how I warned the men about gas attacks and artillery barrages. It was enough to make even a bull terrier blush.
Conroy must have impressed the ladies, because later on, in another town, they held a special ceremony where they presented me with my own
army jacket. It was made of soft leather and fit like a second skin. On it they had sewn badges showing all the battles I had fought in. When they wrapped the jacket around my shoulders, they kissed the top of my head. I sat proudly and raised my paw to give them my smartest salute.
Now, thanks to the lovely ladies of Chateau-Thierry, I was a decorated soldier.
B AGGING A S PY
We stopped for a few days so the men could get fresh uniforms, new gear, and a chance to rest. Then we pushed northward by train to the region of St. Mihiel (san me-HEL). There, we marched through what seemed like endless woods, clearing out enemy troops as we went. One day, Conroy gave me the good news.
“It looks like our side is winning now, boy.”
So it was a little surprising that, there in thewoods of the Argonne, we wound up running into our hardest fighting yet. It seemed like the enemy had saved their best soldiers to defend this very important site, close to the capital city of Paris. Every day, our boys struggled to move forward and push the enemy back. Many soldiers died fighting. That—and the ack-ack of the machine guns and the zzzzzz of the fighter planes overhead—was bad enough to make even a seasoned soldier dog turn tail and run. But as long as Conroy and the rest of the regiment forged ahead, then so would I.
When we were too exhausted to march another day, we stopped and dug trenches, hoping for a day or two of rest. As usual, I wandered out into the countryside to do my business. I was looking for a bush that hadn’t been blown to smithereens, when I came upon what I knew right away was not a bush. It was a soldier disguised to look like a bush.
He had leafy branches sticking every which way out of his belt and collar and boots. Just who did he think he was fooling? Any fool could smell that he was a man, not a shrub. (Although it would have served him right if I had lifted my leg on him. Ha!) His head was down, and he was scribbling on a pad, the kind the boys used to write letters home.
I bared my teeth and growled.
He stopped and looked up. When he saw me, he smiled and held out his hand. “Good doggie,” he said. “Come here.”
He spoke the language of the doughboys and Tommies, but he wasn’t fooling me. He was no doughboy. He was a Jerry! A German soldier! I lifted up my head and started barking. Look who I’ve caught, boys, a stone’s throw from our trenches!
The smile died on his lips, and his eyes widened in terror. “Hush! Hush! Good doggie!” hewhispered. “We would not want to cause a stir.”
Oh, yeah? A stir is exactly what I aimed to cause.
When he saw I was not going to quit, he turned and made a run for it. I took off after him, hurling myself onto his back and toppling him over headfirst into the dirt. His pad and pen went flying. He struggled to push himself up. But I sunk my teeth into what I know to be tenderest part of a person’s body.
You guessed it: his rear end!
I heard running feet approaching.
Five American soldiers appeared. Four held guns trained on the German. The fifth picked up the man’s writing pad. He looked at it and chuckled.
“Well, what do you know!” he said. “This guy’s been mapping the locations of our trenches. Looks like Stubby caught himself a spy.”
“At ease, Stubby,” another soldier said. Iopened my mouth and released the enemy’s butt. He groaned and rolled over, then stumbled to his feet, hands raised behind his head.
“I surrender,” he said. “Get this vicious dog away from me, please.”
Vicious? Hardly. Just doing my duty like any red-blooded American soldier would do. And speaking of duty, I trotted off in search of a real bush to lift my leg against. In war, as in peace, a
Conroy must have impressed the ladies, because later on, in another town, they held a special ceremony where they presented me with my own
army jacket. It was made of soft leather and fit like a second skin. On it they had sewn badges showing all the battles I had fought in. When they wrapped the jacket around my shoulders, they kissed the top of my head. I sat proudly and raised my paw to give them my smartest salute.
Now, thanks to the lovely ladies of Chateau-Thierry, I was a decorated soldier.
B AGGING A S PY
We stopped for a few days so the men could get fresh uniforms, new gear, and a chance to rest. Then we pushed northward by train to the region of St. Mihiel (san me-HEL). There, we marched through what seemed like endless woods, clearing out enemy troops as we went. One day, Conroy gave me the good news.
“It looks like our side is winning now, boy.”
So it was a little surprising that, there in thewoods of the Argonne, we wound up running into our hardest fighting yet. It seemed like the enemy had saved their best soldiers to defend this very important site, close to the capital city of Paris. Every day, our boys struggled to move forward and push the enemy back. Many soldiers died fighting. That—and the ack-ack of the machine guns and the zzzzzz of the fighter planes overhead—was bad enough to make even a seasoned soldier dog turn tail and run. But as long as Conroy and the rest of the regiment forged ahead, then so would I.
When we were too exhausted to march another day, we stopped and dug trenches, hoping for a day or two of rest. As usual, I wandered out into the countryside to do my business. I was looking for a bush that hadn’t been blown to smithereens, when I came upon what I knew right away was not a bush. It was a soldier disguised to look like a bush.
He had leafy branches sticking every which way out of his belt and collar and boots. Just who did he think he was fooling? Any fool could smell that he was a man, not a shrub. (Although it would have served him right if I had lifted my leg on him. Ha!) His head was down, and he was scribbling on a pad, the kind the boys used to write letters home.
I bared my teeth and growled.
He stopped and looked up. When he saw me, he smiled and held out his hand. “Good doggie,” he said. “Come here.”
He spoke the language of the doughboys and Tommies, but he wasn’t fooling me. He was no doughboy. He was a Jerry! A German soldier! I lifted up my head and started barking. Look who I’ve caught, boys, a stone’s throw from our trenches!
The smile died on his lips, and his eyes widened in terror. “Hush! Hush! Good doggie!” hewhispered. “We would not want to cause a stir.”
Oh, yeah? A stir is exactly what I aimed to cause.
When he saw I was not going to quit, he turned and made a run for it. I took off after him, hurling myself onto his back and toppling him over headfirst into the dirt. His pad and pen went flying. He struggled to push himself up. But I sunk my teeth into what I know to be tenderest part of a person’s body.
You guessed it: his rear end!
I heard running feet approaching.
Five American soldiers appeared. Four held guns trained on the German. The fifth picked up the man’s writing pad. He looked at it and chuckled.
“Well, what do you know!” he said. “This guy’s been mapping the locations of our trenches. Looks like Stubby caught himself a spy.”
“At ease, Stubby,” another soldier said. Iopened my mouth and released the enemy’s butt. He groaned and rolled over, then stumbled to his feet, hands raised behind his head.
“I surrender,” he said. “Get this vicious dog away from me, please.”
Vicious? Hardly. Just doing my duty like any red-blooded American soldier would do. And speaking of duty, I trotted off in search of a real bush to lift my leg against. In war, as in peace, a
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