening. “Renni's forgiven you.”

George replied, “There was really nothing to forgive. What else could I do?”

“Well, then, why look so miserable?”

“Maybe that's how I feel. And no wonder, either! I didn't realise I was so attached to the little fellow. Now he's gone, I miss him.”

“Of course you do. A man gets so fond of an animal like that . . . and what the colonel said about getting attached to anyone you've saved—well, that applies to you. You saved Fox, you know.”

“Maybe so. But the way he held back and fought against going . . . his wretchedness . . . it hurts me to think of it.”

“He'll have a pretty soft time with the captain, I imagine.”

A soldier was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up uncertainly, questioningly.

“Something you want?” Nickel asked. The man made no answer, but kept looking at George, who had turned and was about to go into the hall.

Then he called shyly, “Corporal! Oh, Corporal!”

“What is it?”

“Is it you, or isn't it?”

George replied, “Who are you, anyway?”

The soldier climbed the steps slowly, stood erect before George, and said in a low tone, “Flamingo is my name, Antony Flamingo. Perhaps the Corporal will remember . . . ”

“Flamingo! Flamingo! Why, of course! I didn't recognise you at first!” George shook hands. “Please don't stand at attention. This isn't an official call, I hope. I'm surprised to see you. We haven't met in a long while—not since that day. Well, that's not our fault, it just happened so.”

Flamingo, encouraged by this long speech, risked
the remark, “I had the honour of meeting you just that once, and I'll never forget it.”

The slash he had given the poor man's face came back vividly to George's mind. Again he felt embarrassed. “How are you getting along?”

“I've never got along very well, and things are worse than ever now,” Flamingo replied. “But I've given up expecting anything.”

“How's your cute little spaniel?”

“My good old dog? Since that one time, I've never struck him. Not once. I swear it! I haven't that on my conscience.”

“But what did you do with him?”

If Flamingo had spoken low and hesitantly before, now he fairly whispered. “I left him with my . . . my wife.”

“So you married again?”

“Again? No.” He dropped his eyes.

George tried to make it easier for him. “Did you send for her to come back?”

“No . . . . I didn't know where she was. She came of her own accord.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, just three weeks before I had to join my regiment . . . . ”

“And you took her back?”

“Of course. What else could I do?”

“Certainly, certainly! We must always forgive those who repent.”

Flamingo shook his head. “Repent? No, I don't think you'd say Amalie repented. Of course she said she was sorry . . . but I don't believe a word of it. She just ran out of money . . . and then she thought me good enough . . . . ”

“And you left her at home?”

“Yes. Here I am in the war, and she's sitting snug back there. The three weeks we were together she was humble enough. She didn't have time to start making fun of me again, and . . . ” He straightened up. “When I left she called me a hero! . . . ” He burst out laughing. “Fine hero I am.”

“Why not?” George tried to cheer him. “Maybe you are. You've been through several battles . . . . ”

“Yes, and shook with fright every minute!”

“Don't be ashamed of that. The man who's afraid and fights on all the same—he's the brave man.”

“But,” said Flamingo, “I don't fight! I never fight! I shut both eyes every time I have to shoot.” Suddenly he changed his tone. “My wife—she squandered my money, and she doesn't know I've saved up a lot more!” He winked knowingly. “I carry my bankbook with me. The account's in my name only. If I fall Amalie can have it, but not till I do . . . . ”

“How will she treat the spaniel?”

“Fine! I'm sure of that. She was always good to the dog . . . . I was the only one she had it in for.” He shrugged his shoulders. “God knows how it will all end, what with war out here and war back there!”

He started away, after a pitiful attempt at a salute. George and Nickel followed him with their eyes, as he went along, striving to show an energy he by no means possessed. Soon they lost sight of him in the crowds of soldiers.

“Poor specimen!” was Nickel's opinion.

“A fellow with no talent for happiness,” said George
trying to soften his comrade's harsh judgment.

And then, suddenly, Fox was back with them again. He had slipped up very quietly, like a criminal coming home with a guilty conscience. No sooner had Renni caught sight of him than he leaped to meet him, jubilant, ready to celebrate. But Fox acted as though he were snapping at Renni's ear, while really he was whispering, “Be quiet!”

“Why?” Renni asked.

“I'm afraid He'll send me away again.”

“Oh, no. He didn't want to give you up.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know it.”

At that moment George ran his hand gently over Fox's head. “God bless you, little fellow! I'm so glad you're back with us!”

When he felt George's hand, a quiver of fear went over Fox, but as soon as he heard his voice, he went into a spasm of joy. He leaped up on George, on Renni. Like a whirlwind he rushed around among the soldiers who filled the space before the town hall. His yelps, barks and howls sounded now like cries of joy, now like sobs of
grief, but they all amounted to this: “I won't stay any longer with that man who dragged me off. I'll never stay with him! If he carries me away again, I'll just run away again! How could anybody do a thing like that? Just as if I had no feelings! I was so hurt . . . so terribly hurt . . . and I was so homesick . . . for you, Renni . . . and for Him . . . . ”

He ran around Renni pressing against him closely, caressingly. Renni waved his tail. Then Fox danced about George who tried to pet him.

“That'll do now,” said Renni.

And George said, “All right, Fox . . . you're a fine boy . . . and you're back with me . . . and here's hoping you'll stay with me from now on in.”

Panting, Fox threw himself down on the floor beside Renni. His tongue was hanging far out. When Renni lay down beside him and asked, “How did you ever manage to get loose?” Fox cut one eye around toward his string. It had been chewed in two and hung from his neck.

* * *

Man cannot read his fate. How then shall a little dog know where his safety lies?

T
HE FIGHTING BEGAN AGAIN, wilder, more insane than ever. The earth shuddered from the crash of the heavy guns. The whistling shrieks of the grenades, the thundering explosions of bombs, the chatter of machine guns, the firing of armoured cars and tanks, all mingled in one raging, deafening clangour. Human voices could be heard above the stupendous din, but they sounded thin and pathetically faint. Sometimes they were cries of anguish or the gasp of the dying.
And again they were hoarse shouts of command, sharp, breathless, verging on panic and causing panic in those who heard.

Forward rolled the army. Forward . . . forward!

All the soldiers, all the officers seemed in a daze, in a sort of delirium, in which courage, horror and fear were so mingled that they could not be distinguished or separated.

They all had one common will, one common goal, one common irresistible impulse . . . to press onward.

The Sanitary Corps moved along in the rear of this flaming inferno, this huge engine of destruction. From the torn and trampled field which the army left them, they gleaned their sorrowful harvest. They had to go carefully about it, for sometimes enemy bombers flew overhead and sometimes long-range artillery swept the field.

But help must be brought where help was needed.

The number of hurt and injured was appalling. When at last one would have said that all must surely have been carried to the dressing-stations, the dogs
would be sent out still again to find any that might by any possible chance have been overlooked. These must be helped at once if they were to be helped at all, for generally these were the most severely wounded, lying there unconscious, unable to make their presence known.

And then, as always, Renni did the best work. Not only was his skill superior but he seemed to be working by plan, with a definite purpose. In the whirlwind of his activity he would hardly notice the pigeon, who was constantly having to give up her favourite seat on his head for the safer one on his back. Nor did he bother with Fox, who ran along by his side or galloped ahead in busy idleness. George himself had reached the point where he hardly ever thought of Renni's companions. At first he had expected that the dove might bother Renni and Fox and distract his attention, but by now he had grown quite used to this animal comedy, as he called it. So now as Renni was not in the least disturbed by them, but rather performed his services more brilliantly than ever, George took a humorous view of terrier and pigeon.
And when the work was over—as long as the search was on both dog and master gave it complete absorption, and there was no time for joking—after the work was over, he would call the pigeon Renni's periscope, and Fox his no-account stooge.