Barry (2 page)

But the clerics soon discovered that we dogs are also very good workers. Hitch a bari to a sled and he or she could haul a load of firewood much more easily than a cleric could. A bari could go from the town of Bourg-Saint-Pierre up to the hospice with as much as thirty pounds of supplies strapped on to its back. The clerics and their worldly helpers, the marronniers (mah-ron-ee-AY), began to take us out with them on their twice-daily patrol of the paths in search of people lost in the snow. They soon discovered that the travelers were much less likely to lose their way in heavy snow, sleet, or fog with a bari leading them.

In my day, there were twenty clerics and marronniers living in the hospice with eight dogs. Day in, day out, a steady stream of travelers passed through. Travelers who came to the hospice received cheese and bread to eat and wine to drink.
They were able to hang up their wet clothes to dry. Wrapped in blankets, they sat and toasted themselves before a roaring fire in the refectory. If they stayed the night, they could sleep in a small, private room or in the dormitory on a bed with clean
sheets and warm blankets. And if they needed it, they got a dog and a marronnier to guide them through the pass, which followed along the ridge that lay between two of the highest mountains of the Alps: Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa. It was a busy, lively place—a good place for a dog. There were always new people to meet, new scents to sniff, and important jobs to do.

I was born one late spring day in a big room in the cellar of the hospice where the clerics kept the casks of wine. It was dark and damp down there, but it was home to us. It’s the place where we dogs slept and ate and had pups. I had a brother, Jupiter, and a sister, Phoebe. Mother was very proud of us. In those first few weeks, we stayed with Mother in the cellar. Father was gone much of the time, and when he did come back, he flopped into the corner and slept.

My legs were still shaky and my eyes were barely open when I first started making my move toward the door. I had watched the big dogs as they opened the door with their muzzles and disappeared. I wanted to sneak out behind them and see what was on the other side. But before I ever had a chance, Mother would pick me up in her mouth by the scruff of my neck and bring me back to the corner, next to the casks. The corner was where she kept us in a nice clean bed of straw and rags.

But I want to go out and see the world
, I told Mother as I squirmed to free myself from her gentle jaws.

You will get to do that soon enough
, Mother said, plopping me down next to my brother and sister.
When you’re bigger
.

I am big enough now
, I grumbled. I was three
weeks old and already too big to fit in Michel’s hat. Michel was the marronnier in charge of taking care of us.

I like it here
, said Jupiter, snuggling up to Mother’s teat.
We get to snuggle and drink warm milk whenever we want it
.

And we also get to listen to the clerics sing
, said Phoebe.

Phoebe was right. From where we were in the cellar, we could hear the clerics singing every day, once in the morning and again in the evening. Their voices drifted down from the chapel. It was a sound to stir a dog’s heart. But I wanted more. I wanted to be like the big dogs. I wanted to go where they went and do what they did.

One early morning, I woke up blinking and shivering. Even with the warm bodies of all the sleeping dogs, it had gotten cold in the cellar. There
were chinks in the wooden door. I lifted my nose to them. My nostrils quivered. Somewhere beyond the door, I smelled something cold and dry and very big. What was it?

Mother was dozing while Jupiter and Phoebe suckled.

I butted Mother’s big head softly with my nose.
Mother?
I whispered.

Mother lifted her muzzle and yawned. She had a big, wide mouth and a long pink tongue.
What is it, my puppy one?
she said, nuzzling me.

I smell something
, I said. And my nose twitched almost as if it had a will all its own.

That is dog and straw and milk and mud that you smell, my darling puppy boy
.

I shook my head.
No, it’s something else
. I lifted my nose to the door again.

Then the clerics began to sing, and the sweet
sound made me sleepy. I dropped my head onto my paws and drifted off. When next I lifted my head, I heard a roaring, whistling sound.

I wagged my tail and said to Mother,
What is happening?

Mother twitched her nose and sniffed.
It is a blizzard
, she said.
You smelled it even before it came. That’s a very promising sign
.

Jupiter and Phoebe stood up and shook out their hides.

What is a blizzard, Mother?
Phoebe asked.

A blizzard is a great deal of snow blown hard by the wind from out of the sky
, Mother said.

What is snow?
I asked.

What is wind?
Phoebe asked.

What is sky?
Jupiter asked.

Such curious little puppies I have! You’ll find out the answers to your questions soon enough
, Mother
said. She gathered us to her big, warm side and snuggled us.
Right now your place is here with me. Latch on and drink your fill of milk. Get big and strong so you can go out in the snow
.

While we were talking, I noticed that the older dogs had gotten up, shaken out their coats, and nosed their way out the door.

Where are they going, Mother?
I asked.

They are going out into the blizzard to see if people need help in the snow
, she said.

I want to go out into the blizzard and help people in the snow
, I said.

She laughed softly.
If you went out now, Barry, you could not even help yourself. You would sink into the drifts. I would have to dig you out and pick you up and carry you back inside by the scruff of your puppy neck. You must wait until you are bigger. Then you can go out in the snow
.

That afternoon, Father came in. His eyes were red and he looked very tired. I smelled the blizzard on his coat.

He circled three times and flopped down on the floor, heaving a huge sigh. I went over to him and took his ear in my mouth and tugged. His head was bigger than my entire body.
Where have you been, Father?
I asked.

He opened one eye.
You would not believe it if I told you
, he growled.

Oh, tell me, tell me!
I begged.

Father opened the other eye and began to speak in his deep, rumbling voice.
There are more travelers on the path than I have ever seen
, he said.
Thousands of them. They are all dressed alike and are dragging cannons that they have placed inside hollowed-out tree trunks. Today, I saw one of the cannons slip off the ropes that held it and plunge over the mountainside
into the gorge. Six soldiers and your cousin Juno went with it. Yesterday, some of the men and cannons were stuck in the crevasse. It took many hours to haul them out. We dogs helped. It was hard work. The men were very cold. The cannons were very heavy
.

What are cannons?
I asked.

Cannons are big, heavy metal tubes that shoot hot, searing fire
, Father said.
The men are called soldiers. The soldiers use the cannons to fight other soldiers in battles in the lands far, far below us
.

I
knew what a battle was. I fought battles every day with my brother and sister over who was going to get to suck Mother’s juiciest teat. Sometimes we bit each other. Sometimes we kicked each other. Sometimes we punched each other in the face with our paws. But as much as I loved our mother’s milk, I could not imagine using something like a
cannon to fight against my brother and sister. That would hurt!

Father went on.
Prior Louis does not approve of the soldiers. He says the battle is madness. But he will let some of the soldiers stay in the hospice. Others will camp out in the snow
.

Prior Louis was the leader of the hospice. His word was law.

You mean the soldiers are coming here?
I asked.

Father nodded and closed his eyes. He started snoring almost right away.

I lifted my nose to the door and smelled something new. I did not know it then, but the scent I had picked up was gunpowder. And it smelled dangerous!

T
HE
L
ITTLE
C
OLONEL

In the house above me, I heard the hospice come alive. Doors slammed and boots clomped and loud voices laughed and sang and shouted. I smelled meat cooking. Mother had told us that one day we would be eating this wonderful-smelling stuff instead of drinking her milk. My mouth watered. I was ready to eat that meat right now!

Suddenly, the door swung open. Michel stood there in his heavy coat. He liked to spend time
with us pups. He would sit by our nest and let us crawl over his lap.

“Venus,” he whispered to my mother, “you must get ready to have your puppies handled.”

My mother sighed and gathered us toward her.

The next moment, another man came into the cellar. He wore tight trousers and a long jacket and carried a hat with a feather under his arm. He was not as tall as Michel.

“So this is where you keep the remarkable dogs,” said the stranger. “But why so few of them? Where are the others?”

“The other dogs are all out in the snow rescuing your soldiers, Your Excellency,” said Michel.

“Ah, yes, very good,” said the visitor. He ambled over to our corner. Mother looked up at the little man and growled long and low.

“Heh-heh. These great big dogs don’t look so
very big to me,” said His Excellency.

“These pups are only a few weeks old,” said Michel. “They will be big soon enough.”

“I will eat now,” said the little man, and he turned and walked out the door.

Michel rolled his eyes as he followed the man out of the cellar. “The Little Colonel must be fed,” he muttered under his breath.

Later, I learned from listening to the clerics and the marronniers speak that the man Michel called Excellency was known far and wide as Napoléon Bonaparte. He was the leader of the country of France, but it was not enough for him to lead France. This little man wanted to lead all of Europe. So he set out to conquer it with his army. That was why he had ordered his soldiers to drag the cannons over the mountain to Italy. To his face, they called him Excellency. But behind his back,
just as Michel had done, they called him the Little Colonel.

The Little Colonel is dangerous
, Mother said as soon as he had left the room.
He reminds me of the small dogs I have seen in the company of travelers. They need to convince the world that they are big dogs. They bark and bite and growl ferociously. That Napoléon is a small dog trying to act like a big one
.

A few days later, one of the Little Colonel’s officers came down to the cellar. We saw right away that he had a kind face and a gentle voice.

“Hello, good Mother Venus,” he said as he bent down over us. “I am General Berthier, and I would be honored to hold one of your magnificent puppies.”