Renni the Rescuer

  When they came to say good-bye the cordial pressure of Flamingo’s hand embarrassed George. The sight of the blood-red welt across his face hurt his conscience.

  “Forgive me.”

  Flamingo was puzzled. “Forgive you? What for?”

  “Why, you know, of course,” stammered George.

  “Oh, for that. For that I owe you a thousand thanks.”

  “You’ll change your mind when you look in the mirror.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  “You’ll have every right to.”

  “What are you thinking of? You . . . ” He tried to go on speaking, but George interrupted him.

  “I’m fearfully sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I never did anything brutal in my life before. I can’t forgive myself for being carried away like that.”

  Flamingo replied quickly. “Your regret . . . it’s very nice but quite wrong. You’ve set me free. Really, you’ve changed my feelings entirely and I’ve won two friends. There’s one”—he pointed to Karo—“and if it isn’t presuming too much, you are the other.”

  They made arrangements to meet again, but it wasn’t till long afterward and then unexpectedly, surprisingly, in altogether different circumstances, that they did so.

  * * *

  On his way home George thought of his mother’s words about this unhappy Europe. Here was another instance of man’s cruelty and greed—or woman’s rather; of humiliation seeking relief in futile vengeance on the innocent. It would have to be a dog! And George thought of that reformer-martyr instinct in him that had got clear out of hand. He reproached himself bitterly for his own violent cruelty toward one individual who suffered from the disease of the incurable many. He had come out of it better than he deserved. He hung his head.

  Chapter XII

  AT HOME GEORGE FOUND THE order to report for manœuvres. He was to leave day after tomorrow. He took advantage of the day between to bring Renni to battalion headquarters.

  The Sanitary officer took the animal by the muzzle.

  “A beautiful dog,” he said. He lifted Renni’s lips and felt his teeth. “A fine dog. Only I’m afraid he’s too young. He’s barely a year old.”

  “He can do anything any other dog can do, if not more,” George said.

  “Come, come,” smiled the officer. “Don’t promise too much. Of what use can he be?”

  “First aid, sir. He’s perfect at finding sick or wounded men.”

  “So young—and so perfect? That would break records. Will you be responsible for it, Corporal?”

  “Of course, Captain, entirely responsible.”

  Renni swung his tail as though the conversation pleased him and put his forepaws up on his master.

  “Down,” George said softly. The dog dropped to the ground instantly.

  The officer was pleased. “He looks good,” he said. “We’ll give him a thorough trial. I’ll detail you to the Red Cross first-aid service. You’ve had the regular rudimentary first-aid training yourself, of course?”

  “Yes, sir, during last manœuvres. I got to be a corporal then.”

  The captain wrote a note, laid one hand on the dog’s back and as he handed the paper to George, inquired, “How about fire? Has he ever heard shooting?”

  “Not yet, Captain.” The captain looked thoughtful. George said earnestly, “Everyone has to begin some time, even a dog.”

  “It will be an experiment.” The captain smiled again and said in a friendly way, “Dismissed.”

  George clicked his heels, saluted stiffly and withdrew. Not until he reached the steps did it occur to him that he ought to have said, “Thank you, sir.” He was happy, yet a little uneasy. Fire . . . cannon . . . air bombs.

  “How will you act when you see hell break loose, Renni?” he asked the dog, who looked up at him curiously. “Manœuvres are only half-war but even in half-war there’s a good deal of shooting.”

  George took Renni to Vogg.

  “Why did you send me that Russian jackass?” barked the breeder. “Think I’m running a wholesale business? You’ve got another guess coming!”

  George was taken aback by this unfriendly reception. But when asked what caused it, Vogg only got gruffer.

  “You know very well what that Russian wanted, or you wouldn’t have sent him here. No, I’m through with you. It will be a lesson to me.”

  George insisted he did not know what he was talking about.

  “Don’t try your play-acting on me, you innocent lamb,” Vogg growled. “I won’t believe anything you say from now on. Your harmless Russian wanted to buy three or four dogs! Big dogs. Blazes! Why didn’t he want my whole kennel? He wanted them for watch dogs! When I asked if he meant to keep them chained up, the old moss-back said without a blush, ‘Of course I mean to keep them chained all the time.’ I showed him out in a hurry. And you—what’ll I do with you? Have I got to tell you how low-down it is to keep a dog chained? It’s just hideous to take a fine, good-natured dog and make him surly, afraid of people, likely to bite. Don’t you know there are decent ways to make a good watch dog?”

  “Mr. Safonoff knows nothing about these things,” George made bold to say.

  Vogg blazed up again. “He knows nothing about dogs—but he wants to buy three or four! He thinks money will do everything. He hasn’t the slightest inkling of a dog’s soul. He isn’t even interested in it, the numskull! You can’t do anything worse to dogs than fail to understand them. Merciful God! You can’t teach some people anything. They think they know it all. Now I understand why you haven’t been around here for so long.”

  “Oh, Mr. Vogg, there’s no connection at all.”

  “No connection? Is that so!”

  “No, really and truly. I’ve been busy with Renni’s training, and now we’re both detailed for Red Cross work.”

  “So soon? Congratulations.” His tone was sarcastic. A side glance at Renni and a plainly audible murmur, “Poor fellow!”

  “He isn’t poor,” protested George. “He’s never needed anyone’s sympathy.”

  Vogg laughed bitterly. “Go tell that fairy tale to your Russian uncle.”

  “I swear it. Not once.”

  “Certainly. I’m willing to take that oath as true. Literally. Not once, but a dozen times more likely.”

  Deeply hurt, George cried, “I swear that neither I nor anybody else has ever touched that dog.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  George’s patience was at an end. “I was happy at the thought of bringing the dog to show you,” he said quietly.

  “I was happy and grateful. Since you insult me, I’d better be going.”

  As he closed the door behind him he heard Vogg’s parting shot:

  “Oh, go hang—”

  * * *

  That evening, the last before he joined his command, he spent at home, but it was spoiled by resentment. When he told his mother about the scene at Vogg’s and made all sorts of guesses at what had happened between the breeder and old Safonoff, Mother Marie said, “Well, why don’t you ask Vassili himself?”

  George first tried Tanya and then Vladimir when the Russians came to the house to say good-bye. Neither knew anything about it. So he mustered up courage and put it to the father direct, “You’ve not bought your watch dogs yet?”

  Vassili slowly stroked his long white beard and, after a pause, replied solemnly, “No, not yet.”

  But Ludmilla explained, smiling sweetly. “We are certainly not going to buy any dogs from that ridiculous man. I really can’t understand why you would recommend so rude a person. The ideas he has! The conditions he makes! As if he were giving us something! After all my husband told me about it I am convinced your friend is as big a fool as he is a ruffian.”

  Vladimir grinned. Vassili begged her with touching kindness, “Don’t bother, Millie. Don’t bother. We’ll say nothing more about it. I assume George meant well.”

  With that the matter dropped. Indeed, it was almost cleared up.
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  Renni’s appearance made a welcome diversion for most of those present. This evening even Manya and Sascha were in the company. Tanya petted Renni so tenderly that Manya, ordinarily taciturn though at heart very kind, broke out harshly, “Oh, quit it, Tanya. Don’t carry on so.”

  Tanya blushed but did not answer.

  Sascha growled, “Let Tanya carry on as much as she wants to. Stop your preaching.”

  Mitya took a hand. “Manya’s always got to be bossy. And Tanya’s as emotional as a girl in love.”

  A still deeper blush spread over Tanya’s pretty face. Vladimir kept smiling.

  “Don’t quarrel, dear children,” commanded Vassili gently.

  “We aren’t quarrelling, Father,” Kolya said seriously. “We’re just amusing ourselves.”

  They all burst out laughing.

  Suddenly Ludmilla gave a shriek. Kitty with a sudden leap had landed on her shoulder. Vassili, completely taken aback, could only murmur, “For heaven’s sake, Millie.” Bettina hurried up and took the kitten in her arms.

  “Thank you, thank you,” smiled Ludmilla, again quite pacified. “You have saved my life. Nobody is safe with all these animals around. Nothing can keep them from attacking you.” She said it so cheerfully that her bite was easy to overlook.

  Sascha said dryly, “Mama, you are talking nonsense.”

  “My son,” Vassili began booming, but Sascha wouldn’t let him say a word.

  “Why, Mama knows she’s talking nonsense. Renni never goes near her and poor old Nemo hasn’t the strength to attack her. Evidently he doesn’t want to anyway.”

  They laughed, but the laugh was a bit forced.

  “You are unjust, Sascha.” Vassili started to find fault but Sascha rudely shut him off again.

  “Let me alone, please, Father. Nobody’s going to stop me from expressing my opinions.”

  There was an appalled silence broken only by a sharp laugh from Manya. Then Ludmilla covered the painful situation. As though nothing had happened she cried out, “Oh, by the way, Renni—you have not killed him yet?”

  George started. “Kill Renni? Renni?” He was hurt to the quick.

  Ludmilla smiled sweetly. “Oh, of course I mean the other dog. The sick one. How is anyone to remember all these dogs’ names?”

  Vladimir grinned. “Two dogs’ names. Only two.” He got a stern look from his father, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he thought: “Two dogs’ names for her. Eight Russian names for them.”

  “We do not kill animals,” Mother Marie declared. “At our house creatures are free to live their lives out to the end.”

  “That’s funny,” said Ludmilla, and Vassili repeated, “Very funny,” at the same time shaking his head with a tragic air.

  “Well,” replied Mother Marie, “we’re very funny then. Every human being is funny in some way, in his own way, and he doesn’t even know it.”

  Then Vladimir started to whistle his sweet, sad Russian songs. His brothers and sisters chimed in with the words, but Vladimir’s caressing, triumphant fluting soared above their voices. So the evening came to a musical end. Nobody paid any attention to Ludmilla, who shed a few tears and sighed, “Oh, my Russia!” Tanya and Vladimir were happy because George was again in a good humour and all took an affectionate leave of Renni—all except Ludmilla, Manya and Sascha. Even Vassili patted Renni on the back and Vladimir bent down to fondle him.

  Chapter XIII

  COMPLETELY EQUIPPED AND RIGHT on time George led Renni into the barracks. Five other dogs, each with his trainer, stood before the medical staff officer.

  “Get your cur on the leash,” he thundered to George.

  “It isn’t necessary, Captain. He’ll not move from my knee.”

  “Do what I order you!” bawled the captain.

  In silence George snapped the leash to the dog’s collar.

  “Now come over here and let me get a look at the beast.”

  George would have liked to reply that Renni was neither cur nor beast. But he kept silent, stepped up and handed the leash to the officer, who pulled Renni over to him very gently—a surprising gentleness. He examined Renni, petting him and speaking kindly. At the first glance at his teeth the captain blazed up. “Just what I thought! A puppy. How dare you bring a pup in here?”

  George was irritated. His face flushed but he kept himself in control. “The Captain will see from the assignment slip I gave him that Renni has been accepted.”

  “Well, what do you expect to prove with that scrap of paper?”

  “Only that I have not presumed.”

  “If the dog turns out no good . . . and I can tell that right now . . . I’ll send you back to your regiment.”

  “The dog will prove himself.”

  “Silence!”

  George was silent. He had perfect trust in his Renni. His comrades in the Medical Corps shook hands with him after they were dismissed and the dogs too exchanged friendly greetings, Renni the friendliest of all. His satisfaction at finding so many comrades was quite obvious. They were all police dogs, steady, well-fed, well-developed dogs perhaps four or five years old. One indeed was all of eight and there were white hairs on his muzzle. He was the calmest of the group, with that assurance which comes from experience. George saw on all the dogs’ faces the serious look which had always delighted him when he caught it in Renni. The handler of the old dog, Sergeant-Major Nickel, spoke to George encouragingly:

  “Why shouldn’t your Renni be able to do the work? Nonsense! Just because he’s young? My Hector was young too when he began. Of course, not quite as young as your dog. But that’s just a way the old fussbudget has of showing his importance.” He jerked his shoulder scornfully in the captain’s direction. The latter was busy detailing the stretcher-bearers and the dog-handlers, whom he assigned according to a prearranged list. Three bearers and a dog-handler to each battalion.

  “Be sure to remember your assignments,” he warned. “They’ll be the same in case of war unless—” he looked at George meaningly—“unless there’s a change made first.”

  “Very well, sir,” growled Nickel with a tinge of scorn in his voice.

  One after another started off with the stretcher-bearers.

  “You have the farthest to go,” a comrade cried to George as he hurried past.

  “Double quick!” roared out the commander behind them. “That means you. This is no Sunday stroll.”

  “Come, Renni,” George said softly and darted off. Renni kept step with him but did not pull at the leash, did not pant, held to a steady gait. They reached their battalion, took their position behind the ranks. The three bearers patted Renni, who accepted their caresses calmly.

  “A beautiful animal,” said one.

  Another had news. “Likely we’ll see action before the day’s over.”

  “Where?” asked the third. “The enemy’s a long way off.”

  “Enemy?” thought George. “Renni and I shall have no enemies, even in war.”

  “Battalion, forward march!” The mass of men began to move.

  “Where’s the band?” someone asked.

  “Ass!” was the answer. “These manœuvres are on a war footing. There won’t be any band.”

  Another added, “Oh, well. When we start home there’ll be plenty of that oompah-oompah-oomp.”

  From the air overhead came the mighty hum of propellers from a squadron of planes. Renni lifted his head.

  “There’s your music,” laughed someone.

  “Those are our planes,” another cried.

  Renni was still looking up in astonishment. George was on the point of saying, “Quiet, old boy,” but it wasn’t necessary. Renni was quiet. He had only given way to his curiosity for a few seconds.

  “When we get to the woods,” came a voice from the rank and file, “once we get to the woods, we won’t have to march in close rank any longer.”

  Another voice corrected him. “Maybe we’ll deploy sooner than that.”

  Two hours pass
ed. Three. March, march, march. The heat was getting oppressive. Suddenly there came a crash from in front, rather close. Anti-aircraft batteries. George looked anxiously at his dog. Renni pricked up his ears just once, but that was all the note he took of the artillery thunder. Again came the whirring of motors in the air—this time from the opposite direction, and this time Renni gave no sign whatever that he noticed them.

  “Skirmish lines! Skirmish lines! Deploy!” came the order. “Rifles ready! Forward!”

  In the twinkling of an eye the close-packed mass dissolved, scattered and, as it dipped into the forest, became invisible. Now the cannon began to roar, shaking the earth with explosions, but not shaking Renni’s calm.

  “Fine, old boy! Fine! Better than I ever expected.” George could not keep from hugging him.

  “Artillery preparation,” said a soldier. “The order to charge will come soon.”

  From far away came the deep booming of the howitzers. The machine guns clattered sharply.

  “I’d never have thought the fun would start so soon.” Some man screamed the words at the top of his voice, but with all the uproar he could hardly be heard.

  “Soon!” cried another. “You idiot! The fun’s been going on for hours.”

  “Charge!” cried a voice of command. And “Charge!” was repeated down the line.

  The drums whirred the charge. The trumpets blew the charge. As though carried along by a storm wind the force whipped on, a column of tanks at their head, hurling lightning; another column of tanks came to meet them, spitting flame. Renni in the midst of all this madness seemed utterly unconcerned. The infernal nerve-shattering racket left him perfectly cool. All of a sudden he stopped, sniffed the air, pulled the other way. George unsnapped his leash and Renni raced off.

  After a little while he led George to a soldier who had fainted and was lying unconscious on the ground. By the time the three stretcher-bearers had given him a stimulant Renni was off in another direction. He hurried swiftly back, urging George at the double quick to a sick man who was writhing in agony. Renni was quartering the ground here, there, everywhere. A major taking part in the charge called out, “Whose dog’s that? He’s too smart.” A number of soldiers pointed to George.