The dog referred to was a black-and-tan terrier named “Spec,” very bright and intelligent and really a member of the family, respected and beloved by ourselves and well known to all who knew us.  My father picked up its mother in the “Narrows” while crossing from Fort Hamilton to the fortifications opposite on Staten Island.  She had doubtless fallen overboard from some passing vessel and had drifted out of sight before her absence had been discovered.  He rescued her and took her home, where she was welcomed by his children and made much of.  She was a handsome little thing, with cropped ears and a short tail.  My father named her “Dart.”  She was a fine ratter, and with the assistance of a Maltese cat, also a member of the family, the many rats which infested the house and stables were driven away or destroyed.  She and the cat were fed out of the same plate, but Dart was not allowed to begin the meal until the cat had finished.

Spec was born at Fort Hamilton, and was the joy of us children, our pet and companion.  My father would not allow his tail and ears to be cropped.  When he grew up, he accompanied us everywhere and was in the habit of going into church with the family.  As some of the little ones allowed their devotions to be disturbed by Spec’s presence, my father determined to leave him at home on those occasions.  So the next Sunday morning he was sent up to the front room of the second story.  After the family had left for church he contented himself for a while looking out of the window, which was open, it being summer time.  Presently impatience overcame his judgment and he jumped to the ground, landed safely notwithstanding the distance, joined the family just as they reached the church, and went in with them as usual, much to the joy of the children.  After that he was allowed to go to church whenever he wished.  My father was very fond of him, and loved to talk to him and about him as if he were really one of us.  In a letter to my mother, dated Fort Hamilton, January 18, 1846, when she and her children were on a visit to Arlington, he thus speaks of him: 

“...  I am very solitary, and my only company is my dog and cats.  But Spec has become so jealous now that he will hardly let me look at the cats.  He seems to be afraid that I am going off from him, and never lets me stir without him.  Lies down in the office from eight to four without moving, and turns himself before the fire as the side from it becomes cold.  I catch him sometimes sitting up looking at me so intently that I am for a moment startled....”

In a letter from Mexico written a year later—­December 25, 1846, to my mother, he says: 

“...  Can’t you cure poor Spec?  Cheer him up—­take him to walk with you and tell the children to cheer him up. ...”

In another letter from Mexico to his eldest boy, just after the capture of Vera Cruz, he sends this message to Spec: 

“...  Tell him I wish he was here with me.  He would have been of great service in telling me when I was coming upon the Mexicans.  When I was reconnoitering around Vera Cruz, their dogs frequently told me by barking when I was approaching them too nearly. ...”