German society’s records seized
…
The Pittsburgh Press (February 18, 1942)
Rambling Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
SAN FRANCISCO – To many people it may seem almost sacrilegious to write grievedly about the death of a dog, when humans are dying violently all over the face of the earth.
If it does seem so I can only say that I am sorry, but I can’t help it. For our dog Piper is dead.
Piper was the Great Dane. He was the dog that came to be a member of our family only two months ago. Immense and ungainly and lovable, he was still really a child when he died. He was nine months old.
Piper stood as high as my waist and weighed more than 100 pounds, even though he was not fully grown. His companionship was perfect, from the very start. Thru the grotesque folds of his old-mannish face you could sense his joy at being with us.
His understanding of things was almost uncanny. He had not had a minute of training when he came to us. He had never lived in a house. Yet his instincts were so sensitive that he never even had to be housebroken.
The first day we had him I said to him, “Piper, lie down.” Then I lay down on the floor to show him what I meant. That single lesson was all it took. From that moment on, I could have told him to lie down in the traffic of Central Ave. in Albuquerque, and he would have done it.
When we walked across the mesa, he always walked close beside me, pushing against my leg. When I took off the leash, he wouldn’t go away. When I ran, he ran. When I stopped, he stopped. He wanted only to please us.
When I was home, little Cheetah the Fox slept on my bed, and Piper, because he was too big to get on a bed, slept on a blanket on the floor.
At bedtime I would get both dogs settled, then turn out the light. But Piper, even though I had known him only a week, would always get up in the dark, nose his huge funny face into mine to make sure I was still there, and then he would go to sleep.
The dog loved us
I can never forget one night, less than a week after we had him. The people who raised him came to see us, to make sure that everything was getting along air right. They are good people and their dogs have only affection for them.
When they came that night, Piper sniffed until recognition dawned on him. Then he went to each one, as if to welcome them to the hospitality of our home. And then he came directly to me, shoved his head way down between my legs, like a child hiding its face, and that’s the way he stayed. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. He was saying that he was ours. The damn dog loved us.
The dogs really came to our house to be the dogs of That Girl. And that’s what they became. Both to her, and to them. I haven’t seen her, but I know she could tell a million little incidents of affection like the few I remember so fondly. When he died, Piper was all her dog.
Piper’s illness was a strange and sudden one. It was an illness of paralytic-like seizures, and he suddenly grew terribly thin, and his jaws would not open for him to eat.
The illness grew worse with a shocking violence. For days and nights on end, both That Girl and the doctor were with him constantly. We had the good fortune to have a young doctor who truly loves animals. He doctored as devotedly as if he had been trying to save a son.
All hope abandoned
The illness was diagnosed as a brain infection. They don’t know what caused it. The doctor abandoned all hope three days before he died. And then there suddenly came a rally. After 24 hours under opiates, Piper struggled to his feet. He tried to walk around the south lot where he always played, leaning his huge gaunt body against the fence for support. It was a sad night. But it was no use. They had to go help him back.
For the last 24 hours they gave him frequent injections of glucose and saline solution, and rubbed his throat and legs to ease the rigors of each new seizure. They would have put him to sleep for good, but even the doctor could not bring himself to do it. Piper did not suffer pain, only a great weakness.
All this came to me in a letter from That Girl. In it she said:
“I wish I could spare you the shock and sorrow this will be to you… you loved him so, and were so proud of him.
“There was nothing really outstanding about him that words can identify; but there was a feeling of complete accord between us. He seemed to understand, without teaching, everything I said to him.
“On the last morning, about 5 a.m., I tried to get him to some milk… he tried to raise his head, but he couldn’t make it… I held his head and rubbed his legs… I was still rubbing him when he sighed a great sigh, and was gone.”
And so ends in tragedy the short life and history of our Piper.