Sigurd Our Golden Collie and Other Comrades of the Road

Excerpt

VIGI

Wisest of dogs was Vigi, a tawny-coated hound

That King Olaf, warring over green hills of Ireland, found;

His merry Norse were driving away a mighty herd

For feasts upon the dragonships, when an isleman dared a word:

"From all those stolen hundreds, well might ye spare my score."

"Ay, take them," quoth the gamesome king, "but not a heifer more.

Choose out thine own, nor hinder us; yet choose without a slip."

The isleman laughed and whistled, his finger at his lip.

Oh, swift the bright-eyed Vigi went darting through the herd

And singled out his master's neat with a nose that never erred,

And drave the star-marked twenty forth, to the wonder of the king,

Who bought the hound right honestly, at the price of a broad gold ring.

If the herddog dreamed of an Irish voice and of cattle on the hill,

He told it not to Olaf the King, whose will was Vigi's will,

But followed him far in faithful love and bravely helped him win

His famous fight with Thorir Hart and Raud, the wizard Finn.

Above the clamor and the clang shrill sounded Vigi's bark,

And when the groaning ship of Raud drew seaward to the dark,

And Thorir Hart leapt to the land, bidding his rowers live

Who could, Olaf and Vigi strained hard on the fugitive.

'Twas Vigi caught the runner's heel and stayed the windswift flight

Till Olaf's well-hurled spear had changed the day to endless night

For Thorir Hart, but not before his sword had stung the hound,

Whom the heroes bore on shield to ship, all grieving for his wound.

Now proud of heart was Vigi to be borne to ship on shield,

And many a day thereafter, when the bitter thrust was healed,

Would the dog leap up on the Vikings and coax with his Irish wit

Till 'mid laughter a shield was leveled, and Vigi rode on it.

PUPPYHOOD

"Only the envy was, that it lasted not still, or, now it is past, cannot by imagination, much less description, be recovered to a part of that spirit it had in the gliding by."

—Jonson's Masque of Hymen.

Sigurd was related to Vigi only by the line of Scandinavian literature. The Lady of Cedar Hill was enjoying the long summer daylights and marvelous rainbows of Norway, when word reached her that her livestock had been increased by the advent of ten puppies, and back there came for them all, by return mail, heroic names straight out of that splendid old saga of Burnt Njal.

But this is not the beginning of the story. Indeed, Sigurd's story probably emerges from a deeper distance than the story of mankind. Millions of glad creatures, his tawny ancestors, ranged the Highlands, slowly giving their wild hearts to the worship of man, and left no pedigree. The utmost of our knowledge only tells us that Sigurd's sire, the rough-coated collie Barwell Ralph (pronounced Rāfe), born September 3, 1894, was the son of Heather Ralph, a purple name with wind and ripples in it, himself the son of the sonorous Stracathro Ralph, whose parents were Christopher, a champion of far renown, and Stracathro Fancy; and of lovely Apple Blossom, offspring of Metchley Wonder and Grove Daisy....