Dog Diaries 07 - Stubby Read Online Free PDF Page B

seemed to notice that one of the soldiers had a furry face and was floating about three feet off the ground.
    It was exciting to be in a new place. Newsmells, new people. We even had a new name—the American Expeditionary Forces. We were the first full outfit to land in France. They trucked us to a camp where we’d be holed up for a while. The Brass wanted us to train some more and get used to being in France before they sent us up to the Front.
    What was the Front? The Front marked the spot where the two sides—our guys and the enemy—were fighting to win territory. I was no stranger to this idea. It was just like dogs on the street haggling over turf. The meanest, strongest, baddest dog won. I wondered, In this war, who would that be? All I knew was that I was there to help, in any way I could, like the good dog that I was.
    Our first camp in France was like a town made out of tents. Conroy and I slept in a tent with five other guys. There was a mess tent and a latrine tent and a communications tent and a first aid tent andeven a tent where they showed moving pictures. I didn’t get out much, as you can imagine, being a dog in hiding. I spent most of my time under Conroy’s cot. He smuggled me scraps from the mess, mostly salmon and beef.
    As careful as Conroy was, it didn’t take the new commanding officer long to get wind of me.
    “You mean to tell me this dog came all the way from Yale Field?”
    “It’s kind of a long story, sir,” Conroy said. Once again, he launched into it. How we met in town. How I followed him to Yale and latched on to the 102nd. How I drilled and trained and prepared to fight to give my life for my country, just like the rest of the boys. When he was finished, even I had a lump in my throat. What a touching tale!
    By the time Conroy ordered me to salute, thecommanding officer was one hundred percent sold on me staying with the regiment. What was he going to do, anyway? Send me to Paris to hang out with French poodles? Besides, he said I was good for morale, whatever morale was. He made me the mascot for the 102nd Infantry, Twenty-sixth Yankee Division. It was official. From then on, the only people I had to hide from were the enemy.
    —
    In our new camp, the soldiers learned all kinds of things. They got lessons every day from a bunch of French soldiers. Our boys learned to build barracks in the field. They learned how to read French maps. They practiced how to operate machine guns. These are big guns that make an ack-ack sound that’s hard on a dog’s ears. They also learned to toss grenades without blowing themselves to bits. Grenades are metal things that look like smallfootballs. I watched one day as Conroy pulled the ring out of the top of one, counted to five, and then tossed it. A moment later, there was a gigantic explosion. Some football! But the men spent most of their days learning about trench warfare.
    What was trench warfare? It doesn’t exist today. But that was mainly how war was fought in Conroy’s and my time. A trench is a long, narrow hole in the ground. First the men poked around to find good, dry dirt to dig in, so their trench wouldn’t fill up with water. Now a dog would never have to learn how to dig a proper hole. We are born knowing how, with paws that are built for digging. We dig holes to sleep in, to bury stuff in, and sometimes just for the sheer joy of digging. But for men? It’s work. And it’s a skill they have to learn.
    In the gear the soldiers carried strapped totheir backs was something called an entrenching tool. This is a fancy name for a shovel. Not being blessed with paws, the men needed shovels to dig the trenches. These trenches were deeper and wider than any dog had ever dug—as deep and wide as a man is tall, sometimes even wider. And the trenches didn’t run in straight lines. They zigzagged all over the place so the enemy wouldn’t know where they were.
    After the trenches were dug, the men lined the top edges of them with