100 Dogs Who Changed Civilization (16 page)

Today Cherry is a media phenomenon, and so is the latest Blue—the ex-coach has owned a line of bull terriers, all with the same name. The two appear together regularly, and Blue is even featured during the opening of Cherry's
Hockey Night
appearances. In one famous incident, chronicled in the Canadian news magazine
Maclean's
, the combative canine once took a bite out of Cherry's wife, Rose. When one of his friends suggested he should “get rid of her,” the coach replied, “Me and Blue'll sure miss her.”

Dedicating an entire park to a dog is a one-in-a-million event, so the canine it honors had better be a one-in-a-million dog. That was certainly the case for a Llewelyn setter named Jim. In 1999, sixty-two years after his death, Jim's hometown of Marshall, Missouri, honored him by opening Jim the Wonder Dog Memorial Park.

Jim's full name goes a long way toward explaining why he rates his own stretch of greenery in the heart of town. Born on March 10, 1925, to a Louisiana dog breeder, he was acquired by Missouri resident Sam Van Arsdale, who trained him for quail hunting. Jim proved a quick study but seemed otherwise unremarkable. That is, until a fall day several years later, when man and dog were out hunting together. According to legend, Van Arsdale absently said to Jim, “Let's sit in the shade of that hickory tree and rest.” The dog promptly trotted over to the hickory tree and sat down.

Intrigued, Van Arsdale then allegedly asked Jim to find an oak tree. Which he did. He also, in rapid succession, picked out a walnut tree, a cedar tree, and several other examples of the local flora, guided only by verbal cues.

Not long afterward, Jim switched vocations
from gun dog to publicity hound. In no time fans started traveling hundreds of miles to the town of Marshall to see the wonder dog in action. They were rarely disappointed. Repeatedly, he seemed to demonstrate the ability to understand commands in any language, from German to Greek—languages of which his master, Van Arsdale, had no knowledge. He could locate specific cars based on their license plate numbers, pick individuals out of crowds based solely on physical descriptions, and “read” written messages. Jim performed before a joint session of the Missouri state legislature and at the University of Missouri before a panel of professors. They told the assembled crowd, according to
Rural Missouri
magazine, that “Jim possessed an occult power that might never come again to a dog in many generations.”

No wonder some people semiseriously claimed him to be the reincarnation of King Solomon.

But the talents of the innocuous-looking dog didn't end there. Jim could reportedly unerringly pick the sexes of unborn babies, and he was a wiz at calling sporting events. Among his many other feats, he allegedly divined the winner of the Kentucky Derby seven years in a row and selected the Yankees to win the 1936 World Series (which they did). During a trip to Florida, bettors actually threatened him with death if he didn't stop picking winners at a local dog track. After that, Van Arsdale became so afraid of gambling interests
stealing his dog that he kept him close to home, refusing an offer for him to make movies at Paramount and to shill for a dog food company.

By the time of his death on March 18, 1937, Jim the Wonder Dog was one of the world's most famous canines. Van Arsdale wanted him buried in the family plot at Ridge Park Cemetery. When local regulations wouldn't permit it, the earthly remains of the world's smartest dog were interred in a specially made casket just outside the gate. Over the years the cemetery expanded around the spot, so now Jim lies well within hallowed ground. Fans still visit his grave—and far more stop by downtown's Jim the Wonder Dog Memorial Park, the centerpiece of which is a life-size statue of the brilliant canine.

Many combat dogs have been drafted into military service. Some are yanked from their civilian homes and into the armed forces, while others are raised from puppyhood for duty on the front lines. But the brown-and-white American pit bull terrier known as Stubby was strictly a volunteer. The bedraggled dog, who got his name because of his abbreviated tail, was found as a puppy by U.S. Army Private John Robert Conroy when he was training for deployment in Europe during World War I. Stubby soon became a boot camp favorite. He even learned to “salute” by raising his right paw to his right eyebrow.

Stubby accompanied Conroy's unit, the 102nd Infantry Division, when they shipped out for France. But his comrades in arms soon discovered Stubby was far more than a mere mascot. One night, when his sensitive nose detected a surprise poison gas attack, he saved numberless lives by running through the trenches, barking and tugging at sleeping soldiers. He also patrolled no-man's land, sniffing out wounded troops and either summoning help or personally leading them to safety. On one occasion he surprised and captured a German forward observer who was attempting to spy on
allied defensive positions. Stubby flushed him from behind a bush, chased him down, and clamped the soldier's backside firmly in his jaws—a grip he resolutely maintained until men from his unit arrived to take charge of the prisoner. For his actions that day, the commander of the 102nd awarded the dog the rank of sergeant.

Stubby participated in more than a dozen battles, surviving everything from repeated poison gas attacks to an uncomfortably close encounter with a hand grenade. He returned to the United States with Conroy, where he received a hero's welcome. He met President Woodrow Wilson, was inducted into the American Legion, and received a Humane Society medal from his “supreme commander,” Gen. Joseph “Black Jack” Pershing, the leader of the American Expeditionary Forces during the war. But best of all, he was allowed to retire from the military with Conroy, with whom he lived happily—and peacefully—until his death in 1926.

Over the centuries, countless dogs have summoned assistance for their stricken owners. But few of those canine heroes displayed as much presence of mind—not to mention technical savvy—as an English beagle named Belle. Instead of running for help, she
dialed
for it.

In what was probably the luckiest move of his life, Florida resident Kevin Weaver acquired the diminutive hound from a pet store. Good fortune also smiled on Belle that day, because the feisty dog had already been returned to the store by two previous owners who were dissatisfied with her behavior.

Weaver is a lifelong diabetic who suffers from potentially dangerous seizures if his blood sugar level drops too low. Since he lives alone, he decided to have Belle trained as a medical assistance dog. A nine-month, $9,000 course taught the tiny beagle how to gauge her master's blood sugar level by licking his nose and smelling his breath once each hour. If things seem a bit “off,” she whines and paws at Weaver, letting him know that he needs to take action.