--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Jakeman, Ellen L. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 30 number: 4 published: 1927-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Jakeman, Ellen L., “Teasing the Dog,” *Improvement Era* 30, no. 4 (February 1927): 329–334." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3004unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3004unse start_page: 329 end_page: 334 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1927-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3004unse publication_year: 1927 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1927, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Teasing the Dog TEASING THE DOG By Ellen L. Jakeman The richest soil, unsown to better seeds', Will give its strength to foul and bitter weeds. Mr. Maxwell was hardly out of sight going toward home, his big dog, Leone, lumbering at his heels, when Bill Duncan crept out of the bushes and trees that grew all round this corner of the Maxwell farm, sheltering orchard and watermelon patch from wind and frost. Mr. Maxwell had been one of the first men in this locality to demonstrate, that, by looking out for favorable conditions, fruit could be grown. This spot, warm, sandy loam, lying fair to the sun, was ideal, except that it was too far from the house to be watched constantly. A gang of boys, of which Bill Duncan was the acknowl- edged leader, had depredated some; and the owner had been neither slow nor moderate in denouncing the pilfering and the pilferers, and had made some threats when exasperated that had not bettered matters to any great extent. His dog, half St. Bernard, and half — no one knew what, — sometimes stood guard and was a very faithful and obe- dient animal; slow to learn a new lesson, but it did seem, when once mastered, some things were learned too well. For instance: — sent one day to drive a neighbor's cows away from a rather weak place in the field fence, he went as he was bidden but did not return till next day, driving the cows many miles out into the hills, because his master forgot to whistle a retreat to call him back. Bill Duncan had not been allowed to have a dog of his own; so, to save his face with the other boys, who nearly all had dogs, he had rocked, tin-canned and teased all the dogs, saying he hated them. Leone was one of the dogs he had teased and hectored till he was afraid of him, and not without cause. Mr. Maxwell had left his son, Tom, on guard, and had the dog stayed with him, Bill would have kept dis- creetly out of sight, but he was not afraid of the boy. The fathers of these two boys were born in the same English village, worked together in their youth, joined the Church at about the same time, crossed the ocean in the same ship and traversed the plains in the same company, and it would seem that nothing could have disrupted such a friendship; but the conduct of the boys, and Mr. Maxwell's threats, had brought about a sullen coldness. No more did they drop in casually to spend an evening, or make it convenient to walk together to and from their men's meetings or discuss points of doctrine, agricultural problems or politics. No; Bill Duncan was not afraid of Tom Maxwell! The melons were ripe now, and ready for market, delicious to the taste and doubly desirable because forbidden. 3 30 IMPROVEMENT ERA There must be no outcry, so Bill sneaked silently through the grass till with a bound he was on the back of the young watcher: "You make one yell and I'll paste you one on the jaw. You're a noble watchman, 'Horatio at the Bridge,' to let the Tuscans sneak right up and climb your back without knowing it!" he told his struggling captive. "Come on now, I'm going to put you in the tool house, and sack Rome; otherwise spoken of as eat all the water- melons I want! See?" and he marched the now non-resisting boy, somewhat smaller than himself, to a bin-like shack built against the hill. Tools were kept here for convenience, and recently a sheet- iron camp stove and a small stock of provisions had been added, for it had been necessary to stand guard at the melon patch all night, some- times. A heavy iron bar fastened the door on the outside, and there were no windows, and when Bill had shoved Tom in, and barred the door, he exulted in the thought that nothing less effective than an ax could open it from the inside. Bill stayed a few moments to have fun with his captive, but getting no response, turned his attention to the melons. He had not yet made his- selection when he saw Leone, the dog, come bounding back, and realized that he would have to "leg it some" if he got over the fence before he was caught; and he had no curi- osity to find out what a dog that had killed several wild animals in fair fight would do to him if he caught him while trespassing. It was a close shave, but Bill made it to the fence and over. One of the lessons that Leone had learned was to stay hostilities on his own side of the fence, and to make the boys respect the fence line, also. Safely over, Bill, who felt the dog had cheated him out of a melon, began to taunt and annoy the faithful old guard, who had gone and lain down in front of the tool hut. He had been sent back to stay with Tom, and it was quite possible that he had seen Bill push Tom into the hut as he came through the brush. Bill flipped small stones to sting the dog, yelped like a coyote, and, what he knew the dog particularly disliked, pointed his finger at him and made a hissing noise. Leone rumbled deep growls in his throat, and evinced displeasure, but stuck to his post. Grown tired of this doubtful sport. Bill decided to go else- where, and called out to his prisoner: "Hey, Tom! I'd let you out but this hippopotamus you folks call a dog won't let me. So long! I hope you have a pleasant afternoon in the sweat box for being so stingy with your melons." Getting no reply, Bill walked away whistling. He had not gone far, however, when, chancing to look back, he thought he saw a faint haze of smoke hovering over the rear part of the temporary prison. "Fire!" he ejaculated — and it is a word to appall the stoutest heart. He watched the haze for a few moments, unable to believe his eyes, and saw the mist of smoke turn to thin spirals. With genuine alarm he rushed back to open the tool-hut door, but making a TEASING THE DOG 331 mental resolve to thump Tom good if he was playing any kind of a trick on him. Bill was on the fence, but the dog, whom he had momentarily forgotten, met him with teeth bared and neck ruff bristling. The smoke was growing more dense with every minute, and Bill's alarm grew with it. "Oh, Leone, let me come over," he begged. "Tom's in that tool house and it's afire! Can't you understand, you old fool? Tom! Tom!" Bill called, his fright mounting, but there was no answer. "I've got to come over, Leone," he panted; and the quality of terror in his voice gave the dog, through primal instinct, knowledge that something out of the usual was going forward, and he sniffed and whined uneasily; but the abuse, teasing and taunting that had long been his portion from the hands of this boy was one of the lessons he had learned thoroughly. It is hard to tell, in the changing vicissitudes of life, into whose hands the balance of power will fall, and what terrible reprisal may be taken for an act of oppression, or a ruthless disregard of another's rights. For Bill, this balance of power was invested in the powerful jaws of a dog that he had assiduously taught to hate and fear him. Who could have guessed when he was teasing, insulting and rocking this animal, that the impressions made might become a matter of life and death? His mind had reasoned swiftly that if he went over in spite of the dog, and he tore him down as he threatened to do, Tom would be no better off; but he could not quit with that obvious conclusion. "I'll come over right now, if I have to kill you, or you kill me;" said the desperate, white-lipped boy, as he grabbed up the broken limb of a cedar tree that lay near, and again mounted the fence, de- termined to open the hut door or die in the attempt. While Bill was getting the club the dog had run frantically around the tool house, even scrambling over the rocks and brush that blocked the back of it, where the fire was making the most headway, and he sent up a long, mournful howl as he turned the corner, that set every nerve in Bill's body quivering with a cold panic. The fire was gaining, but the dog met Bill at the fence with a murderous growl, that almost seemed as much an accusation as a menace. Perhaps nothing on earth but the sight of Mr. Maxwell running toward them, gun in hand, would have kept Bill from jumping down into the very jaws of the slavering beast. Mr. Maxwell whistled, and, obedient as always, the dog turned to his master. Over the fence went Bill, and in spite of the intense heat, ran to the burning tool house, and whipping off his coat to protect his hands, tried frantically to lift the iron bar that held the door fast, but the heat had warped the wood and he could not move it. All the time he was making these frantic efforts, he was yelling: 3 32 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Tom's in here! Tom's in here!" and in his heart he was saying: "Oh, God, perform a miracle and put out this fire. I know you can do anything you wish to! For Tom's sake! For his father's* sake! For his mother's sake! Punish me for all I've done but don't let Tom dp burned to death for my wickedness." Mr. Maxwell stared at the shrieking boy, amazed. "Come away from there, you big fool," he shouted. "You'll be killed!" But the frantic boy did not seem to hear him, as he made prodigious efforts to remove the iron bar from the door. Then the back part of the roof fell in. Bill seemed to realize then that all further effort on his part was useless. He walked toward Mr. Maxwell like a feeble old man. He threw away the scorched and smoking coat, and drew his shirt sleeve across his all but blistered face. He came quite close and throwing wide his arms in a gesture of utter despair said to the amazed watermelon grower: "Shoot me, Mr. Maxwell, shoot me! I'll tell the truth anyhow when I'm arrested, and they will hang me, but I just can't bear a trial, and see* how you and Tom's mother will feel, and how my mother and father will feel and everybody will hate me. I know now." As if talking to himself, he continued, "I know now how Cain felt when he killed his brother. Only he wanted to kill Abel, and I only meant to tease and bully Tom," and he sank to the earth, a limp and inanimate heap, at the feet of the surprised and puzzled Mr. Maxwell. Even the dog knew that something was wrong with his arch- enemy. He whined, and nosed the motionless figure. Tom came out of the brush and followed his father, who had picked the boy up, over the rough furrows to an irrigation ditch. "I know what's the matter with him, Daddy! He put me in the tool house so he could steal melons, and I thought I would be there till you came back, so I started to build a fire to get me some dinner, and it would not burn very well; and, happening to think of the panel at the back that would not work after the rainy spell, I left the fire and went and tried it. It worked all right, and I forgot about the fire I'd been trying to build and sneaked out through the brush and trees, without letting Bill know. I must have been gone before Leone got back. I wanted you to catch him taking it easy in the melon patch, and give him a good flogging, but I did not think you'd bring a gun when I told you it was just one of our neighbor boys, Daddy!" and there was something in the tone and the sick- sadness of his lad's young eyes that greatly distressed Mr. Maxwell. He was conscious of a poignant desire to rehabilitate himself in the good opinion of his son, but could think of nothing to say. Having sloshed the face and head of the collapsed boy liberally with tepid water from the irrigation ditch, and not gaining so much as the quiver of an eyelash in response, Mr. Maxwell became alarmed. "Run for his father, Tom. Go to the field, not to the house TEASING THE DOG 3 33 where his mother is. Tell him to come quickly. Poor kid! If he thinks you were burned to death and it was his fault, I can begin to understand why he asked me to shoot him. He was in earnest, too! Well, that is quite a heavy burden of sorrow for a child, poor kid!" But Mr. Maxwell was talking to his dog, for Tom had sped away at his father's first words, on fleet and almost tireless legs. Mr. Maxwell was mechanically wetting the boy's face when his father dismounted from a blown plow horse, and came over and took his son in his arms. The limp form seemed to have shrunken in its clothes, and the limbs sprawled every way in obedience to the laws of gravity. He had heard the whole story from Tom who had ridden back, perched like a monkey on the back of the horse. As Mr. Duncan laid the fire-scorched face on his breast, he didn't say a word, but such a groan burst from his lips as set Tom to crying, and Mr. Maxwell to trying to comfort him. "There was something noble ui that boy's soul," old friend, "even if he was mischievous." That past tense was like a dagger in the heart of Bill's father, who replied: "I've thrashed him for his mischief, and never taken time to find out what was in his soul; but if God will give him back to me and forgive me for being so blind and stupid in the past, I'll surely be a real father to him in the future." There in that open field, beneath the blue, imperial sky, they sought the great physician, and humbly begged for the life of Bill, the bad boy, suddenly grown so precious. Before they were well through presenting their petition to the Lord, Bill feebly opened his eye:;, and looked up into his father's face. "Are you dead, too, Daddy? You know Tom and 1 are both dead, don't you? I — " and before his father could answer him. his voice, not much more than a whisper, trailed off into nothingness, and he was again unconscious. Mr. Duncan arose to his feet with the boy in his arms. "It will be best for him to wake in his mother's arms, so I'll carry him home. Tom, will you ride the horse over for me?" Tom caught the grazing horse, and stood at attention. Mr. Maxwell spread a clean, white handkerchief between Bill's scorched face and his father's rough shirt; and tore down a panel of fence that Mr. Duncan might pass through without jarring his burden. He then picked up his gun and followed along; and with his dog at his heels, and Tom on the horse, they formed quite a startling proces- sion. Mrs. Duncan saw them coming and, panic stricken, ran to meet them. Seeing the gun in the hands of her neighbor, said, "Oh, Mr. Maxwell, you haven't shot my boy! I know he has annoyed you. and you have made threats, but surely he did not deserve death!" Knowing what had been in his thoughts when he went to the melon patch, Mr. Maxwell dropped his eyes to his gun, shifted his 3 34 IMPROVEMENT ERA glance to the dog, and then to his own boy without replying; but her husband hastened to reassure her. "No, Mary, our good neighbors came to help me home with him. Billy has fainted, — I'll tell you about it later." They undressed the still unconscious lad, got him into dry clothes, and to bed, and his mother dressed his burns while she listened to the recital of all but tragedy. Bill was breathing better now, but suddenly he opened 'his eyes and cried out in anguish: "Tom is in there, Leone! I must go over the fence! Oh, I wish I had never teased you, old fellow!" and he would have scrambled out of bed if kind hands had not restrained him. When fully awake and made to take a look at Tom, alive and safe, he sank back on the bed, and gave way to saving tears. Mrs. Maxwell was notified and both father and son stayed all night. They kept Tom as exhibit "A" in case Bill should dream the fire over again, which he did so often that they finally put Tom to bed with him, and Bill went to sleep with his hand firmly grasping the collar of Tom's pajamas. Through that long night those two fathers, who had come near to being enemies over the pranks of their two boys, talked long and earnestly how best to utilize for good the streams of vitality pos- sessed by their children. They did not originate any very startling, or new, ideas, but they remodeled some very good old ones. They decided that during another year the boys should have a melon patch of their own, and they would talk other fathers into the same idea, as a protective measure. The half holidays so desperately desired by all boys should be cheerfully given as a reward for work properly done on other days, and a fishing tackle provided ungrudgingly. And they would take an interest in whatever happened, and give at least a modicum of praise when the boys used good judgment in the various experiences that came to them. When the Y. M. M. I. A. was organized in their town, and later the Boy Scouts, there were two fathers present who were ready for them, and eager to put their shoulders to the wheel. And Bill had learned his lesson, in time for it to be a benefit to him, and his sons after him, and the people of the town in which he lived, not omitting dogs and other dumb animals. Not all of us are so fortunate. Faith If God had faith in frail, unstable man, Subject to passions and misleading dreams, Subject to fears and doubts and idols false, Subject to vile, satanic beckonings; Surely we cannot lose our faith in Him, Him who has stood the test of time and storms, Him who alone has kept the heaven bright — Him who has promised us Eternity. Claire Stewart Boyer.