Odd, Old News: Dog Tales…

Newfoundland at rest. [From the Pacific Rural Press, 3/12/1881]

This week, Odd, Old Times will raid the archives of one of Humboldt Counties most celebrated historians, Susie Baker Fountain. Mrs. Fountain collected newspaper articles, tax data, old-timers stories, snippets, property transactions, and much more. It was enough of an accumulation for her to compile the 128 volumes of Humboldt and Del Norte county history that are found at the HSU library and county library in Eureka. They have served thousand of researchers for nearly half a century. Her history columns in the Blue Lake Advocate spanned three decades, rightfully deserving the many accolades she was accorded. Some weeks, Mrs. Fountain shared her column with guest contributors, Charlie Blake and his dog are the authors of the following article.

In 1883, the James H. Blake family moved from back east to Humboldt County, acquiring a homestead at Christmas Prairie, “a peculiar little valley nestling in the top of a long, rather flat, ridge” about 13½ miles east west of Arcata. The location took its name from an 1863 Christmas day battle between the military and Native Americans who fought from a log fort that they had built in the small prairie.

This week, Odd, Old, News shares Charlie’s dog’s autobiography, “I’m a Dog”, wherein the dog recounts his coming to be with his “Boy”, life with the Blake family back east and their coming to a new home in California. Mr. Blake takes over the tale for his dog, adding reminiscences of other family dogs. Let’s let the tale wag itself:

Early Days of Humboldt
Mrs. Eugene F. Fountain, Historian
Blue Lake Advocate, February 28, 1957

BLAKE ON DOGS

Introduction. Charlie Blake is the author of today’s entertaining article, which is also instructive, giving an insight into the important place occupied by dogs in the pioneer ranch life in Humboldt County.

Too often the dweller in the town is inclined to question the truth of saying that the dog is a man’s best friend as the only skill evident to the townsman is an incredible endurance in the vocal field. A barking canine can banish sleep as effectively as the German bombers over London, who are said to have accomplished their greatest damage in preventing the English from securing the rest necessary to carry on efficiently.

What a different type of dog is discussed by Mr. Blake! Dogs need training just as children need it.

We had a Saint Bernard for a period, who was well trained in some respects before joining us, but who was a problem whenever guests stepped inside the yard. He loved everybody and persisted in leaning against each visitor. This was especially disastrous for feminine finery, as well as for feminine equilibrium.

He had a deep dignified voice which we attempted to keep under control. As he was kept in the yard, we were able to supervise any nocturnal concerts he might start. But he seemed to be too lazy and contented to bark much. And we learned to love him more than any dog we ever had.

But this is Mr. Blake’s article, not mine, so I shall close.

I’M A DOG

“I do not remember too much of my first owner. He was a nice man and treated me fine, but I did not see very much of him as he was away a lot. I always had plenty to eat and a warm place to sleep, but there was nothing for me to do, no children and no other dogs to play with.

One day a man came to see my Boss and I knew he was a friendly man, so I went up to him, wagged my tail and put my nose in his hand and he patted me and said to my Boss, “My, he is a fine dog. I wish I had a dog like him to take care of my little boy.” My Boss said, “If you want him, take him home with you. We have no use for him and he eats as much as a man. He is kind and will make a good companion for your boy.”

This man helped me into the back of his wagon and tied me so I would not be jounced out going over the rough roads and took me home. I was sure happy to get to the house for there was a nice lady and a cute little boy. The boy was a little fellow about four years old, but real small. He could hardly reach my head. You see I was a very large dog, for I am a Newfoundland and am large even for a Newfoundland. One time when my man took me by train and they weighed me in order to find how much freight to charge, my master said upon learning my weight, “You had better let him go in the coach in my place and send me by freight, for he weighs one hundred and sixty pounds, while I weigh only one hundred and thirty pounds. It will be cheaper.” The men laughed but nevertheless I had to ride in the baggage car.

The Boy and I were friends right from the start and we had lots of fun, for the Boy’s folks lived on a farm with lots of trees and grape vines all over the place and a large barn on it. There were many rabbits around and we would scare one out from under a large grape vine and I would chase it. I never followed it too far, for I was too large to run as fast as the rabbit. Moreover I did not want to go too far from my Boy as there were many tramps around in those days and I did not want them; to talk to my Boy as they smelled dirty and I did not trust them. Besides taking care of the Boy, there was one other job that I could do which helped the Boy’s mother and after all, I wanted to help her, for she was very nice to me and always gave me left-overs from the table. In fact I never allowed her to forget me, for as soon as the folks were thru their meal, I would walk up to her and take her by the wrist (I was always careful not to hurt her) and lead her to the table and SPEAK for my share. She thought that was cute and at times she walked away as though she had forgotten me so that I would have to lead her back. Oh, yes, I nearly forgot to tell how I helped the Lady. She kept her clothespins in a basket with a carry-handle and whenever she went out to hang up the clothes, I took up the basket and followed her along the line, holding up the basket for her to reach the pins. She said this was a real help and usually gave me a special treat when we got back in the house. She did not have to repay me as I was proud to help, and felt badly if not permitted to do so.

Well we lived here on the farm for a long time where my Boy and I had such good times. One day my Boy fell into the water trough, but I did not have to go in after him, as the trough was too small for me. Of course he came out all wet and his mother took him inside to change his clothes. She did not put his shoes back on and when he saw his father coming up the walk, he ran out in his bare feet to meet him. When he got out from under the big fig trees into the sun, the hot walk burned his feet and he fell down, holding his feet up. I did not know what to do as my Boy was crying, but I could not understand what was hurting him. His father ran out of the house and picked up the Boy, carrying him to the house. Guess he was not hurt much, for he was soon playing with me again.

One day the grown-ups were very busy putting things into boxes and we all got into a wagon and went to town and got on the train. Of course I had to ride in the baggage car and after going a ways, we got on a large boat, where I was put in a place where there were some horses and sheep. It was dark and smelled bad. It was not like my clean bed at home and then the ship rolled and plunged, so I could not stand. The sheep kept bleating and I guess they felt as sick as I did.

Fortunately the next day we got out of the ship and we went to a home, where I felt better but everything was so strange and they kept me fastened outside. A couple of days later my folks got into a wagon hauled by two horses and we started out in the country. I was happy again for they let me run alongside and I could get into the little creeks that we crossed and I had a good time.

Sketch drawn by Mrs. Lewis Wilcox from an old photo of Christmas Prairie. [Blue Lake Advocate, 1/11/1955]

After two days we came to the place where I lived the rest of my life. Boy, was it a wild place! There was just the one house and big trees all around, but I saw a nice lake below the barn so I knew I would be happy, as I like the water. They say dogs like me used to go into the ocean and save shipwrecked sailors. Of course I never had that to do, as I lived far from the sea.Here my Boy needed me more than ever as there were no streets to travel on and I had to look out that my Boy did not stray away into the woods. Here there was a lot to do and I always helped the lady with her hanging out the clothes, as they brought my basket along.In the spring and summer I would go with the Boy and his mother to gather wild berries in the woods and they always let me carry my basket, and I would be very insulted if not allowed to carry the basket. I would let them know of my indignation too, which amused them and they gave me something to carry and then I was all prances and wags. Of course I could not bark without dropping the basket, but I could whine and make other noises to let them know how happy I was.I could not be of much help to the men when they were hunting as they said I did not have a good nose so I could not trail a wounded deer, but I could go out in the lake and bring in the ducks that were shot and I thought that was fun. My Boy grew to be a big boy and I went with him hunting as he shot rabbits and quail and I could bring them back. In winter there was lots of snow and I liked this too, as I had such a heavy coat of fur that the cold was nicer for me than the hot days we had at our old home.Dogs do not live to be as old as people and I do not know how old I was when I came to live with my Boy. Several years after we went to our home in the mountains, I began to get stiff in my legs and did not run around so much with my Boy.Everyone was very kind to me and the lady used to help me up and steady me until I could get started to walk and always brought me the nicest things to eat, but I grew worse all the time. I will have to quit now, I guess, and let my Boy finish my story. If I had a ‘Dog’s Life’, at least it was a good one”. DOGSYes, I shall take over for poor old Rover. It was pitiful to see him try to get up to carry the basket for Mother when she hung up the clothes, for he had been so proud to help. One morning when Mother and I helped him on his feet, he seemed to walk better. He walked around for a while and then went out into the garden by a current brush and dug as large a hole as he was able and then lay down in ft. It was a nice warm day and we let him stay there for the day, but when we tried to get him back to the house, he could not use his legs and when we tried to feed him, he could not eat. Mother covered him with a blanket, and left him there. He was still alive the next morning, but barely so.

Father took down the rifle, saying he would have to shoot him to end his misery, but his heart failed him and he could not fire the gun. My grandfather was with us and since he had not known and loved old Rover as we had, he took over and put the poor old fellow out of his pain. All the rest of us kept clear out of sight.

We buried our faithful pet and I suppose I was about the most lonesome boy you could find. Mother cried every time she hung up her clothes, when Rover was no longer there to carry her basket of pins.

Naturally I was lost without my dog. There was another dog on the place, a Shepherd dog that was used to herd the cattle, but he never took much notice of me and the men did not encourage me to play with him for fear I would get him out of training. One day my uncle was riding by an Indian camp, when one of the Indians called to him. “You want em dog, little dog? We got em too much dog. You take em this one.” He held up a dog tiny enough to sit in the palm of his hand. Uncle put him in his shirt as it was cold weather and I brought it home for me.

Well, he was my dog, but the pet of every one. He looked a lot like a black and tan terrier but he never had a heavy muzzle and was a little large. I called him Tip as he had a strip in his forehead. As we were sitting around the fire of an evening, Tip would take turns lying in our laps, and if he could get in Mother’s lap there he would stay. He was a lot of fun and later we found he was a wonderful hunter as he had a very keen scent and was a vicious fighter.

Tip was not only a fighter after game, but was a terror on other dogs. He was a great visitor, going many miles to other ranches to visit. George Lupton, from Greenpoint, told us that Tip had come over there, about six miles from home. As they had a lot of dogs around, they thought they would set the dogs on him to frighten him away. George said they had to choke Tip off from the last of their dogs, for fear Tip would kill their dog. I could tell of many of Tip’s fights, but dog fights are not considered NICE, so we will say that he was a wonderful dog and helped to get many a deer.

Along to the last of his time he had fought so much that his tusks and front teeth were all gone and he had several bad scars where bucks had pronged him. One day he disappeared and we never saw him again. He must have gotten into a fight and been injured so badly that he died before he could get home.

We had many dogs at different times and of various breeds or mixtures, but the only one of the later ranch dogs is one we called Bose. We also had him when we were on the Christmas Prairie ranch the second time, when our children were growing up. This pup was born in the barn in a stall next to my favorite saddle horse, Mollie, and grew up as a one-man dog.

I must tell of an incident that occurred in his puppyhood. His mother must have had a “Call of the Wild” in her for every time she raised puppies, when it was time for weaning, she would take the pups out into the woods and leave them to shift for themselves. She did not exactly abandon them, for after several hours she would go out and gather them up and bring them in. But the next day she would do the same thing, as though she was trying to make them hunt as a wolf would do.

This time we had saved three nice dogs pups as two of our neighbors had asked for pups, as the mother dog was a fine cattle dog. I had selected my pup by finding the one with the most black in the mouth. That used to be considered a good guide and it sure turned out right in this case. One day when I was coming home to lunch from the lower field, I heard the pups howling and crying out in the timber about a mile from the house, to the south. When I was doing the chores at the barn in the evening, here came the mother dog in with two of the pups, but mine was missing. It was a stormy night and I was sure my pup was lost, but the mother only waited to get the pups in their bed before she rushed out again. There was a heavy rain and wind that night and when I went to the barn, there were only two pups and the old dog gone. However she came in shortly but still no pup. She looked in the nest, apparently to count the pups and went out before I could feed her in spite of the fact she sure needed food as she was so gaunt and soaked. I did not see any more of her until nearly night, when I saw her and the pup coming down, out of the timber to the north of the house and the pair of them were so nearly exhausted that they staggered.

I wrapped the pup in warm blankets and took the mother into a separate room and wrapped her up too and got food for her and the pups. The pup recovered and was fine, growing to be a wonderful dog, but the mother had given her life for the lost pup as she was never well again after that and died in a few months. I figured that if the pup had the stamina to weather through that storm and he must have wandered a couple of miles during the time he was lost, that he would be a fine dog. He sure lived up to my expectations.

He was definitely a one-man dog as he would not go to anyone but me and if I scolded him, he would leave me and go to my saddle mare, Mollie, and stay until he thought I had forgotten the trouble. Bose was worth five men when it came to getting the milk cows up, for that late in the day the cows would be in the brush to get rid of the flies and if you chased them out with your horse, they would just go around and back in again. However it was a different matter when the dog went after them. They knew the dog could get around them and nip their heels, so they started for home as soon as I would say, “Way back, Bose, way back!” and the cows would come running out of the brush and start for home.

I usually kept Mollie in the home pasture for easy catching, and when I wanted her, I ordered the dog, “Bose, go get Mollie!” and he would bound off and have her at the barn in jig time.

As I have said, Bose was a one-man dog and would have nothing to do with my wife or the children. He was not cross to them, just ignored them and had no use for them. Mrs. Blake was quite put out about it, saying, I feed him and take care of him when you are gone, nevertheless when you are here and I speak to him, he goes to you.” One day he redeemed himself. I was away when Mrs. Blake got a phone call from Blue Lake that some men were coming out in their car and wanted some saddle horses to go over on Horse Mountain.

Mrs. Blake was not too well and did not know just where the stock was pasturing, but when she went out to the yard gate, Bose came to her and acted as though he had never had any other master and when she said, “Where is Mollie? Let us go get Mollie.” he liked to have torn up the ground to show her how anxious he was. They went down to the place where she thought they might be, but could not see any. She was about to give in when she decided to try the dog. She said to Bose, “Go get Mollie!” Bose tore up to the top of a lull and there were the horses and he rounded them up and started them home. Of course they out traveled Mrs. Blake, but Bose came back often to lick her hand after which he gave a couple of little barks and rushed back up the road. When she got to the barn, Bose had them all in and was guarding the gate to keep them in. I need not add that she never had anything but praise for old Bose after that.

One more funny incident about my dog. He always followed me and the team. On the road into Blue Lake we always passed the Larkin ranch and they had a dog in their yard that would run along inside and make a terrible fuss every time we went by. He acted as though he would tear my dog to pieces if he could get out. One day as I was passing, this dog was asleep on the porch and did not see us until we were right in front of the gate. As soon as he saw us he bristled up and came tearing to the gate, growling and snarling and made a dash against the gate, which happened to be unlatched. It flew open, landing the ugly dog right in front of Bose. This surprised him so that he turned tail and Kye-eyed as though he had been hit with a blacksnake, streaking for the house and diving under the porch. Bose looked at him in surprise, as much as to say, ‘What in heck is the matter with you?”

It seems as if every dog story has to have a sad ending. After we moved to Blue Lake, we had Mollie in a stable near the home and Bose was with her and we used to go out on telephone line repair, but Bose was not happy here. One day when I was away, the children took Bose on a leash. He broke .away and ran up the road towards Korbel and we never heard of him after. I went to Korbel and inquired at the stable, but no one had seen him. I went up to the old ranch and the men there had not seen him either. We have tried to believe that some teamster who knew him, had taken him. I could not bear to think he had gotten tangled with the chain and had died someplace.

This dog-goned story seems never to end. I must tell of a little black dog that belonged to your townsman, Ezra Brown. He was a little bench legged, coal – black fellow and Ez called him Bear. As any of the old-timers knew, Ez was a great hunter and prospector. Perhaps no | one knew the country between the Trinity and the Salmon Rivers better than he.

When Mr. Brown wanted a deer for camp meat, all he had to do was to get on a vantage point and when he was all set, he would say to Bear, “All right Bear, go get a deer, get going now”, and little Bear would go down in the brush. When he found a deer, he would go blow the deer and bark and the deer would move up away from the dog. He was so little that the deer would not run, but just moved out of the way and Bear would keep the deer moving up the hill until he came out in sight where Ez could get a bead on him. We knew Ez very well as he helped me build the little house that Mrs. Blake and I moved into when we were married. He was a fine fellow but wanted to do nothing but prospect, which he did every spring and summer. This story has gone to the dogs, so I shall quit. Charlie Blake

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• Odd, Old News: Fruit Raising in Southern Humboldt
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• Eager Businessmen, Big Talk, and Railroad Progress–Round Valley Coal Fields, Part Two
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