DEXTER, THE LAST NAVY HORSE
by
Valarie M. Vine
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Valarie M. Vine
Dexter, the Last Navy Horse
Copyright 2011 by Valarie M. Vine
Cover credit: Katrina Joyner
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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One afternoon, shortly after the end of World War II, a general assembly was called by the Commandant of the Philadelphia Naval Home for retired and disabled sailors. A steady stream of sailors slowly sallied forth into the great room on the ground floor of the historic old building. Some sat in the many well-worn leather chairs, some stood here and there with the assistance of their canes, while others arrived via wheelchair either on their own power or with the assistance of a nurse.
“Good to see you gentlemen this lovely day” began the Commandant. “Since the long-prayed for end of the war, we have experienced some major changes and additions here at the Naval Home. Many new sailors are coming aboard weekly. If I haven’t met you already, I personally want to welcome you aboard. In fact, I have just received notification that a veteran, an Army veteran at that, will be coming to live here at the Naval Home”.
The expression on almost every sailor in the room was one of disbelief and puzzlement. There is a well-known expression about hearing a pin drop; it was quite apropos of that moment.
“What did he say?” said one of the old sailors incredulously and loudly, turning to the person closest to him.
“Did he say the Army???,” howled another in disbelief of what he just heard.
Many of the older fellows in the great room lifted their hand to their left ear or right ear, cupped it toward the Commandant, thinking they had heard wrong. Truly, for the sailors at the Naval Home it was a bit of a shock, the idea of having an “Army guy” in their midst. The world had already turned upside down for them during the various wars they had been in, but having their retirement haven invaded by the Army! It almost seemed like the eyes of the former Commandant, Admiral Thomas Henry Mayo whose portrait hung over the main fireplace in the great room, flashed red at the news as well.
“Yes, I know this is unusual, but then again, this Army veteran is quite special. He’s—well, he’s quite different than the rest of us,” continued the Commandant as he stood erect in the most military of postures with his hands behind his back.
“Well I should say he’s different!” one fellow roared from the back of the room. Clearly, whoever this Army guy turned out to be, he was going to have a tough road to go among the old salts.
Then came the revelation.
The Commandant asked everyone in the great hall to take a look out the back windows that opened out to a very large expanse of green grass and trees, stretching toward the beautiful Schuykill River. There was a chestnut colored horse running quite freely back and forth and with great abandon around the grounds. “I’d like to introduce all of you to Dexter who will be living with us from now on.” There were various utterances and a light rift of laughter that arose momentarily, as the Commandant continued. “He was an Army artillery horse during the war. He saw action in Europe and did his duty, just as all of you did your duty. He, of course, had no choice. Like you, he survived. The Army has phased out their horses, and we, the Navy, have inherited him.” At that most propitious moment, as if theatrically staged, Dexter stuck his head through one of the open windows. It was if he was trying to greet his new mates at the Naval Home. His head bobbed up and down and upper lip rolled up slightly, but because he was a horse no words could form, but his enthusiasm was clear.
“What on earth?” said one sailor near the open window where Dexter kept bobbing his head.
“What one earth, indeed,” said the Commandant with as much of a smile as he would allow himself. “I know you old salts have spent a lot of time aboard ships, but I cannot believe you do not recognize or remember what a horse looks like.”
There was a lot of head shaking, as if many just realized the extent of how far their respective legs had been pulled. Smiles came to the faces of most of the men in the hall, although there were still a couple of holdouts who were unhappy about the prospect of an Army veteran, horse or otherwise, inhabiting their naval sanctum.
“Ben” said the Commandant, suddenly turning to one of the younger retirees.
“Yes, Sir” Ben responded quickly, and somewhat anxiously as all eyes in the room turned toward him.
“I know that you have an impressive background working with horses from your early years before joining the navy. Am I right?” inquired the Commandant.
“Yes, sir, back on the farm where I was raised, but sir, it has been quite awhile—”
“Good then, Ben,” interrupted the Commandant. “You will attend to overseeing Dexter’s work routine and well-being. Be sure to welcome him aboard! Good day, men.” With that, the Commandant turned and left the room.
Dexter quickly removed his head from the window and went back to running around the grounds. Perhaps he had been in the military long enough to instinctively know if you have the choice between running through tall grass and inhaling fresh air or attending a meeting, that the former was preferable.
As the residents began leaving the great hall, a few of them made some comments to Ben who was to become the Dexter’s new keeper:
“Better you to be the nag-keeper than me”, said one wheelchair bound man as he rolled past Ben.
“Don’t forget to clean up all the horse droppings, Ben”, said another with a smile.
“That will teach you farm boy. You should have been raised in the city like me where we only saw horses in the movies,” said another retired sailor as he pretended to use his cane as a horse as he “rode” out of the great hall.
Ben just looked down at the floor, shook his head from side to side and smiled. He felt in his heart that this new assignment was a good one. Like Dexter, he knew working outdoors and having something to do was preferable to working indoors and not having enough to do.
A few minutes later, Ben went outside to find Dexter who was now grazing within view of the Schuykill River. “Welcome Aboard, Dexter,” said Ben as he stood a few feet from the new recruit, adding, “You know you’re in the Navy now, don’t you?” Dexter stopped grazing momentarily, bobbed his head up and down as if in acknowledgement of Ben words. “You’re a quick study boy. I can tell you and I will get along just fine.” Ben edged a little closer and lightly put his had on Dexter’s neck. Dexter twitched slightly and raised his ears forward, but returned immediately to grazing the rich green grass. Ben looked toward the river, back toward the historic Naval Home, and then toward the well-known skyline of downtown Philadelphia. “I wonder if you know what a sweet deal you have here. Of all the places a warhorse can end up, this is at the top of the list. How’d you like to come with me to the out buildings to see what we have for you there?” Dexter didn’t show any immediate enthusiasm for a change of venue, but as Ben started walking toward
the out buildings, Dexter decided to walk along behind him.
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In the days that followed, Dexter and Ben progressively got to know each other’s routine. Ben provided the oats, apples, water, and rubdowns in the evenings, and Dexter provided the horsepower to pull the trash carts around the large complex. He had begun working long ago as a farm horse in Virginia. When he reached maturity, he was a 15-1/2 hands high chestnut gelding. After Dexter was drafted into the service of the U.S. Army following December 7, 1941, he was of such a good and hard-working disposition, he was selected for duty overseas in Europe. Far fewer horses were used on the battlefields during World War II than in earlier times, but they were still needed for transporting artillery, and supplies.
Ben often talked to Dexter each morning as he hitched him to the trash cart. “How goz it, Dexter boy? I wonder if you feel this is something of a demotion, hauling trash after your distinguished service during the war?” Dexter looked back at him, and swished his tail as if to say “whatever it takes to get the job done.” Ben smiled. “My man, I think you have the right attitude. This man’s navy has all manner of jobs to do. Without you and me hauling the trash out, this place would get pretty doggone smelly.”
Dexter’s presence at the Naval Home brought about renewed enthusiasm for many of the old sailors. The sound of Dexter’s hooves on the road with the creaking of the trash cart behind him, became the reason many of the guys at the Naval Home got up in the morning Many of the sailors had suffered losses of their friends during wartime, injuries that had altered their lives forever, and now in the twilight of their lives, dealt with unspeakable loneliness. Some of them were getting increasingly forgetful and losing touch with a world that seemed to keep spinning just fine without them. But the sound of Dexter outside their windows, pulling the trash cart each day was for most of them the best medicine for their spirits.
Several of the retirees waved at Dexter and Ben as they drove by, and neither Ben nor Dexter disappointed them, acknowledging their greeting with a return wave from Ben and a bobbing head by Dexter. As day would end and shadows began falling, it almost became a competition to see how may of the retirees would come to give Dexter his evening apple and occasional lump of sugar.
Dexter hauled the trash cart every day, rain or shine, for 21 years. Many of the old and ailing navy veterans had died since that first day when Dexter stuck his head in the window. Several Commandants had come and gone. The Korean War brought more men still to the home, and yet another war was brewing on the other side of the world in 1966. Dexter was like an equine version of “Mr. Chips”, he was a constant and a beloved presence at the Naval Home and Ben was still there by his side.
One summer afternoon, Ben unhitched Dexter from the trash cart and said, “I think you’ve done your service to your country, and to the Navy, fella. We’ve got plenty of trucks now that can do the heavy lifting and hauling. You’ve earned your retirement.” Dexter was perhaps puzzled in the first days devoid of hauling the trash, but he caught on after awhile. Ben still took care of him, and the many sailors at the home enjoyed watching him from their windows or visiting him in the 3-acre plot, now known as Dexter Park, where he grazed daily throughout retirement.
EPILOGUE
In the summer of 1968, Dexter stopped eating. He failed to respond to medication. He was given a pill to end his suffering and he, like so many of the sailors at the Naval Home over the years, crossed the bar. Many tears were shed that day by the many who loved Dexter. A newspaper article was written about Dexter’s passing entitled “Last Navy Horse Dies, Leaves Pals at Old-Age Home Bereft.” When Ben was interviewed by the newspaperman who wrote the story, he lovingly spoke of Dexter’s gentle and playful nature and how he loved apples and his lump of sugar every now and then. It was the only interview Ben ever gave in his life, and certainly the hardest. A military funeral was held for Dexter and taps were played as the sun set over the Schuykill River.