Chips the War Dog

It is an early summer morning, 1943 in Sicily. You are walking the perimeter of an U.S. encampment with the sentry dog, Chips. The enemy is nearby. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a machine gun clatters into action. Bullets are whizzing past your head and you don't know where the nest is. Your dog breaks free.
You are lying on your face. Scared. The next bullet may end your life.

There is a commotion somewhere ahead. The machine gun stops, but the gunfire doesn't. You look into the distance. Has it been a few seconds or a minute since the firing began?

Your dog suddenly appears, with an Italian soldier in front of him with his hands up. The Italian looks petrified. A few moments later, the rest of the Italians, four in all come out of the hidden pillbox. They are taken prisoner.

Your dog comes to you. He has wounds about his head. Powder burns where they tried to shoot him. He wags his tail. All in a day's work master.

This is the story of Chips. Hours later, the dog helped capture ten more prisoners. Earlier during his tour of duty, the dog served as sentry for talks between Churchill and FDR. For his valor, Chips received a Distinguished Service Cross, a Purple Heart, and a Silver Star. These medals were later taken back when Chips and the rest of the K-9 corps serving were termed "equipment" rather than soldiers.
Chips died six months after his return to the States from complications from his wounds. He was six-years-old.

WAR DOGS-- Still wanted. Your Dog Jokes.

There's no joke about war. Dogs have been used in combat in every war since WWI. They've been used to detect mines, as sentries, scouts, messengers, pack and sled dogs. Check out this link for more. http://www.uswardogs.org/id16.html
These dogs have no idea of the politics involved in war. They just did their duties as ordered. Only dogs and horses have shown their worth in battle. Tomorrow I hope to pick out a specific dog or two and give you a little bit of their stories.
As Memorial Day nears, remember, no matter how you feel about war, our soldiers need your support-- even our four-legged soldiers. They made a sacrifice for us.

I'm still looking for dog jokes. Come on guys! Give me a joke or two just so I know someone is reading. IT'S YOUR DUTY!

Winston Churchill-- The British Bulldog. Wanted-- Dog Jokes.

Okay, I know this is a stretch, but I can't write about Memorial Day without talking about that British Bulldog himself, Winston Churchill. He is a hero of mine. A warrior, statesman, and scholar. I've waded through six volumes of his WWII memoirs. He wrote as well as he governed. I'm now reading the first volume of his History of the English Speaking Peoples. He also wrote about the wars in Sudan at the end of the 19th century. That's enlightening because of its relevance to today's conflict in the Middle East/Northern Africa. It's also interesting because Winston Churchill describes a famous charge in the teeth of the Sudanese enemy without really mentioning his part in that valiant charge.

That's the thing about Churchill. Not only did he lead a nation that stood alone for years against the tyranny of Hitler, but he never flinched no matter what.

He'd stand atop of buildings in London while the Germans bombed. He fought in the trenches in WWI and Sudan. It took the King of England to stop him from being aboard ship on the coast of Normandy on D-Day.

Winston Churchill embraced his resemblance to a bulldog precisely because of the tenacious spirit the animal represented. Being compared to a bulldog in spirit is one thing. Being compared to a bulldog because you actually look like a bulldog is another. Nonetheless, Churchill knew a good thing when he saw it. From 1939 to the end of 1941, Churchill and England stood alone against the monsters of the Axis. They probably saved the world in those two years.

WANTED-- DOG JOKES! War Dogs of the Pacific.

Yesterday's joke first. This is courtesy of my wife's father.

My dog knows how to play poker but he's not very good at it.
Really? Why?
Because every time he gets a good hand he wags his tail.

Today's joke, then I think I need more material-- don't make me haul out the really lame jokes.

A guy walks into a bar with a chihuahua on a leash. He orders a drink.
The bartender says, "Sorry sir, we don't allow dogs in here."

The man says, "This is a seeing-eye dog."

The bartender says, "You have a chihuahua as a seeing-eye dog."
The man says, "They gave me a chihuahua?!"

Now, because of Memorial Day coming up, I want to address dogs in war. Now, this site is meant only to give people a jumping off point to find out more about a subject. I can't-- no, I don't want to pretend to to be an authority on any subject, dogs or otherwise.
The Military Channel had a special entitled War Dogs of the Pacific awhile back. I checked their schedule, and there are no showings of this program scheduled, but the show just gave another aspect of dogs' service to humans.
During WWII, dogs were sent to the Pacific to fight it out in the trenches and the jungles with U.S. soldiers. These dogs acted as look-outs, cleared caves and tunnels, and allowed these soldiers to rest and avoid some of the more dangerous jobs during combat. The dogs took the hardships and the bullets like the rest of the men. These were regular dogs, often volunteered by their owners back in the States for duty. Sometimes the dogs didn't return. They died in combat, along with their trainers, or could not be returned to their owners because their training made them inappropriate as pets. A lucky few came back and were either returned to the original owners or lived out the rest of their days as the companions of their military trainers.
Without exception, these dogs acted with valor and selflessness in a tough situation. They served on all the islands you have heard of, and probably on a few you haven't. They often survived on meagre rations and in unbelievably difficult terrain. Thanks to our soldiers who have, and who continue to sacrifice for us.
I will post more stories of war dogs this week.

What Dogs Mean to Us-- Wanted-- Dog Jokes.

The other day, as I was walking past a shop, I saw a sign for a store-- I forget exactly what it said, something like "Closed Monday" or "No Checks"-- and there was a bull-dog's face on the sign. Not a pit bull but a French Bulldog. Now, I had just finished handing out flyers at the Pet Parade, so I was particularly aware of dogs, but I realized that the sign meant many things to many people. Not what the sign said, but what the dog on the sign represented. Some people may have seen the dog and thought it cute. Other's may have harkened back to the Winston Churchill sort of bulldog, vigilant, brave and fair. To a few, the dog's face seemed stern. What I realized is that dogs are used so often in advertising, signs, symbols, etc. because they are not only fun to look at, but because we relate in our own way to them.
PBS ran a show locally last night about the meaning of dogs and cats in our lives. They mean many things to many people. Some folks are rescued by dogs while others are rescuers. The show tried to explain why we love our animals.
The loyalty, friendship, and unconditional love our dogs give us help us to perceive these animals in such a positive way, they are used constantly to gain our approval. Whether it is the talking chihuahua in the Taco Bell ads, the "Trouble Dog" for the insurance company-- is it an insurance company?-- or the random canine thrown into an ad, dogs are not only symbols, but good business.
What other animal performs so many functions, not only as a pet, but as a rescuer, either in reality as in the case of dogs who search out victims of disasters, or as supporters in times of mental stress? What other animal can herd, help the disabled, or act as a sentry?
We look at a dog, and see what we want to see, or need to see. Now I am not the religious sort, but God got it right when he made dogs. Bless them.

Got a dog joke? Here's one that is courtesy of my wife's dad.
"My dog plays poker but he's not very good at it."
"Why not?"
"Because every time he gets a good hand he wags his tail."

Later this week I hope to post some stories about dogs as soldiers, and perhaps, if I finish it, to present a new dog story I'm writing.

Reposting "Dining With Maurice" A short story by Frank Criscenti

My new readers, if there are any, haven't likely seen this story. For those of you who have, bear with me, I'm trying to get new followers and I think this story is pretty good.

Dining With Maurice.
A short story by Frank Criscenti





It was a terrible time in Wayne's life for his dog to start acting weird.

Wayne had spent a half-hour just that morning, studying his thinning hair. And, after another argument last night, his five-year-old relationship with Janice seemed over for good this time. So when he looked out and saw Maurice, the dog he'd owned for 16 years, chomping down mouthfuls of soil, it seemed somehow the beginning of the end.

Wayne called Janice about the dog. It was a good excuse to talk.

"Yes?" she said, sounding impatient.

"The dog's acting crazy."

"What's he doing?"

"He eats dirt."

"So take him to the vet. He's probably senile."

"You think so?"

It was a good point. Janice always had the easy answers. He sensed the end of their conversation and was anxious to seize this opportunity.

"Do you want to meet for dinner?" he asked.

"No."

"How 'bout a movie tomorrow? There's a French film at the Guild."

"I have plans," she said, and hung up.



Wayne had been seeing a psychiatrist for several months. Janice had suggested it some time ago and he finally relented. The psychiatrist looked like Joanne Woodward.

Every week, Wayne arrived 15 minutes early at the medical center, with Maurice riding in the passenger's seat. They'd park. Before Wayne went in to his appointment he took Maurice for a short walk around the parking lot. They wouldn't walk far since the dog suffered from arthritis. Maurice would hobble about, sniff and snort about the islands of trees and bushes, pissing here and there. Wayne tugged at the leash before Maurice became overly-interested in any morsels of soil. After their walk, he'd put the dog in the car and roll the window down a little for air. Then Wayne went inside to his appointment.



"Call me Ellen..." the doctor would say when Wayne called her "Doctor."

"Ellen..." he would say.

"Wayne..." the doctor would say.

During some sessions that was as close as they got to a breakthrough. They'd exchange pleasantries, then all conversation stopped. All the words unsaid probably meant something, but Wayne couldn't decide what it might be. Whenever he was at a session he kept thinking of the concept of negative space.

When he asked why she didn't ask him questions, she said it wasn't her job. That he would talk when he was ready.

But Wayne never felt ready.

It depressed him. He worried he might have some incurable malaise.



Wayne called Maurice's vet.

"Have you ever heard of a dog eating dirt?" he asked the receptionist.

She said no, but hold and she would ask the vet.

The vet got on. "What does he eat?"

"Dirt."

"What kind of dirt?"

"Just your ordinary garden variety," Wayne said. "He prefers the clods actually."

"Do you feed him?"

"Of course. He gets kibble, a little canned stuff, and a few left-overs."

"This happens sometimes," the vet said. "Make an appointment with my receptionist and bring him in."

He lied to the receptionist and told her he would make an appointment as soon as he checked his schedule.

Wayne decided as long as Maurice remained healthy enough for an old, unhealthy dog, what harm could a couple of mouthfuls of dirt do.



One night Wayne awoke to strange animal moans in the backyard. He threw on his robe and went outside to find Maurice rolling in the dirt, his eyes glassy and full of terror. Once, on a vacation in Northern California, when Wayne was a child, his father hit a deer with the car. He remembered the deer had the same look in its eyes right before the car hit it. Wayne thought it was the end for his buddy. He carried the dog into the house, took him on his lap. All night he sat up, stroking Maurice's grey-flecked muzzle. Come morning, Wayne called in sick to his job at the Department of Motor Vehicles. He made Maurice vegetable beef soup from a can and fed him with a big wooden spoon. That afternoon Maurice wobbled to his feet, though he listed. When the dog wagged his tail it seemed to throw off his balance completely.

Wayne took his pal to the vet. The vet kept Maurice overnight. When Wayne called the vet early the next afternoon, the vet told him the dog had congestive heart failure and all the tests he'd run and all the pills he might give might allow Maurice another six months of life.

Wayne called Janice and told her about Maurice.

"Sometimes I think you loved that dog more than me," Janice said.

"That's not true," he said, though it was.

They argued.

Janice hung up on Wayne.

She always took the easy way out.



Wayne picked up Maurice from the vet in the afternoon after work. The bill came to $606. Maurice wagged his tail so hard when he saw Wayne that he slipped off his feet to the floor. The dog looked up at his master, then licked his paw, seemingly embarassed for his lack of control.



One day, Wayne decided to open up to Ellen and tell her about his arguments with Janice.

He said, "Janice says I'm noncommital and obsessive. She says I'm certainly neurotic and possibly psychotic."

"Who is she to say?" Ellen said. "She's not a professional."

"Do you think I am?"

"What?"

"What she said."

"That pisses me off," Ellen said.

"Ellen."

"What?"

"Am I possibly psychotic?"

"Do you think you are?"

"I don't know," he said. "I mean, I can't tell one way or the other. It's me we're talking about. That's why I come here after all."

"That's right," she said. "You're here to learn about yourself. What some nonprofessional says about you is irrelevant."

"Right," he said.

"Right," she said.

So Wayne talked about himself. He talked about Janice. Everything Wayne revealed about himself and how he felt, Ellen, though seeminly preoccupied, said it was reasonable that he felt the way he did, she understood why he would respond the way he did. It wasn't important what a nonprofessional said about him.

It depressed Wayne.

Then he told Ellen about Maurice eating dirt. Ellen seemed to find the story interesting. She said in humans such a condition was called "parorexia." Professionals knew that, she said, and some people ate fabric, ashes from ashtrays, whole pencils and even worse.

By the time Wayne left the office he had decided even his dog led a more interesting life than he.



One night Wayne ordered take-out Chinese food and brought it home and shared it with Maurice. They ate together at the dinette in the kitchen. The dog ate chow mein, fried shrimps, and beef from the broccoli beef.



A few nights later Wayne ordered two Philly cheese steak sandwiches-- one for him and one for the dog.



Wayne longed to take his pal to Paris. From what Wayne understood, the French had a healthy respect for dogs, allowed their pets to dine with them even in the best restaurants.

Wayne called a travel agent and asked about touring France with a dog. The agent said he'd look into it but called back the next day and told him the laws about bringing animals into France were overly-restrictive.

This news depressed Wayne.



Wayne went to one of the best French restaurants in town and ordered two meals to go. He told the waiter it was for a shut-in. It wasn't really lying to say that, he'd decided.

Wayne sat on a chair near the reception area while the meal was being prepared. Men in suits and ties and women in black dresses with strands of white pearls stared at him as he sat there waiting. To shut out their stares, Wayne closed his eyes and imagined himself and Maurice in France, drinking wine and munching escargot. He wondered if Maurice would eat escargot. Could he get Maurice a little tie to wear over his neck for formal dinners? He thought how they would sit there, in France, in a French restaurant, and the French people would say to the two of them, "Quel chien adorable!"

At home, Maurice devored the filet de boeuf.



Wayne told Ellen abouot dining with his dog. It seemed to perk her interest.

"Maybe you need to go out of the house more," she said.

But there wasn't time. Maurice needed him.

The dog's health became worse. Wayne took him back to the vet but the vet said nothing could be done.

Wayne asked for time off work. He had it coming. He rarely took vacations, only when Janice had insisted he take her someplace.

Besides, this was an emergency.



Wayne stayed home all day and cooked for himself and his pal. He always was a pretty fair cook, if unadventurous.

Maurice lay around most of the day, dozing in the triangle of sunlight on the floor in the dining room. The dog only ventured outside for a few minutes a day to do his business and have a mouthful of dirt. At dinnertime, Wayne had to lift Maurice into his seat at the dinette. The dog ate less and less, even when served steaks, meatloaf, or boneless chicken. He was wasting away.

It depressed Wayne.

Wayne called Janice.

"Maurice doesn't hardly eat at all," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you cared for him."

"He's not gone yet," Wayne said.

There was a brief silence.

He thought she might be thinking up a remedy for the dog's poor appetite. Maybe she would give him a recipe. A special steak Janice, or salmon in puff pastry Janice. She always had the easy answers.

"Wayne," she said after a moment.

"Yes?" he said. That was it. All would be well. Janice would come back to him and they would care for Maurice together. He would show off his new skills in the kitchen. They would go to France together-- no, they would move to France with Maurice.

"I've been seeing someone else for some time now," she said. "It's serious."

Well, there it was, Janice just looking out for her own narrow self-interest. "This is more serious," he said. "How unprofessional of you to bring it up." Wayne hung up.



He told Ellen about Maurice.

"Sometimes you have to let an old friend go and move on with your life," she said.

"I don't want to," he said.

"You must."

Before Wayne left that day he stopped at the receptionist's desk and cancelled the rest of his appointments with the doctor.



Maurice fell one day while he was walking on the hardwood floor. He just collapsed. Wayne was alerted to the fall by the scrape of Maurice's nails.

The dog lay in the hallway, legs spread at an odd angle. When Wayne ran up to him , Maurice never bothered to try to get to his feet, but just lay there, staring up at Wayne with a sad, helpless look in his brown dog eyes.

The end was near. Wayne couldn't let his pal know he knew, but then again, he couldn't let him go without some special goodbye.

Wayne decided to make Maurice a special dinner with all his favorites.

He went shopping. He cooked all day. When the meal was prepared, he lifted Maurice into the seat at the dinette, and brought the covered plates to the table. He toasted the dog with a goblet of wine, then uncovered the plates. There was dirt with rice and dirt with meatloaf and dirt with apple tart. Wayne and his pal ate and, for a little while, it seemed as if they hadn't a care in the world.



THE END.



This story first appeared in the Santa Clara Review. Spring 1993.








2 comments:

Brad said...

More like this! I can see why you were able to publish it. Great story, great parallels, and a great dog lover's tale. Marley and Me eat your heart out.



April 26, 2010 10:00 PM

Leah said...

A very touching, heart warming story. A story of an unconditional love that only comes from a dog. Yes, we need more stories from you. If only we could be more caring, less to analyze and judge people in our lives.



April 27, 2010 8:08 PM



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► May (13)

Chinese Pet Food Company Admits to Using Cats in I...

Chinese Using Cats in Dog Food? That's Not the Wor...

Are the Chinese Using Cats for Dog Food? Protest! ...

DO DOGS HAVE SOULS? Give Your Opinion.

The Truth About Puppy Mills-- My Soapbox-- Adopt a...

CONTEST! REAL PRIZE! SEND ME A PHOTO OF YOUR DOG!

Chihuahuas! Every Girl Must Have One!

NEW! PIT BULL! THE AMAZING NATURAL MALE ENHANCEMEN...

NEW GAME! DOGVILLA! Be afraid. Be very afraid! Hap...

Does Anyone Still Read? Dog for Adoption. TGIF. Th...

A Poem-- More Boxes-- Our Reason for Being. The Do...

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▼ April (21)

Dining With Maurice-- A Short Story by Me.

A Little Bit of Everything. The Dog Chronicles.

This Dog Needs a Home. Really.

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Looking for Something Like This. The Dog Chronicle...

Make My Day! Need Photos, Your Dog as Cerberus!

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People Who Look Like Dogs-- Part III

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HEARING-IMPAIRED CANINES TELL DOG WHISPERER TO SPE...

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The Case Against Cats-- By the

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Amazing Dog Rescue-- Dogs in Space

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You Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog-- Dogs in Space

Hot dogs in space.

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Dog Movies-- Dogs in Space

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Chinese Pet Food Company Admits to Using Cats in Its Dog Food Formula-- But Only Dead Cats

The Chinese pet food manufacturer, Ping E. Lee admits it uses cats in its dog food formula, but only dead cats. Dead and dying animals are used all the time in pet foods, even in the U.S. They are considered unfit for human consumption. But cat meat is not used here. P.E. Lee also admits to using dog meat in its pet food. The company claims it does not use rodents though-- even dead ones.
Critics aren't too sure though.

In related news, three Americans belonging to HCAFET (Hold China Accountable for Ecological Terrorism) are missing near the P.E. Lee Company plant in Foo, a town about 50 miles from Benjii. The Americans, two Chinese immigrants to the U.S., Dan Chang and Melody Eng, and student Manuel Cant haven't been seen in over a week. Friends and relatives in the United States and China fear for their safety. The activists were investigating the Ping E. Lee Company and other firms in China suspected of ecological irresponsibility.
The Chinese government claims no knowledge of the whereabouts of the activists. State Department officials have so far only been able to discover that Cant, Chang and Eng were due in Hong Kong a week ago and never arrived.
Two Chinese dissidents protesting the Ping E. Lee's policies disappeared last year and have yet to resurface. Some unnamed sources within the dissident community in China claim that the Ping E. Lee Co. may have even murdered those missing persons and destroyed their bodies. Rumors claim that the Lee Co. is not above using any and all sources of meat in their pet foods, including human meat.
Both the government and the Lee Co. deny these charges. They claim that Chinese dissidents are constantly going underground to avoid prosecution on various criminal charges, and that often these missing persons surface unharmed later. The Lee Co. and the Chinese government does not give any examples of missing persons who have resurfaced. Chinese officials are usually silent about the fates of dissidents within China, whether the dissidents are Chinese or not.
U.S. State Dept. officials continue to make inquiries about the missing Americans, but note that such inquiries can take weeks or even months before they bear fruit.
In the meantime you can help by reposting these articles and demanding information from the Chinese about the fate of the three Americans. It's time to take a stand.