Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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ft THE SENIOR ai AGN E T among the events was the hare chase. Boh had never entered before because he always was grooming his dogs for the bird chase. This year when his champion dog counted a certainty to win, he turned his attention to Sandy. In the two years Sandy had spent with Bob, he had learned much, and now it seemed to him that something unusual was going to happen. For two weeks Bob had taken him to the field and seemed to be satisfied with nothing short of super-dog efforts. His sportsman’s blood was thrilled at the dog’s effort to please him and he in turn gave him all the help he could. At the dog’s eager bark, his eyes twinkled and he spoke to the dog as one might speak to a child. ‘‘Not had enough of it yet, old fellow? Well, this is where you get your test.” He stepped into his buckboard and calling the dog up beside him left the ranch. In about an hour’s time they arrived at the roundup. What happened in the next hour was somewhat trying on Sandy’s nerve. He was led here and there and many were the laughs that were made at his expense. Finally he was led up to a long field and there, in a position to go, he awaited his master’s command. “Go, Sandy!” was all he needed, and he was off like the wind. The place was full of trails, but they were mostly old and Sandy passed them up. In a few minutes he had struck a trail and the chase was on. His opponent, a wellmuscled dog, took up his cry, but quickly dropped it on examining the trail. But Sandy, erring for the first time in his life, had to be called off the trail. The other dog had by this time found the trail and by a smooth example of hare running had brought the hare into view and scored the first win. Another hare was let loose and the chase was on again. All this time the clouds had been gathering, and all except the real sportsmen left the field. Sud- denly the storm broke, but the judges, wishing to end the day’s work and make their decision, ordered the race to be continued. And this is where Sandy showed his real worth. The thunder bellowed and lightning flashed straight in the faces of those who were following. The large dog “King,” had to be led out from behind his master and set upon the trail; but at every opportunity, he crept back to his handler’s side and would not be put on the chase. Sandy after giving his master one appealing look, started off with the command to go; but at the next loud crash stopped; he again received the command, and like a soldier at battle, he began his double fight. First to keep that trail and then to fight those natural dog fears which come with a storm. Finally, when the judges had about decided to call off the race and award the prize to one of the dogs that had run earlier in the day, Sandy struck the warm trail. Off he started, but at the next flash, a tree was struck and a large limb was sent down to the ground at Sandy. A branch struck his leg and he was knocked almost senseless, but he seemed to hear the command “Go!” Gamely he started, and without a cry of protest, dragging his rear legs behind him he came to the hole in which the hare was hid. His feeble bark of holed, was answered by a shout of the judges, who had lost sight of him for the moment. Many were the exclamations of wonder and praise when they saw how he had covered the last thirty feet. In the mind of the judges there was now no doubt as to which dog of the day had run the best race. But to Bob, there was but one matter of importance, and that was not the prize but Sandy himself. He gathered him up in his arms and Sandy with his wonderful grit made no whimper, but just a questioning look in his eyes as he was bandaged tight and placed on a velvet cushion. i

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tiie senior magnet b Paul A. Duncan An eager hark greeted Bob I raynor as he stepped off his porch, gun in hand, and an expectant look in his eyes. I iis glance quickly left the study of the sky and came back to the dog leaping about in great leaps and fawning about him. “Sandy, he said, “What do you think of it this year, think we will have any luck? Sandy, on hearing his name called, was all attention. His appearance was nothing to arouse anyone’s curiosity until one looked into Sandy’s eyes. A soft dog-like look was there; but yet he would look back at one with a firm, proud look of a dog who knows no fear. His ears were short, his muzzle long, and his long wiry body gave the impression of great endurance rather than strength. His ancestry was not known, but it did not seem to make much difference to Bob, who always had a string of registered dogs. Bob had found him one day, a fence rail lying across his back, and a tin can tied on his tail. The dog had never made a sound and Bob, knowing what pain he must have been in, marveled at the little dog’s grit. “You certainly have sand, little fellow, he said, and a thought struck him, he would try something new'. He would take the little dog and give him the best training he could get and see how he would compare with his high priced dogs. So, Sandy came to live in a real dog’s paradise. As the rest of the dogs were all bird dogs, he was trained to be a rabbit dog. Every year the sportsmen of one of the western states had a roundup of hunters and dogs, and chief

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THE SENIOR LMAGNET 7 That night when a silver cup was placed in his hand, Bob thought only of what Sandy had gone through for him. and. like Sandy, he remained silent to the cries for speech, and said that he would let the surgeon speak for him. “He’ll make it,’’ came the unexpected answer, and at the words a look of pride and love for his dog came into Bob’s eyes. And he, as Sandy would have done, looked the judges straight in the face and said not a word, but they all understood, and with many a backward look, they left him alone, with a man’s best friend, his dog. ------------b.h.s.------------ THOUGHTS AT THE SWIMMING HOLE IN THE WINTER John Byers I look a funity notion; 'twas on a winter day, To bike down to the swimmin bole, at least a mile away; The snow was to my ankles, tbe wind was rather chill, But heedless of impediments, I started o’er the hill. And finally I got there, although ’twas quite a task, To find the creek unfrozen; no shield from wintry blast; Snow was to the streamlet’s edge and met a fringe of ice, The cool rippling water—as yet did not entice. I strolled o’er the snowy beach, where we were wont to lay, In the damp and cooling sand, on a hot summer day; These very feet, leaving an impress, now warmly shod. That dripping cooling water, the selfsame beach had trod. While thus in rumination, a sudden thought escapes, And ’minds me of the time we played Tartan of the Apes. We climbed o’er the cotton woods, and naked, ’twas a trick, To swing from bending branches, then drop into the creek. And this thought brought up others, to mem’ry no less dear, Of this most cherished place, and times that we spent here. One time in particular, spent in yon rippling pool, Was, if I remember right, a day that we had school. We swam, and dived, and dashed in spray the sparkling waters; Now on the top, now underneath, like playful otters; fust three of us together, and so that we could stay, We’d packed and brought our dinners, to swim the entire day. Then when we tired of swimming, we explored up the stream, Or sprawled out in the sand to catch the sun's burning gleam; And as the sun was waning we, feaful, homeward ran, In dread of folks suspicions on seeing such a tan. And when a friendly hand would slap on shoulders burnt and sore, Then were we being meted out reward in ample store. And were it not for pranks like these all life would be a bore; Eor not dislike of the teacher, or hatred for the book; ’Tis the spirit of adventure that prompts us to play book.