GARRY, THE COLLIE

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · May 6, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 18.

GARRY, THE COLLIE.

[A writer in Chatterbox, whose name is not given, says that the following is a true story.]

"WHEN I had been about twenty years in the postal service," began the old man in his quavering voice, "a farmer one day made me a present of a collie pup of a pure breed. I named him Garry. As he grew up, I taught him almost everything a dog could learn. He got so that he could understand what was said as well as any human being."

"When he was old enough, I took him with me on my journeys, and very soon he got so used to it that he really seemed to think it was as much his duty as mine, and when I let him carry the satchel, there was no prouder dog in all England."

"I had to be up very early in the morning, get my letters as soon as they were sorted, and be at my destination by 9:30, where I delivered them to the postmaster in the village, who kept a grocer's shop and post-office combined."

"It was pleasant enough in the summer months, but during the winter it was a cold, dreary walk—dangerous, too, in the dark mornings to any one not used to the path, as one part of it ran along the edge of a deserted stone quarry, over which the unwary traveler might easily step if he missed the beaten track."

"But as Garry and I knew every foot of the way, I never felt the least misgivings, no matter how dark the morning, except when there had been a heavy fall of snow, and then I trusted to the dog, who would walk on ahead. By following his footsteps I found that I never lost the path."

"One dark December morning, the snow lying thick upon the ground, and a cold north wind blowing, I started on my usual journey in company with my faithful friend."

"Tho muffled up in great coat and comforter, the wind seemed to pierce through all my clothing, and the hair about my face was soon stiff with ice."

"\"We shall have a rough time of it, old fellow,\" I said to Garry, whose only answer was a short bark and a roll in the snow. Then, shaking his coat, he settled down to his business as a guide, going a few steps in advance of me."

"The exertion of tramping through the snow soon set the blood tingling through my veins, and on I went, feeling as warm and comfortable as circumstances would allow."

"After an hour's hard walking we came to the old quarry, Garry as usual taking the lead."

"The snow was almost knee-deep here, making it hard work for me, and harder for poor Garry."

"But we plodded on, and at last came to the stump of an old tree, by which I knew that we were past the dangerous part of our journey."

"The snow was not nearly so deep as we got farther on, which made it much better walking; but before we had done another mile, large flakes began to fall thick and fast."

"Knowing the danger of being caught in a snow-storm in that neighborhood, I increased my pace, and pushed on with all possible speed."

"In descending a steep incline I lost my footing, and fell heavily, with my right leg twisted under me."

"Garry was by my side in an instant, and I tried to rise, but there was something the matter with my leg, and I fell back sick and faint with pain. I tried again and again, but every time I made the attempt I suffered dreadful torture. Plainly the limb was broken. What was I to do?"

"I was lying there perfectly helpless, and a snow-storm was coming on."

"There was little chance of anybody passing that way unless I was missed and a search made. But I might die before then."

"The postmaster at the village to which I was bound would think the road was blocked, and that I had not attempted the journey, if I did not turn up at the usual time; and, on the other hand, my wife would think I had got safely to my destination, and was waiting there until I could make the return journey in safety. What should I do?"

"Looking helplessly round for something that might suggest a means of deliverance, my eyes met those of my faithful dog, who sat in the snow, looking into my face and whining piteously."

"Suddenly it occurred to me that if I could send the dog on to the village he might bring help. But he had never yet gone alone, and I was afraid that he would not leave me."

"So it appeared; for, in spite of coaxing and threats, he steadily refused to budge from my side."

"As a last resource I took off my satchel, and, strapping it firmly on his back, said: \"Garry, take that to the post-office. Go on, boy.\""

"Wagging his tail and barking, as much as to say, \"Now I understand,\" he darted off through the snow, leaving me alone, with a deadly faintness creeping over me and a fear at my heart that I should be found dead."

"The snow fell thicker and faster, gradually burying me."

"For a time I suffered dreadfully from my broken leg and the intense cold, but after a while a sensation of numbness came over me, and I felt a strong desire to go to sleep. I battled against this feeling with all my energies, knowing how dangerous such a sleep is—but at last I yielded, and knew no more."

"When I regained consciousness, I was in a warm bed; the postmaster's wife was holding some beef tea to my lips, while Garry sat by the bedside."

"By the doctor's aid and the kind treatment I received, I was soon on the way to recovery, and then I heard the particulars of my rescue."

"It seems that Garry, after leaving me, made the best of his way to the village, and presented himself in the postmaster's little shop about ten o'clock, seemingly almost exhausted, with the satchel entangled about his legs in such a manner as to cause wonder as to how he got through the snow at all."

"As you may imagine, the appearance of the dog filled the mind of the postmaster with alarm. But that was not enough for Garry. As soon as he was relieved from the satchel, he rushed into the street, barking violently, as if he would say, \"Follow me.\""

"The postmaster at last understood it. The alarm was given, and a dozen stout fellows, provided with a hurdle and restoratives, set out upon the search, guided by the faithful dog."

"They found me, sir, and you know the rest. But they might never have found me if it had not been for Garry."

"There were six inches of snow over me when he led them to the spot, and began to scratch at the snow and whine piteously, as if to say, \"He is here.\""

"Garry and I had many a journey over the same road after that; and when he grew old and feeble, and no longer able to walk so far, he would stand at the cottage door and watch me off, and when I came back, was always first to give me a welcome."

"He has been dead for many years now, and I haven't very long to live, but as long as I have my memory, Garry will never be forgotten."