Will Holt ‘23
Reviews Editor
Perhaps due to dogs’ ascendant status in modern society, few folks today appreciate the true working heritage of their slobbery, four-legged friends. To note some examples, Corgis served as valiant cattle-herders and, according to local legend, as steeds for Welsh fairies; the English translation of the German word Dachshund is “badger dog;” and the ancestors of today’s greyhounds hunted hare, gazelle, and other speedy game thousands of years ago. But while such facts often prove surprising to the uninformed, they raise few moral questions. People often are appalled to learn, however, the precarious roles canines played in past wars (such inhumanity proves incomprehensible to us, the most enlightened generation of all). Unfortunately, our ignorance results in the foreclosure of these iron pups’ legacy, a phenomenon which is particularly pronounced in our memory of the Great War, one of America’s most poorly understood conflicts.
With the exception of horses and mules, of which millions died on the Western Front alone, few, if any, other animal species played a more important role in World War I than the common dog, Canis lupus familiaris. Dogs served as messengers, carried supplies, offered their noses in aid of search and rescue, and brought comfort to countless men of all nations. Some armies even employed canines in combat roles: the Belgians, for instance, used mastiffs to tow machine guns, often while under fire, through the narrow village streets and boggy lowlands of Flanders. It is not a terrible exaggeration to say that each of these humble beasts contributed as much to the ultimate defeat of the Teutonic horde as any trooper’s mount. Such giants’ combat careers, however, were relatively short; those who survived the furious campaigns of 1914 usually faced obsolescence when the lines ossified into the mundanity of trench warfare. Yet, other canines continued to make their presence known, perhaps the most noteworthy example of which being a little Yankee dog who is known to history as Sergeant Stubby.
Born on an unknown date in 1916, the pup who would become known as Stubby lived the first months of his life as a rover on the streets of New Haven, Connecticut. As one may have expected, the then nameless dog’s military career began in rather unremarkable style. Noticed skulking about Yale University by U.S. Army recruits training on campus, he eventually befriended one James Conroy, a Corporal in the 102d Infantry Regiment. It was Conroy who named the creature “Stubby” (a fitting reference to the pup’s underdeveloped tail) and taught him tricks to provide a source of amusement in camp. Ultimately, it was these little gimmicks that bought Stubby his ticket to France (Conroy’s superior approved the idea only after the dog rendered him a salute with his tiny paw). France, however, soon proved to be a world apart from the Atlantic’s western shores, and all of the 102d’s men and beasts faced previously unimaginable hardships.
Arriving in the Fall of 1917 as a part of the 26th Infantry Division, the 102d was one of the first American units to see frontline service in World War I. Stubby, along with the rest of the Regiment, first saw combat on February 5, 1918 and he suffered his first wounds two months later while accompanying an attack near St. Mihiel. Stubby, unlike many others, offered no excuses and, after a convalescence where he also served as a much appreciated distraction for his fellow patients, promptly returned to his unit. Participating in that summer’s decisive battles, the pup again required medical treatment, this time after an exposure to mustard gas. Upon recovering, however, he learned to use his keen olfactory sense to detect gas and alert his companions to its presence, granting them precious additional seconds to affix their protective equipment. Stubby also exploited his small size and nimble feet to navigate the hazards of no-man’s-land in search of wounded men who otherwise could have spent hours or days alone and exposed. Perhaps most remarkably, Stubby used his doggy intuition to identify a German infiltrator and then detained him until human help could arrive to secure the capture. For his heroism on that occasion, the unit’s commander symbolically promoted Stubby to the rank of Sergeant. By the time of the Armistice, the little soldier had participated in seventeen battles and had thrice been wounded in action.
Sergeant Stubby, once a simple New Haven street dog, returned stateside to a hero’s welcome. He marched in victory parades, appeared in vaudeville performances to the amusement of many an audience, and received personal decoration from General John “Black Jack” Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Force. Stubby even met three presidents during his post-war career as an animal ambassador: Woodrow Wilson, Warren Harding, and Calvin Coolidge. As should be of interest to my fellow law students, while James Conroy attended Georgetown University Law Center, Sergeant Stubby became one of the Hoyas’ first mascots, appearing on the field during halftimes to the raucous joy of every attendee.
Sergeant Stubby passed away on March 16, 1926, and although his legacy has since faded, all who knew him remembered his indomitable spirit, unshakeable enthusiasm, and all around good boy energy. Furthermore, his record in combat stands tall even amongst mankind’s heroes of the Great War. Perhaps there remains work that Stubby, or rather what remains of his memory, can accomplish. Maybe the forgotten news of his exploits can yet inspire a new generation to consider the War from a different perspective. Perhaps we beings of the twenty-first century will come to enshrine it as a conflict during which nations laid upon the altar not only the dearest of youths, but the best of animalkind as well.
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wjh4ew@virginia.edu