Once upon a time, Jack, the bulldog ran away from home to enlist.
From the Arizona Daily Star, Sunday August 20, 1916:
Capt. Lippincott’s Pet Dog Leaves Home to Answer Call to Arms
“Fie on This Peaceful Life,” Barked Jack, and Went to Border
When Captain Lippincott, commanding Company K of the thirteenth cavalry, known as “the hero of Parral,” arrived in Tucson this week to visit his wife, who resides at 141 South Fifth avenue, he did not see “Jack,” his favorite Boston brindle bulldog.
Captain Lippincott would certainly have regretted this loos of his pet very much more than he did but for one reason—that the absence of “Jack” is due to his canine feeling of patriotism. “Jack” did not know any other way to express it except that of “going to the front.”
When Captain Lippincott was ordered to Mexico he decided that Jack would be quite a useless member of the expeditionary force under General Pershing, and so, coldly disregarding the mute appeal in Jack’s eyes, he shipped Sir Jack back to Tucson to stay with Mrs. Lippincott.
Jack was a sorrowful dog. He strolled about the streets of Tucson and eyed the civilian dogs with undisguised contempt. He missed the familiar sight of the khaki clad soldiers and the martial strains of the bugle, and the appetizing dainties the Mrs. Lippincott set out daily for him to ear did not seem to remove the deep-seated gloom that had taken possession of him.
Then came the call for troops and the first California battalion of cavalry came through the city. Jack journeyed down to the depot with the other dogs to see what the matter might be, but while other dogs anxiously watched the Red Cross contingent feed sandwiches and coffee to the troopers, the scene had a deeper call to Jack.
He made the acquaintance of some troopers and when the train pulled out Jack was with the troops, happy again to be with the boys in khaki and see the familiar sights once more.
Friends of Mrs. Lippincott visited Nogales within a few days but were unable to find Jack. A story was told to them of a dog very much like Jack that was the pet of a battalion, but they were begged not to investigate further and they came away, leaving Jack with the boys at the front.
Naturally Captain Lippincott feels badly over the loss of his dog, but he is happy to know that he is doing his duty according to his canine lights.
The captain has only a five days leave of absence and will leave today for Mexico to rejoin his command. On account of his position in the army Captain Lippincott does not care to discuss the operations of the expeditionary force in Mexico, but his work at the battle of Parral when his command was attacked by Mexicans is well known to everyone. While in the city Captain Lippincott was made the guest of honor at a number of social functions.
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The next story might perhaps make sense to someone raised on a farm. It is clear that the writer had a good time with it.
Turkey Gobbler in Hay (Tee Hee!) May Ruin Eggs, But Onions Saved
Mad Tom Hatches Forest of Foliage in Potato House Before Discovered
Turkey in the straw, haw! haw! haw!
Turkey in the hay, tee! here! here!
Every time the guests at Swan’s ranch think about it, they just burst out into a chortle like that. The ridiculous thing about it is that it’s a gobbler—not an effeminate Tom turkey, but a thirty-six pounder, a regular barnyard bully of a he-turkey.
And to think that he should, day in and day out, week in and week out, sit contentedly on a dozen of head’s eggs, watchfully waiting for the little chicks to peck through the shell—haw! haw! haw!
With the turkey, it is a serious business. Whether he is of a scientific turn of mind, under the influence of the feminist movement, or only non compose mantis, the guests at the ranch, seven miles from Tucson, have not figured out, but whatever it is, the turkey considers that he has a serious purpose in life. Undisturbed by the barnyard clamor, he sits there in the straw—haw! haw! haw!—as he has sat there in the hay—hay! hay! hay!—for the better part of two weeks. According to poultry scientists the eggs should be hatched in three weeks.
The turkey was given the setting of eggs in order to save the onion harvest and the potato yield of the ranch. The tour was insistent that he must set, and sprouting onions or potatoes are no good for table use or for marketing. Before the gobbler’s mad obsession was discovered the potato and onion house was dense with foliage that had been drawn out by the warmth of the bird’s body. So it was cheaper, even with eggs at (unreadable amount) cents per dozen, to give the turk a habitation and a job.
Those watching the “case” have noticed a strange change come over the gobbler. Whether from Physical weakness brought on by short rations and inaction or whether it is the effect of auto-suggestion, the bird’s reverberating gobble has grown appreciably less masculine and one of the boarders swears he heard it cluck.
Another suggested that the gobbler was indifferent to what the harvest of his setting might be, and that it was easy to see that it was preparing an alibi against Thanksgiving day, like the German whom the English rookie found sitting on a beer keg eating pig’s knuckles and sauerkraut and said he was a Chinaman.
