“He had been trained like a soldier to his duty, and no matter how the storms raged on the mountains, how dark the night, or how dangerous the paths that led along the slippery precipices, at the word of command he sprang to obey.  Only a dumb beast, some people would call him, guided only by brute instinct, but in his shaggy old body beat a loving heart, loyal to his master’s command, and faithful to his duty.

“As I stood there gazing into the kind old face, I thought of the time when I lay wounded on the field of battle.  How glad I would have been to have seen some dog like Barry come bounding to my aid!  I had fallen in a thicket, where the ambulance corps did not discover me until next day.  I lay there all that black night, wild with pain, groaning for water.  I could see the lanterns of the ambulances as they moved about searching for the wounded among the many dead, but was too faint from loss of blood to raise my head and shout for help.  They told me afterward that, if my wound could have received immediate attention, perhaps my arm might have been saved.

“But only a keen sense of smell could have traced me in the dense thicket where I lay.  No one had thought of training dogs for ambulance service then.  The men did their best, but they were only men, and I was overlooked until it was too late to save my arm.

“Well, as I said, I stood and looked at Barry, wondering if it were not possible to train dogs for rescue work on battle-fields as well as in mountain passes.  The more I thought of it, the more my longing grew to make such an attempt.  I read everything I could find about trained dogs, visited kennels where collies and other intelligent sheep-dogs were kept, and corresponded with many people about it.  Finally I went to Coblenz, and there found a man who was as much interested in the subject as I. Herr Bungartz is his name.  He is now at the head of a society to which I belong, called the German Society for Ambulance Dogs.  It has over a thousand members, including many princes and generals.

“We furnish the money that supports the kennels, and the dogs are bred and trained free for the army.  Now for the last eight years it has been my greatest pleasure to visit the kennels, where as many as fifty dogs are kept constantly in training.  It was on my last visit that I got Hero.  His leg had been hurt in some accident on the training field.  It was thought that he was too much disabled to ever do good service again, so they allowed me to take him.  Two old cripples, I suppose they thought we were, comrades in misfortune.

“That was nearly a year ago.  I took him to an eminent surgeon, told him his history, and interested him in his case.  He treated him so successfully, that now, as you see, the leg is entirely well.  Sometimes I feel that it is my duty to give him back to the service, although I paid for the rearing of a fine Scotch collie in his stead.  He is so unusually intelligent and well trained.  But it would be hard to part with such a good friend.  Although I have had him less than a year, he seems very much attached to me, and I have grown more fond of him than I would have believed possible.  I am an old man now, and I think he understands that he is all I have.  Good Hero!  He knows he is a comfort to his old master!”