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“THIS DISH OF MEAT IS TOO
GOOD FOR ANT BUT ANGLERS, OR VERY HONEST MEN.”
NOT much is known of Pard’s pedigree except the fact that his mother was a bull-bitch and that he was brought as a puppy to Avalon and believed to be a clean bred bull-pup. But when his owner saw him grow up a nondescript he abandoned him and the dog became “Shorty’s” Pard.
If I can trust my eyes his father was a foxhound and a good one, for few dogs have a better nose than Pard. “Shorty’s” little nephew says: “Uncle ‘Shorty’s’ feet must smell strong and pleasant-like for Pard can find him anywhere.”
The dog must have a Teutonic ancestor somewhere for his favorite food is Bologna sausage. If you give him a nickel he will trot off with it to the butcher’s and return with a paper parcel for you to open containing five cents’ worth of Bologna.
In the summertime Avalon is crowded and everyone knows Pard and the butcher does a thriving trade in Bologna, yet he tells me Pard is his only customer as the island is strongly pro-Ally. When Pard is not hungry he collects nickels all the same and deposits them in “Shorty’s” locker on the wharf.
I never saw him refuse money on shore but nothing can persuade him to look at a coin when on board the launch.
One morning as I was going to breakfast at Joe’s Restaurant I met the dog and gave him his usual nickel and was surprised to see him follow me into the restaurant and slip into the kitchen with the first waiter who passed through the swinging doors. In a few moments he reappeared with a mutton bone which he had purchased from the cook. It was Sunday morning and, without going to look, Pard knew the butcher’s shop was closed!
“Shorty” is a public fisherman. In summer he takes sportsmen fishing and in winter he fishes for the market. On all these trips Pard acts as first mate, and there is little that he does not know about fish and fishing.
“Shorty” tells me that in the winter he has an alarm-clock to call him at four o’clock in the morning but that Pard seldom fails to paw his arm a few moments before the alarm sounds.
He has never been known to forget his good manners on board the boat though stormbound for forty-eight hours, and he will not drink a drop of water even in the warmest weather until he reaches land. Pard reasons as well as thinks.
Pard has but two dislikes; one is wasps, the other bull-dogs. He snarls and snaps at the former and pounces upon the latter. He knows he is the son of a bull-bitch but evidently does not like to be reminded of the fact.
Last winter Avalon was partly destroyed by fire, and the moving picture people in Los Angeles saw a great opportunity to stage a scene for “Civilization” called “After the Battle.” “Shorty” represented a dead French soldier being watched over by his faithful dog. The widow appears searching for her dead husband. She sees their dog and falls fainting upon her dead spouse. Pard objected to this and the battle began again. The dead French soldier was obliged to sit up and stop the fight. The film was a failure.
Pard can see a swordfish at a great distance, and whenever I was hooked to one would sit up beside me and attempt to tell me how to fight the fish and became greatly excited when the fish jumped. When a fish was gaffed he played the “Chocolat act” by rushing about all over the boat attempting to do nothing.
For intelligence and common sense Pard has few equals among canines. He is almost human.
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