Nae OR Dae 
S H OR E 
BREEZE 9 
ee ig ee 
The Story of a Police Horse 
He was old, a trifle lame, and al- 
most all of the spirit had gone out 
of him long ago. This was evident 
in the hang of his head and in the 
note of dead weariness that sounded 
through the dragging of his feet. 
In his dejected eyes was a look of 
mute wretchedness. Within his 
bony frame, hidden somewhere be- 
neath a matted coat, just one spark 
of the old-time fire remained, and 
for one brief moment that flashed 
into life one day last week when 
chance brought him past the Lib- 
erty avenue police station. 
It was one o’clock and the after- 
noon platoon was getting ready to 
report for duty. Back in the pre- 
cinct stable the mounted squad had 
drawn up, their restive horses anx- 
ious to be off. Among the horses, a 
dozen blue uniforms hurried back 
and forth. Down Liberty avenue, 
bridleless, but with a frayed yellow 
blanket thrown across his back, 
came a forlorn-looking nag, his 
head sunk down almost between his 
knees. He came abreast of the 
station-house just as a body of 
policemen rounded the corner and 
mounted the steps. Something in 
the even tramp of feet went home 
and the old nag lifted his head. As 
he did so a mounted officer appeared 
at the stable door, holding his horse 
by the bridle. 
With a glad neigh the nag of the 
yellow blanket pulled himself to- 
gether and forgetting the lame foot, 
took the sidewalk ‘at a half trot. 
Touching sides with the sleek police 
horse in the doorway, into the pre- 
cinct stable ambled the nag of the 
yellow blanket. There, with a 
touching equine ‘‘bluff’’ at youth 
and spirit, he fell into step and lined 
up with the out-going squad. 
Tim Kelley, who had charge of the 
precinct stable, could not under 
stand it. He was still more sur 
prised when the nag of the yellow 
blanket broke rank to rub noses 
with the two big roans that draw 
the patrol wagon, going from stall 
to stall and neighing with delight 
every time -a_ blue uniform came 
near. Kelley and a dozen officers 
were gathered around the yellow 
blanket when Sergeant Atwater 
came into the stable to give orders 
to his men. 
‘Ready, men,’’ was the command. 
At the sound of Atwater’s voice 
the nag of the yellow blanket 
pricked up his ears. 
‘Horses in line,’? commanded At- 
water. 
With a feeble plunge—enough to 
throw the yellow blanket from his 
back—the old nag leaped forward. 
A joyous whinny of recognition and 
then a brown nose going up and 
down Atwater’s sleeve. The startled 
sergeant took one look and with a 
glad ery threw an arm around the 
old fellow’s neck. 
‘¢ <PTyunner-und-blitzen,’ by 
that’s good!’’ shouted he. 
And Dunner-und-blitzen it was. 
The joyous neighs and whinnies of 
the old nag told this. Crowding 
around the wondering officers want- 
ed to know who was Dunner-und- 
blitzen. Atwater told them —told 
them, strong man though he is, with 
a choke in his voice and something 
suspicious trembling on his eyelids. 
Dunner-und-blitzen was once the 
finest horse in the New York police 
department. He stood fifteen hands 
high and the gloss of his silken coat 
gave. him a post in Prospect Park 
where the grand folks of Brooklyn 
disport themselves and where the 
aristocrats of the equine world take 
their morning canter. There was 
spirit in his step, fire in his eye and 
the way he held his head was the 
boast of all who knew him. He was 
celebrated, too, as a catcher of run- 
aways. Once when his rider, dead 
and gone these many years, was 
busy with an offender in a_ side 
street, down the boulevard came a 
maddened truck horse, a little child 
in its path. Not waiting for his 
rider nor a sign from him, Dunner- 
und-blitzen dashed out into the 
roadway. Planting himself with 
four feet set firmly on the ground, 
he waited for the rush. When it 
came he fell back a second, then 
turned and catching the bridle of 
the runaway in his teeth, he raced 
a block beside the truck horse— 
tugging with all the strength of his 
stout heart until he had brought it 
back upon its haunches, several feet 
this side of the little child. 
That act made Dunner-und-blitzen 
famous in the police department, 
all 
OeOe0 OF,00,06,0,00,049,0 6, o 
and Atwater, his voice a-tremble, re- 
called it to the Liberty avenue force 
while poor old Dunner-und-blitzen 
stood by, toil-warn, half starved and 
marked with many blows—the for- 
lorn object of a mighty come-down. 
Where Dunner-und-blitzen came 
from, nobody knows. All that is 
known is that two years ago he be- 
came too old for further use in the 
police department, and with that 
kindly return which the big, rich 
city of New York makes to the 
horses that have served it long and 
faithfully in police or fire depart- 
ment, it put Dunner-und-blitzen 
upon the block for sale to the high- 
est. bidder. 
Plainly, the highest bidder had 
not been kind to him. Maybe it was 
the daily grind of a junk wagon 
that transformed him from the pride 
of Prospect Park into the old nag 
of the Liberty avenue police station ; 
or maybe it was just the starvings 
and the beatings that did it. If 
horses have hearts, that of Dunner- 
und-blitzen must have broken under 
the fate to which a thankless city 
turned him over. Who knows but 
what he may have, for days and 
weeks and months, planned to run 
away from it—planned to get away 
and return to old friends and 
scenes? Maybe it was some hope of 
finding his way back to these that 
spurred him on when he set out from 
the highest bidder, one day last 
week. Anyhow, something — kind 
chance, perhaps, brought him past 
the Liberty avenue police station 
and into the friendly care of the offi- 
cers, 
How they fed him, and rubbed 
him down, and gave him a stall, and 
made their own of him! There we 
prefer to leave him. It is too hard 
to think of him given back to the 
highest bidder, who has not been 
kind to him.—Katharine Danger- 
field in ‘‘Our Dumb Animals.”’ 
Sees eee ee eee eases a tesaNe ves ee sees es erases ee oe oe Oe ee ee ee ee eN os oN ae ewes ee Pe Oe Oe LPS IE INTE I ONS ag 
st ry; 
3t it 
3 it 
3 “ 
3 3% 
i i 
3 THE NEW ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA, the greatest liter- i 
33 ; ; : : oi, 3g 
i ary production of the age, is using telephone directory advertising to i 
a3 make an extraordinary announcement to Boston and New England. Es 
§ See insert at back of latest directories. 3 
33 3% 
i i 
% For further information call at the NEWLY OPENED BOSTON 3 
3 - FA ‘ 32 
x OFFICES of the publishers of the Encyclopaedia, in the Lawrence 3 
3 Building. 149 Tremont Street, or telephone Oxford 506. 3 
3 3% 
# FS 
: : 
i 
