Lincoln's Doctor's Sons Dog

Among the local coterie of truly important writers, of which I am a leading member, it's legendary that Mark Twain once said that since books about Lincoln are proverbially best sellers, and since stories about doctors are always popular, and since Americans love to read about dogs, a story about Lincoln's doctor's dog must surely make a mint; and Twain said he was going to write it as soon as he could think of a story about the confounded dog.

After considerable research, I can't find that Mark Twain ever said this at all. But it's a widely printed anonymous witticism, and it sounds so much like Twain that if he didn't say it, he should have, so let's just accept it as a genuine Mark Twain quotation.

Since he never wrote the story, it's obvious that he had troubles with it. I can guess why. It wasn't the dog at all. There's a vital ingredient missing and, of all writers, Mark Twain should have spotted it. There is not a single freckle-faced American youngster with an engaging smile indicated in this story!

Once this sorry omission has been corrected, the story practically writes itself. And I have written it, in Mark Twain's honor. It's not that I want to make a mint--it's just that in this day of cynical literature, there's a crying need for old-fashioned stories that have true and heartwarming qualities and happy, upbeat endings, and here it is:

• • •

It was the fourth of March, in 1865. In Washington, Abraham Lincoln was being inaugurated for his second term.

Back in Springfield, Illinois, young Sam Haskins was alone in his parents' house on a quiet, tree-lined street.

Sam was the son of Dr. Amos Haskins, who was Abraham Lincoln's kindly family doctor and who had delivered all four of the Lincoln boys. The Lincolns loved Dr. Haskins, and so the President had invited him and Mrs. Haskins to come to Washington and be his guests at the Inauguration.

Sam was 12 and an only child. He was disappointed at not being asked to Washington; but since he was a freckle-faced boy with an engaging smile, he was happy because at least his mother and father would be having a fine time. His aunt Sally had come down from Chicago to look after Sam for the week his parents would be away.

Sam was a healthy, well-behaved boy, who seldom got into mischief. His only minor complaint was that his parents were strict vegetarians, so meat was never served in the Haskins family. But Sam was very fond of steaks and roasts and stews, and when he was nine, he'd stolen a meat pie from a neighbor woman's window ledge and his father had birched him for it. Sam knew he'd deserved the whipping and loved his parents just the same, for he was that kind of boy.

Next to his parents, Sam loved his dog, who was a lovable mongrel named Buddy. He was so lovable that everyone loved him--with the exception of Aunt Sally.

On this fourth of March, Aunt Sally had gone out to do some shopping and Sam was alone in the house. Suddenly, there was a banging on the front door. Sam went and opened it, to find Mr. Robbins standing there. He was their next-door neighbor and he was in an absolute fury.

"That damn dog of yours just chewed up my little baby boy!" he shouted at Sam. "He bit him in the calf!"

"Buddy!?" Sam exclaimed in disbelief. "No! Not Buddy! He loves your little boy! He'd never hurt him!"

"I found my little boy bleeding from bites in his leg! And Buddy was standing over him and there was blood around his mouth! He could have killed my little boy! He's a vicious dog and I'm going to see that he's destroyed!" Mr. Robbins stormed off.

A little later, Buddy slunk in the back door, looking guilty. Sam saw that there was, indeed, blood around his mouth. But he was sure it wasn't the blood of the Robbins boy, for Buddy was simply not that kind of dog.

Later on, Aunt Sally came home and Sam told her all about this, with tears in his eyes.

"I never did like that vicious mongrel!" Aunt Sally said. "Mr. Robbins is right! He should be destroyed!"

"But he's not a vicious mongrel!" Sam protested.

"There's always a first time!" Aunt Sally said.

Sam realized that he was not going to get too much support from Aunt Sally. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't get in touch with his parents, because he didn't know where in Washington they were staying.

Late that afternoon, Constable Ferguson came to Sam's house. He was a kindly man and Sam knew him well. Reluctantly, he told Sam that Mr. Robbins was bound and determined to have Buddy destroyed and that a court hearing was scheduled before kindly old Judge Lockwood the following afternoon and that Sam would have to appear and bring Buddy.

Now, Sam was desperate. He didn't know to whom to turn. Then he remembered Abraham Lincoln, who had always been so kind to him and who had sat Sam on his knee and told him amusing stories full of wisdom.

Sam ran down to the local telegraph office. The only person on duty was a young telegrapher who was about six years older than Sam. His name was Tom Edison and Sam knew that one day, Tom would amount to something. Young Tom was kindly and sympathized with Sam's problem and, between them, they composed a telegram:

President Abraham Lincoln. Washington. I am son of Dr. Amos Haskins. They are trying to put my dog to death for something he did not do. Please help me. Sam Haskins.

Young Tom rattled off the message on his key at lightning speed, but both boys wondered if Mr. Lincoln would ever actually see it himself. He would be a very busy man now, with the Inauguration and all.

That night, Sam held Buddy in his arms and cried himself to sleep.

Early the next morning, there was a banging on the Haskins front door. Sam ran down and opened it, to find young Tom Edison with a telegram addressed to Sam. It read:

Go to Herndon's office and tell them I want them to help you. A. Lincoln.

Sam knew that William Henry Herndon had been Lincoln's law partner for many years. As soon as he had dressed and gulped down some breakfast, Sam ran downtown to the law offices of Mr. Herndon. There, he found that Herndon and almost all the others in the fairly large firm had gone to Washington for the Inauguration. The only man in the office was a kindly gentleman named Mr. O'Reilly, who said he was a very fine attorney. Sam showed him the telegram from President Lincoln, and Mr. O'Reilly said he would be in court that afternoon and that he was a crackerjack orator and was sure he could talk the judge into sparing Buddy's life.

That afternoon, dressed in his Sunday best and accompanied by Aunt Sally, and with Buddy on a long rope, Sam set out for the Springfield courthouse. It was a long walk and Sam had somehow injured his right leg and it became sore, and Sam was limping.

Outside the courthouse, he took off his cap and saluted the American flag that flew over the building and then paid his respects to George Washington, whose statue stood in the courthouse square.

In the courtroom, Sam sat down at the defense table, next to Mr. O'Reilly. Buddy curled up at Sam's feet. Sam noticed that Mr. O'Reilly smelled of whiskey and seemed half asleep.

Then kindly old Judge Lockwood came in to preside over this informal hearing. Mr. Robbins told the judge what he'd seen with his own eyes and demanded that this vicious dog be destroyed before he bit any more innocent little children.

Mr. O'Reilly turned to Sam and whispered thickly: "I fear we don't have a chance, m'boy. This Robbins is the judge's brother-in-law."

"But that's not fair!" Sam cried.

"Quiet in the court!" the judge shouted, banging his gavel. Then he said, "Is there anyone here who has the effrontery to speak in defense of this miserable cur?"

At these words, Buddy got to his feet and growled and stared in the judge's direction, and his hair rose on his back.

Sam nudged Mr. O'Reilly. "Say something! Do something!" But Mr. O'Reilly's head had fallen forward onto his chest and he was snoring, in a drunken stupor.

"Well?" the judge demanded.

"I want to speak in defense of my dog, Buddy." Sam said bravely and rose to his feet. He addressed the judge, telling him how he had raised Buddy from a puppy and describing his gentle nature and assuring the judge that it was impossible (continued on page 209)Lincoln's doctor's son's dog(continued from page 156) for Buddy to have done this thing.

Judge Lockwood yawned and then said he was sorry but that the evidence indicated to him that the dog was guilty and should be destroyed. "Bailiff," the judge ordered, "take this dog away and put him to death!"

At that moment, Buddy leaped in the direction of the judge's bench with an angry growl, pulling his rope out of Sam's hand. As the dog mounted the steps leading up from the courtroom floor, Judge Lockwood rose in fear, his gavel in hand to protect himself.

But Buddy darted past the judge's seat and began to wrestle with something on the floor. No one but the judge could see what it was.

"Good Lord!" the judge exclaimed. "It's a copperhead!"

What had happened was that Buddy had sensed that a deadly copperhead had slithered in from an adjoining room and was making for the judge, and Buddy had rushed to attack the snake to protect him. In a few moments, Buddy had killed the copperhead and the snake had been taken away.

Buddy returned at once to Sam, who petted him and said, "Good dog, good dog!"

Tears were forming in the judge's eyes. "Well, I'll be ..." he said. "That dog saved my life! Here I'd sentenced him to death and he saved my life."

"That just proves what a good dog he is!" Sam said happily.

"It proves nothing of the kind, you young idiot!" the judge snapped. "All it proves is that this damn dog will bite anything that moves! If an innocent little baby boy had crawled up behind me, he would have tried to kill him, too!"

"That's not true!" Sam shouted.

"Oh, shut up and sit down!" the judge barked. "My order still stands! Bailiff--take the dog!"

As the bailiff moved toward him, Sam rose. "Please, your Honor--I believe in American justice, and if you say Buddy has to die, you must be right, because you're a judge. But wouldn't you let me take care of Buddy myself? Please?"

"How do you propose to destroy him?" the judge asked.

"Well, I'll take him out into the north woods near the old forked cottonwood on top of the hill," Sam answered. "And I'll dig a little grave, and then I'll shoot Buddy through the head with my father's Service pistol from the Mexican War--which was a just war, no matter what anyone says--and then I'll bury him."

"How do I know you'll actually do it?" the judge snarled.

"Because I give you my word of honor that I will, and I'm Abraham Lincoln's family doctor's son, and when I say I'll do a thing. I'll do it!"

"When will you do it?" the judge demanded.

"This very afternoon, sir," Sam answered.

After a moment of glowering thought, the judge said, "Very well. But if you don't do it, I will hold you in contempt of this court and you could go to prison for thirty years."

And so it was that later that afternoon, Sam limped miserably into the woods north of Springfield and up the hill on which was the old forked cottonwood. Sam carried his father's loaded pistol in a sack and had a shovel over his shoulder. Buddy danced around him at the end of his rope, for Buddy loved to go for walks in the woods.

Sam tied Buddy to the tree and then dug a small grave. Watching, Buddy wagged his tail eagerly, for he was stupid enough to think that Sam was digging up a bone for him.

The grave finished, Sam got out the pistol and then called Buddy to him, and the dog came, waggling and wriggling with happiness. He licked Sam's hand--the same one that held the pistol.

Tears came once again to Sam's eyes and he felt he couldn't go through with it. But he had no intention of going to prison for 30 years, and so he cocked the trigger and took careful aim, directly between Buddy's soft and appealing eyes.

"Don't shoot that dog!" came a cry from the distance.

Sam turned to see Judge Lockwood running toward him, and just behind the judge was Dr. Morton, Sam's dentist. He was also Abraham Lincoln's family dentist.

"There might have been a miscarriage of justice!" the judge shouted.

"That dog might be innocent," said Dr. Morton, as he ran up. "Let me see his teeth!" He reached down and opened Buddy's mouth and looked into it. "I was right!" Dr. Morton announced.

"I don't understand!" Sam said.

Judge Lockwood explained: "Dr. Morton, here, happened to examine the Robbins boy's leg, and he didn't think that a dog of Buddy's size could have made those wounds at all."

"If it was a dog," Dr. Morton said carefully, "it would have to have been a very small one. Buddy's canines are too far apart."

"Well," Sam said, overjoyed, "I just knew for certain that Buddy hadn't done it."

The reason that Sam knew this for certain was that it had been Sam himself who had been chewing the Robbins boy in the calf when Buddy had come along and tried to protect the child by biting Sam in his calf. It had been Sam's blood in Buddy's mouth. This was why Sam had been limping.

As it happened, Dr. Morton knew the truth, for he was quite familiar with Sam's occlusion and had recognized the tooth marks as being Sam's.

However, Dr. Morton was a wise and kindly man, and he was also a student of the occult and he knew an incipient werewolf when he saw one. But, also, Dr. Morton knew the cure.

When Dr. Haskins returned from Washington, Dr. Morton went to him and said that it was vital that Sam have lots of red meat in his diet. "Otherwise," said the dentist, "all his teeth are going to fall out. Also, he may well go blind."

"Is that a true medical fact?" asked Dr. Haskins.

"I assure you that it is," Dr. Morton said. "In addition, his fingers and toes might fall off."

"Good heavens!" Dr. Haskins exclaimed. Not only was he a badly educated doctor but he was also one of the most gullible men in Springfield. "Well, even though it's against my principles, Sam will have meat from now on."

From that day forward, Sam was given all the red meat he could eat--which was considerable. Dr. Morton was pleased to see that all of Sam's werewolf tendencies rapidly disappeared.

Buddy lived to a lovable old age.

As Sam grew up, his father pressed him to become a doctor or a lawyer, but Sam had other ideas. In later years, he was to become the most respected, successful, well-adjusted and sublimated retail butcher in all Springfield.

• • •

To me, this seems a perfectly straightforward and simple story, with touching human values and a happy, upbeat ending. In all modesty, I feel that the addition of young Tom Edison was a brilliant touch, verging on the profound.

I really don't know what kept Mark Twain from writing this story. But then, one of his great failings was that he wrote only what he wanted to write, rather than what people wanted to read.

This is, of course, why Mark Twain is not remembered as a writer today.