University of Virginia Library

BOONDER.

I NEVER knew how the subject of this memoir
came to attach himself so closely to the affections
of my family. He was not a prepossessing
dog. He was not a dog of even average birth and
breeding. His pedigree was involved in the deepest
obscurity. He may have had brothers and
sisters, but in the whole range of my canine acquaintance
(a pretty extensive one), I never detected
any of Boonder's peculiarities in any other
of his species. His body was long, and his forelegs
and hind-legs were very wide apart, as though
Nature originally intended to put an extra pair between
them, but had unwisely allowed herself to
be persuaded out of it. This peculiarity was annoying
on cold nights, as it always prolonged the
interval of keeping the door open for Boonder's
ingress long enough to allow two or three dogs of
a reasonable length to enter. Boonder's feet were
decided; his toes turned out considerably, and in
repose his favorite attitude was the first position
of dancing. Add to a pair of bright eyes ears
that seemed to belong to some other dog, and a
symmetrically pointed nose that fitted all apertures

like a pass-key, and you have Boonder as we
knew him.

I am inclined to think that his popularity was
mainly owing to his quiet impudence. His advent
in the family was that of an old member,
who had been absent for a short time, but had
returned to familiar haunts and associations. In
a Pythagorean point of view this might have been
the case, but I cannot recall any deceased member
of the family who was in life partial to bone-burying
(though it might be post mortem a consistent
amusement), and this was Boonder's great
weakness. He was at first discovered coiled up
on a rug in an upper chamber, and was the least
disconcerted of the entire household. From that
moment Boonder became one of its recognized
members, and privileges, often denied the most intelligent
and valuable of his species, were quietly
taken by him and submitted to by us. Thus,
if he were found coiled up in a clothes-basket,
or any article of clothing assumed locomotion
on its own account, we only said, “O, it 's Boonder,”
with a feeling of relief that it was nothing
worse.

I have spoken of his fondness for bone-burying.
It could not be called an economical faculty, for he
invariably forgot the locality of his treasure, and
covered the garden with purposeless holes; but
although the violets and daisies were not improved

by Boonder's gardening, no one ever thought of
punishing him. He became a synonyme for Fate;
a Boonder to be grumbled at, to be accepted philosophically,
— but never to be averted. But although
he was not an intelligent dog, nor an ornanamental
dog, he possessed some gentlemanly
instincts. When he performed his only feat, —
begging upon his hind legs (and looking remarkably
like a penguin), — ignorant strangers would
offer him crackers or cake, which he did n't like, as
a reward of merit. Boonder always made a great
show of accepting the proffered dainties, and even
made hypocritical contortions as if swallowing,
but always deposited the morsel when he was
unobserved in the first convenient receptacle, —
usually the visitor's overshoes.

In matters that did not involve courtesy, Boonder
was sincere in his likes and dislikes. He
was instinctively opposed to the railroad. When
the track was laid through our street, Boonder
maintained a defiant attitude toward every
rail as it went down, and resisted the cars shortly
after to the fullest extent of his lungs. I have
a vivid recollection of seeing him, on the day
of the trial trip, come down the street in front
of the car, barking himself out of all shape,
and thrown back several feet by the recoil of
each bark. But Boonder was not the only one
who has resisted innovations, or has lived to see

the innovation prosper and even crush — But I
am anticipating. Boonder and previously resisted
the gas, but although he spent one whole day in
angry altercation with the workmen, — leaving
his bones unburied and bleaching in the sun, —
somehow the gas went in. The Spring Valley
water was likewise unsuccessfully opposed, and
the grading of an adjoining lot was for a long
time a personal matter between Boonder and the
contractor.

These peculiarities seemed to evince some decided
character and embody some idea. A prolonged
debate in the family upon this topic resulted
in an addition to his name, — we called
him “Boonder the Conservative,” with a faint
acknowledgment of his fateful power. But, although
Boonder had his own way, his path was
not entirely of roses. Thorns sometimes pricked
his sensibilities. When certain minor chords were
struck on the piano, Boonder was always painfully
affected and howled a remonstrance. If he were
removed for company's sake to the back yard, at
the recurrence of the provocation, he would go his
whole length (which was something) to improvise
a howl that should reach the performer. But we
got accustomed to Boonder, and as we were fond
of music the playing went on.

One morning Boonder left the house in good
spirits with his regular bone in his mouth, and

apparently the usual intention of burying it. The
next day he was picked up lifeless on the track, —
run over apparently by the first car that went out
of the depot.