St Thomas More High School - Utopian Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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places. Also, they often are used to locate and rescue the wounded. Were you allowed to see your dog after he was inducted? Only once, before they shipped him East. Did he know you? Surely, though he had changed a lot. The soldier responsible for him made him do some of the new tricks he had learned, such as crawling almost fiat on his stomach, as though through barbed wire entanglementsf' Queenie had finished her lunch and decided to take a nap in the warm sunlight. Occasionally she started half way up, to snap at some bother- some fiy, then relaxed once more. Frankie added: You should see how they train a dog to be a messenger. At first he travels only a few yards from one trainer to another. Gradually the distance is increased by the in- structor until the dog travels back and forth several miles. The dog always wants to get back to its master. Once, Rex had to swim a stream, climb a ten-foot fence, and run down a road amidst fire from explosives deliberately set off to frighten him. I was sure he would never pass that testg he was always so playful and timid at home. Oh-oh! Ssshl I think I have a bite! Well, scratch it! laughed Bob. I'm serious. Wait a minute! Aww! He got away! complained Frankie. From there he went on to explain how animals are taught to report accidents on the battlefields, by catching up in their mouth their brinsell, or short stick at- tached to their collar, and running with it to the stretcher bearers. They in turn follow the dog to the scene of the casualty. Gosh! That must have been fun, seeing all that! said Bob. That's not all, either. I saw the whole outfit being fed at 4 p.m. Each dog receives his own tin plate in front of his kennel. The fioor, by the way, is usually covered with cedar shavings to discourage fleas. The diet consists mostly of horsemeat mixed with some specially manufac- tured mixture of highly nutricious stuff. Builds muscle, I suppose! volunteered Bob, reaching for the second of his sandwiches. Muscle is the word, replied young Tempers. You should see those commando dogs in action! At the time, I was only eight years old, and began to fear what would happen should one of those 78. fierce beasts tangle with our Rex. The officer said that such a fighter could exert 500 pounds pres- sure with his jaws-snap a man's wrist like a match stick! And you mean real men had to train them? Yep! But that wasn't too bad, because of the reinforced suits which the trainers wore. First, they added to their regular uniforms a heavily padded outfit like a dress, and over that a heavy canvas cover-all. A wire and mesh headgear pro- tected the men's nose and eyes, yet occasionally some of the animal's 42 teeth sink through. Best padded of all were the trainers' hands. Wooden splints and adhesive tape covered the fingers in- side huge leather mitts. By the way, Bob, the next time we go down to the library, remind me to show you the book which pictures dogs at war in past ages. If you think modern methods are clever, you ought to read about the old timers, all the way back to Caesar's time. Ya know, Frankie, I've been wondering what effect all that training and actual combat has on the dogs. I don't know too much about that, admitted the authority, but I think the Marines have a fine way of disciplining their charges. Each trainer and his dog forms a unit, a team. When- ever necessary to scold a dog, the trainer does so immediately, as soon as the offense is com- mittedg otherwise, the dog will not remember what he is being reproved for. After that, the trainer praises him and speaks kindly to him, so as to retain his friendship. Queenie sat up and began to paw one ear with her right hind leg. The action recalled another point of interest to her owner. Army dogs, he went on, generally have their serial number tatooed inside their ear. Queenie rose, stretched, then padded grace- fully away in the direction of the beach. A pass- ing motorboat gave rise to a new topic of dis- cussion, and the young friends babbled on for another half hour before their weary backs and slack lines made the idea of further perseverance seem unwise. Good thing we got these minnies for nothing, commented Bob, or I'd feel gyped- Shall we go? Suits me, except that we haven't finished all the lunch, and if I take this much back . . . Tell you what! Let's ride back to our yardg . THE U TOPIAN

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in the world, replied the dog's young master. My parents love her-my father, especially, be- cause he once owned her father, Rex. Rex be- longed to the K-9 Corps, and fought with the Marines in the last war. He received a medal for bravery. Dad keeps it in his bureau drawer. With fresh admiration for the dog beginning to swell within his heart, Bob found it now im- possible to utter what he had been thinking the moment after Queenie appeared on the scene, that it would be better to leave her home rather than allow her meanderings to interfere with their fishing. His intended objection softened into a meek Is she coming along with us? Frankie either failed to hear the question or chose to ignore it. Instead, he headed his bicycle out of the driveway and swung off down Baker Street, followed by Bob, followed by Queenie, bouncing along with an occasional bark, as though fully aware of the fun ahead. Until the three had crossed the last intersec- tion that had stood between them and the open road leading to the Bay, and to Shorty's pier, neither boy had much to say. Each was busy watching traiiic and taking in the sights. Once on the open road they rode side by side, leaving enough space for the dog to trot between them. She liked having a double escort. What did you say her father's name was? resumed Bob. Rex, answered Frankie, apparently pleased to continue the former topic of conversation. I remember the day, or I should say, my Dad recalls the day we received the application form from the government. The letters were addressed to the dog. 'Where do you live? Are you afraid of loud noises? Do you live outdoors or indoors?' and so forth. Imagine the Army writing to a dog! Bob chuckled, then continued: Betcha Rex and the others must have had some life, Hm? Yes and no! responded Frankie. Of course the government feeds, clothes, and houses them in the best tradition, but it certainly doesn't coddle them. They've got to be rugged. They work hard and train hard. You said something about clothes. Well, continued Queenie's owner, as he pedaled along leisurely, it all depends on what type of service each dog is expected to render. For instance, when Rex did night shore patrol THE U TOPIAN . in Connecticut, he had to wear a set of little boots. You see, broken shells cut the dogs' feet. On ski patrol, dogs often wear a white cover-all for extra warmth and camouflage: they even don special goggles to reduce glare. Geel How about that! How'd you find out such things, Franny? Read some of them, and heard a lot of things from the Marine omcer who escorted me around camp when we brought Rex. Juni-something or other was his name, Juniata, maybe. He used to train circus and movie dogs, before the war. At this point, both boys veered off the road, hard, sandy stretch of terrain that led to a long, improvised catwalk built upon pilings of what once had been a ferry slip. Glorified by the ad- dition of a few weather-beaten signs, a shanty, and a Sinclair gas pump, this was locally known as Shorty's Pier. Shorty was a waterfront edition of Barry Fitzgerald. Busy filling several 5-gallon tins with fuel, he nodded a pleasant token of welcome. Nobody's been around all day, he mumbled. Fetch that tomato can over there, and I'll give ya some minnies fer free. Soon the boys were several yards apart, waiting for a nibble on their hand lines. They had squatted on separate pilings, and dangled their bare feet ing space above the blue water. Further up the beach, Queenie raced back and forth along the waterline, in vain quest of a large white gull. The sight of her in search of food prompted Frankie to dig his left hand into the knapsack for the first of the homemade roast beef sand- wiches. Between savage bites he called to his dog: Here Que-e-e-eniel Here girl! Moments later, Queenie bounded along the catwalk, shook a thousand droplets of water over both fishermen, and amidst shouts of protest, settled down to her lunch as eagerly as did her companions. Queenie's retum impelled Bob to revert to his original conversation. What else did you learn from that officer? he inquired. Settling back against the pilings, Frankie re- sumed. At first they couldn't decide what kind of job Rex was best suited for, so they tried him out- What else can dogs do besides fight? Actually, dogs do very little fighting in mod- ern warfare, but they make dandy messengersg guards at piers, airports, arsenals, and similar .77

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we could iinish eating while listening to the ball game on the radio. Uh-huh. Incidentally, observed Franny, dumping the few remaining minnows back into the Bay, I forgot to tell you that a soldier from Los Angeles brought Queenie to us from overseas after her father passed away on Iwo Jima. Rex was on his way back to headquarters with a note-tele- phone lines had been shot out-when a Jap sniper spotted him. Rex made it, but died a few days later of spinal injuries. Two bullets had nicked him. Golly, that's tough! You said it! It took us a long while to get over the news, but when Queenie arrived, we felt better. Come on! I bet I can beat you home! ,Sez you! retorted Bob, flinging a leg across the bright red bicycle leaning against the shanty. He hoped that the hard-packed sand beyound the pier would support him when he reached it. It didn'tl First the front wheel then the rear sank a full six inches below the surface, com- pelling him to leap off and run beside his wheel. He shouted ahead to the cleverer Frankie, who, having reached the main road, was already streaking for town. Having heard the commotion and fearing lest someone had fallen overboard, Shorty shuffled out of his shanty, peered around, and then caught sight of the retreating figures. Soon, some and dunes along the crest of the road hid the vanishing figures. All that remained was the friendly barking of a dog trailing off in the distance. PA AHA UR HIIMIHIG UITE POSSIBLY you saw and enjoyed an extraordinarily significant cartoon featured recently in the local newspapers. A young couple are seated in conference with the primary grade school teacher of their only and not-too-promising son. That their offspring's low marks are a matter of disappointment to the teacher is evidently more surprising to little Cyril's mama than to his papa. Inquires she: But Miss Scattergood, is it really important that he learn so much about reading? He's going to spend most of his life watching television! Now, if you have concluded already that this article in any way proports to defend the ancient and honorable custom of imbibing information from symbols rather than from pictures, hiero- glyphics notwithstanding, you have grievously erred. Let educators debate that issue. Instead, it is our intention to lament the embarrassing truth that our beloved American populace is THE U TOPIAN . BY DOMINIC ROBERTI, '51 highly susceptible to the wiles of modem adver- tising. That is to say, mama's insistence that her little lamb's eyes be educationally focused for television rather than for print is the conscious or unconscious result, not of having weighed the relative merits of tomes and TV, but of having subscribed to the claims of TV salesmen, warn- ing her that she ill deserves the name mother unless she provides her progeny with the chance to learn about life from a 17-inch, rectangular, flutter-proof screen. Who but the cruelest of parents would deny their children 'the whole- some and educational recreation of television, without which no little one can possibly feel loved and protected? Yes, while poor, illiterate but provident papa was out puttering about his dingy oflice, mama heard the noted psychologist on Channel 13 point out that a TV-less son or daughter is highly vulnerable to a whole brace of complexes .79