Renni the Rescuer (6 page)

“Well,” smiled Mother Marie, “they're going to make friends.”

“Renni likes to get along well with everybody,” declared George. “He realises that Nemo is out of luck.”

“Kitty seems to feel that too,” Mother Marie pointed out. There were three now bedded down together on Renni's mattress.

Nemo went to sleep again at once. Kitty crawled
up, purred a while, and then fell asleep. Renni acted as though he were going to keep watch over them but in a few minutes he too drowsed off. In the middle of the night Nemo waked, stretched and sighed. Renni immediately was wide awake. That went along with his ability to fall asleep instantly, a gift he shared with all dogs. Kitty didn't move. It was pitch dark in the house.

“Why are you so sad?” asked Renni.

“I want my master,” whispered Nemo.

“You ought to have stayed with Him.”

“How can I stay with Him when He drives me away?”

“If He drove you away, why do you want Him?”

“But . . . I love Him . . . in spite . . . ”

“Why would He drive you away?”

“Well, because I'm old, because I'm no longer good for anything. Oh, the last few days were terrible. Blows, nothing to eat, kicks.”

“I don't know anything about such things.”

“Why, I always got whipped. A long time ago He
whipped me whenever I couldn't resist running after a rabbit. Of course, that was forbidden.”

“You oughtn't to have done it.”

“I got over the habit, but how much pain it caused me! Or perhaps I could not find a partridge that He'd shot. A whipping for me! Maybe He'd really missed it. Still . . . a whipping.”

“And you love Him, you dumb dog?”

“No, I'm not dumb. Not at all. Oh, but He was nice to me, too. It was wonderful to be petted by Him when He was happy. I can never forget it . . . . Alas, He wasn't happy very often.”

“And can you forget how He drove you away?”

“No, that was too awful.”

“How did it happen?”

“He kicked me out of the house. In spite of the pain in my body I scratched at His door. He whipped me away. Again and again. I felt as if I were going to die.”

Kitty's fine voice said, “I can't understand you people. Things like that could happen to me only once, and a mighty short once, too. I'd scratch. I'd scratch until He
bled, and then I'd run away.” Now with her back arched and her fur bristling with sparks she looked savage indeed. The dogs stared at her.

“Don't you love your master then?” stammered Renni.

“Nobody's my master,” declared Kitty. “To obey anyone who likes to whip—only you silly dogs are capable of that.”

“I don't know you when you're like this,” said Renni in a humble tone.

“Well then, you know me now.” Kitty quieted down, rolled up gently against Renni's side and purred. For a while they were all silent.

“What a kind master you have!” whispered Nemo. “I envy you. It's great to have a thing like this happen to me at the end of my life. I'd never have thought there was so much kindness anywhere, so much pity. I haven't any way to tell you how much good the help I've received here has done me. I was on my last legs after wandering about for days in this awful weather, after the loneliness, the hunger. It took all my strength.
I'd like to love your master . . . but I don't know. Love for my old master, cruel as He was to me, is still firm in my heart. I can't root it out. Do you hear me?”

But nether Kitty nor Renni heard the poor pointer's whispering. They were asleep. For a long time Nemo looked sadly into the dark. Finally slumber wrapped him too. Uneasy dreams brought back vague images of the suffering he had endured. His legs pressed close against his body, twitching violently as though he were running. He whimpered in a high, choking voice which did not reach very far. Much later he slipped into the depths of unconscious sleep, and that gave him strength again.

There is a barrier between man and beast; even when they live together on the best of terms, distance lies between them. Those two good people, George and his mother, had not the slightest inkling of the night-time conversation of their protégés. They were happy to see the friendship which Renni, Kitty and Nemo had formed. They were happy when the three ate their meals together from the same dish, and
when Renni and Kitty drew back to leave most of it to Nemo, who devoured all that was left in gluttonous eagerness.

“Renni acts like a gentleman,” George praised his dog.

“And Kitty is a perfect lady,” smiled Mother Marie.

“Look, won't you, Mother? Nemo's already getting a little stronger.”

He called the pointer, who at once crept humbly up, lay down and rolled over on his back at George's feet, wagging his tail timidly. George petted him, talked kindly to him.

“Now, Nemo, don't you be afraid. Don't act so queer,” he said.

It did not help. The old dog was hearing a strange name instead of the one he was used to. He had found a place of safety here, but he did not feel at home. His thoughts were elsewhere. At every second he expected some new abuse, and he could not believe in this continuing kindness. There was something uncanny about it. It disturbed him. Renni watched while Nemo was petted, without the slightest jealousy. Kitty often
challenged Nemo to play, but Nemo could not play. Real freedom prevailed only when the three animals were left alone. George and his mother accepted the shy nature of the pointer, and gave up trying to change him or make a closer friendship with him.

L
IFE GLIDED ALONG IN THE same old peaceful way.

“I'm anxious to try an experiment, to see whether kindness can accomplish all that we hope. Or more. You see, Mother, don't you, how clever and willing Renni is? If it can be done, fine! If not, well, I'll just let it go.”

“What are you going to make of him?”

“I don't want him to become cruel, a man-hunter, leaping at the throats of criminals. That wouldn't be
the sort of job I'd like myself. Renni must be helpful. Do good. That's what he's fitted for by nature.”

Now an interesting time began, for, very quietly George started to try Renni out in methodical training. To his delight he found remarkable talents in the dog, gifts which were quite obviously awakened by kindness, and increased more and more by praise. Again and again George caught a certain look in Renni's eyes. A look of unlimited confidence, of utter devotion, and not only eagerness to understand, but joyful understanding itself. Moreover, there was a mute, insistent questioning, as though Renni encouraged George to give him some sort of command, which he would be eager to obey.

It took very little to induce Renni to lie still when George walked away, perfectly still instead of jumping up and running after him. That was the first lesson. George would say, “Lie down, old man,” and Renni, at the fifth or sixth trial, grasped what was wanted of him. He would drop as though struck by lightning at the first word of the command. He was praised and petted without stint. George talked to him often and long, and
Renni would listen with ears pricked up, nose pointed down.

“We're going to do something really worth while, we two,” said George. “We'll show Karl all right what can be done without the whip. Perhaps then he'll treat poor Pasha better, eh?”

Renni acted as though he understood every word. The only thing he lacked was speech. The only thing, thought George, and every time he felt himself strangely moved by the word “only.” How close a dog can get to a man, and still how far, how very far we stay from each other, in spite of our friendship and devotion.

* * *

It was a long time before Renni reached the point where he understood George's outstretched hand as a sign for him to lie down. It was a long time before he would let George go away, would stay quietly in his place and only hurry after him when George raised his arm or called. Many a time during this period of training vexation welled up in George's heart and he was near scolding, but he always took a few deep breaths and recalled
his thoughts about the helpless fellow. And then he remembered, “Why, we've started Renni out a good deal younger than is usually recommended. I mustn't forget that, must I, old man?” Sometimes he would stand in front of Renni and say softly to him, “How could anyone mistreat you, brother of mine?” So, ordinarily, good nature took the place of vexation. Yet, alone with the dog, George had a pretty tough time of it. He kept their difficulties from his mother. They took the most serious pains. They went out in the afternoons a long way from town, a long way from home, and if Renni had anything to do with it, a long way from Karl. Renni didn't like to have Karl around one little bit, and felt he could get along nicely without Pasha.

Meanwhile Nemo sunned himself on the gravel paths of the garden, accepting the kitten's coquetry indifferently and the mother's kindness with great humility. He rested as only a weary, broken exile rests after a life painful and burdensome.

George and Renni did not work with any degree of regularity. There were days when George did not
feel like it, gave it up and let his thoughts wander elsewhere—to memories of Olga, the wish for a new friend, man or woman, or the little everyday worries of his life.

And then at times it was Renni who did not seem interested. He would apparently have forgotten all he had learned and be unable to learn anything new. The two would walk along mechanically side by side. Sometimes Renni would run ahead and swing about in wide circles; then at the least call he would come back to George's left side. For in all circumstances and no matter what his humour, he was always obedient.

* * *

But after they met Bettina they took a fresh interest in life. That occurred one day when Renni was lying perfectly still on the ground as he had been ordered, and George had gone off some distance. He was just on the point of raising his hand to call the dog to him, when he saw a girl stop beside the dog, bend over, and start talking to him. George walked slowly up and heard her say, “Fine fellow! Good pup! And you're handsome, too.
I'd like to pet you, you dear, but I don't quite dare.”

Renni lay still, blinking at the girl without even raising his head, and only permitted himself the slightest wag of his tail.

“Please go on and pet him,” George smiled. “He won't bite.”

The girl raised startled eyes. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I saw the dog lying there, and . . . ” she broke off in confusion.

George gave the sign which released Renni from his motionless waiting. He sprang to his feet and joyfully whirled around his master, and with the same exuberance around the new acquaintance, and she petted him to her heart's content.

George looked at the girl with interest. She was not pretty, but young and sweet. She was very simply dressed, without a hat. Her heavy russet hair was wound about her head in thick braids.

“Why does the—” she interrupted herself. “What is the beautiful thing's name?” And when she learned his name she resumed, “Why must he lie there all by himself?”

“It's an experiment. I'm getting ready to train him for war service.”

“Oh dear! The poor thing's in for a lot of whipping.” She petted Renni, who looked up at her almost laughing. “Renni, good boy,” she went on; “you poor, good dog!”

George would have liked to ask, “Do I look cruel?” but what he said was, “Does he look to you like a whipped dog?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “No, not at all. But dogs are so goodhearted and forgiving—how can you tell?”

“Well, you'll just have to take my word for it, Miss. This Renni of mine has never yet had a blow, not a single one in his whole life.”

“Really?” she cried. “I declare. That's wonderful.” She knelt down and held Renni's head against her breast. “Do you really have such a good master?”

“You see, Miss, I'm trying an experiment in training the dog. I want to accomplish without punishment what others can only do with the whip or the stick.”

She beamed. “Oh, you'll do it. I know you will. The dog is so smart, so willing and so gifted . . . . Please
don't call me ‘Miss,' ” she said with a gesture of sincerity. Her small face turned a dark red. “My name is Bettina Holman. My friends call me Bettina.”

She felt at ease with this young man. He gave her his name in return and insisted she call him George. Bettina told him her father had been a railroad man and was now on a pension. She had no mother. Her three grown brothers were employed as electricians or machinists. She herself, the youngest, was starting out to find a place as a servant girl. “It's very hard,” she said, sighing. Being only eighteen, she had never worked.

While she petted Renni she listened to what George told her of himself, of his mother, of the dog fancier, Vogg; she heard his theories about animals in general and dogs in particular.