Oct 13, 2018 — GREENWOOD, BC (BG)

Just as they do today, dogs played a central role in the life of the community in early Greenwood. They were participants in all facets of life: helping mining men with their daily tasks, protecting the livestock, comforting the ladies, and making a general nuisance of themselves by barking late at night.

During the gold rush, pack animals were in high demand. Sheep, goats and even black bear were enlisted to pull carts or tote a prospector's gear. The man who owned well trained pack dogs was lucky, indeed. In one incident, a crippled man had a faithful dog who pulled his wheelchair up inclines. On this day, the dog hauled him up a steep hill at Phoenix. Coming down, his break chain failed and he hurtled towards the bottom, escaping death by banking into the hillside.

Dogs heading into gold rush
[ Photo: University of Washington Library ]

There are many stories of Greenwood dogs taking chase after predators. In June 1897, Charley Rendell's dog treed a cougar who had been prowling around their tent at Long Lake. The eight foot animal was shot. That October, a local rancher was warned by his dog of another panther on the prowl.

"Mr. Castleman warned by his dog that an intruder was about, took his rifle and lay in the bush to await an opportunity for a shot. At length he saw both panther and dog taking turn about chasing each other. It was difficult in the dark to tell one from the other, but when a chance presented itself he put a bullet into the panther…"

A 1903 story in the Boundary Creek Times about dogs treeing a bear resulted in the bear being shot. The following spring another story ended with a cougar being shot, but only after it had been caught breakfasting on Mr. Castleman's pet dog. In 1907, an employee at the lower smelter in Anaconda reported seeing a very large cougar, but some wondered if he was only seeing one of the large dogs that were in the area.

While using dogs to track and eliminate predators was fair game, as early as 1899, it was unlawful to hunt deer with dogs. There were occasional shooting accidents. In November 1897, two boys were out shooting, and accidentally wounded a local man's dog. A few days later, they became the target for someone's gun — presumably one owned by the person whose dog had been shot.

Dogs and guns also joined forces to protect against thieves in early Greenwood. A May 1899 report said, "Watch dogs and revolvers are in great demand since the visit from burglars. The next gang will get a warm reception." In 1908, it was reported that two thugs had been plaguing Anaconda and Phoenix, and while attacking Salter's Hotel they shot the proprietor's dog. Another pair of rascals got into an argument about their dogs, and became their own victims:

"[Midway] was the scene of another shooting affray last week. It seem that a couple of men who had two dogs and a desire to loaf, got into a wrangle over their respective canine companions. One word brought forth another until a six shooter was brought into view and the operator, in his lusty desire tor gore, damaged neither the other man nor his dog, but sent the bullet plowing through one of his own legs."

Criminals and the careless foolish aside, there are others stories in the Times of heroic attempts to save dogs from fire. In 1905, one of Greenwood's then historic buildings, the Shonquist cabin, caught on fire. The tenant tried to save his dog but apparently failed, badly singing his own head of hair. In 1908, three dogs perished in a house fire on Gold Street.

While dog owners were applauded for trying to protect their furry friends, a 1907 editorial sniped at another man, whose bulldog was valued at $1,000. "Some of the papers are publishing pictures of the dog. We wonder what value the owner puts on the man that takes care of the dog?"

Even at the turn of the century, dogs were considered to be valuable commodities. So much so, that the press had to regularly report on dog thefts. For example, we find this report from the 1901 issue of the Anaconda News:

"About two month ago a pretty fox terrier belonging to Mr. Geo. Ingster was carried off by two Italians. Several times the Italians with the dog were seen walking on the R. R. track. On Saturday of last week they were again seen with the dog, passing the house where Mr. Inkster formerly lived. Someone called the dog, he came and was identified. A fierce dispute arose, during which the Italians grabbed the dog and ran, pursued by the owners. All met on the trestle where a struggle took place, one of the Italians drew a knife. No one was hurt and the owners got their dog."

The classifieds regularly announced the loss of dogs, with worried owners offering rewards for their return. These ads also warned that "anyone retaining the dog after this publication will be prosecuted." Once such 'dog lost' ad in 1906 was published by A.M. Whiteside, himself a lawyer.

The courts entertained numerous complaints about dogs. A 1905 police court heard a case on keeping a vicious dog. Most cases were against people who had transgressed someone else's dog. That year, a man was fined $20 for stealing a dog. In 1908 the County Court awarded $100 damages to someone bitten by a dog. A 1909 civil case was heard about a dog killing, with damages assessed.

As we survey the many news reports about how many dogs there were in early Greenwood, we wonder that there weren't even more disputes put before the court. Presumably, many of the disagreements were handled without the sheriff having to attend.

There were so many dogs in the city that as early as 1897, Council began deliberating_[1] on how to curb the problem by instituting a dog tax:

"Alderman Galloway would like to see a tax on dogs. There were too many useless curs in Greenwood. The owner of a good dog would not object to the payment of a tax and it might result in doing away with a number of useless ones. Alderman Phelan heartily endorsed Alderman Galloway's remarks. The most of the dogs in the city were not worth the powder to shoot them. It was found that it would be necessary to pass a by-law in order to levy a tax on dogs, consequently the curs can for a few months roam about the streets without a tag."

Prospector and Pack Dog

While companies on the Coast were working hard in 1897 to secure enough dogs for the Klondyke trade, it was suggested that Greenwood "could easily furnish half a hundred canines and still have more than sufficient to suit those who are forced to listen to their regular serenades."

In January 1902, this report was published:_[2]

"The council appeared to realize the fact that Greenwood has more dogs, many of them ownerless things, than appertains to a well-kept city in hard times, and took steps to cut down the allowance, by providing for punishment with the cost of destruction of the dogs, all those who harbor dogs for which they claim to be not responsible."

The debate raged on, which defenders of "chickenhood" coming out against the Greenwood curs, and this, their concluded strategy:_[3]

"The question of wandering curs was considered at length. Several of the aldermen spoke feelingly in the matter. They are chicken fanciers, and went to great trouble and expense to secure the latest and best bred type of chickenhood, only to find that the Greenwood cur, with a discrimination totally unexpected and unwarranted, selects only fine bred chickens when he desires a meal. The poultry producers are wild, and now go about with a gun in the hip pocket and a bowie knife in the boot. The council decided that in order to preserve the chickens, and incidentally law and order in the city, something had to be done. So fighting men and the city team will start out in quest of untagged, unclaimed and underbred dogs, that may be found in all quarters of the city. Such dogs will be killed and buried away where they cannot be found."

Although dog taxes were in place from 1897, with a fee of $2.00/year on each dog in the city, the scheme was not working well. A March 1898 report announced:

"There are five dogs and sixty-seven curs in Greenwood, but only two of them are worth paying a $2 tax for, in their owners' opinion, corroborated by the tax-collector's books. … Considerable discussion took place in regard to the best manner of collecting the dog tax, and whether it would be advisable for the city to furnish collars and tags or not. Also as to whether owners could be compelled to decorate their dogs with collars and tags furnished by the city."

It was decided that 200 dog tags would be gotten, and non-payers would be prosecuted. Success was reported: "Thursday was dog tax day, and the collector did a large business, nearly all the curs in the city being transformed into valuable animals."

In 1903, fees were raised to $2.00 on dogs, and $5.00 on bitches. By 1905 it was announced that: "The city now has a dog bylaw that fills all the requirements. Even the photograph of a dear departed pug will have to wear a collar and tag."

But the long dispute over dog taxes didn't lie down to rest. In 1909 the city was still pushing citizens to pay their taxes, and gave this soliloquy, spoken in the voice of Dog:

"Our taxes are not paid, and in view of that sad fact we have no license to be here. Wouldn't that terrorize your bow-wow? Our masters think enough of us to feed us occasionally, but they won't clothe us in that respectability compatable with a paid tax receipt and tag. Either they are ashamed to own a dog or say they haven't one, or doggedly refuse to pay the collector, but the fact remains that three-quarters of us are untagged, and the weight of this grievance preys on our canine intelligence and we have a howl coming. So has the collector."

While the city collector kept up the effort to regulate the population of stray dogs by taxing and tagging them, other dog vigilantes took a more awful route: putting out poison. This practice was going on from as early as the dog tax existed — 1897. A report that year:

"Several valuable dogs have recently been poisoned in the neighborhood, a setter owned by Mr. Lawder, for which he at one time refused an offer of $120, being destroyed in this manner. It is to be hoped that if this poisoning was intentional, the perpetrators of the outrage will be severely dealt with."

And this was going on elsewhere in the Boundary. In 1898, these reports came out of Midway:

"A poison fiend succeeded in destroying some of the most valuable dogs in Midway this week. The curs escaped. Mr. McAuley who lost his valuable boar hound is offering a reward of $50 for the arrest of the poisoner."

"Midway will soon have a record for getting rid of dogs and townsite agents."

A decade later a similar problem manifested, although this 1908 report says that the poison was not intended to kill dogs. However, the advice is equally good today:

"TO WHOM IT CONCERNS: The man who spreads poison indiscriminately over his ranch to rid his premises of obnoxious vermin, coyotes and other wild animals, should, in all fairness to the traveling public, display a notice to that effect. An unwary guest, who arrives — en route for some further fields — with his faithful dog close to his horse's heels or spying out the land ahead, is apt to lose his canine friend should he run across the poisoned meat. And thereby hangs a tale, very often the dog's.

It is not necessary to advertise the fact on every pillar and post (or in this paper), that one has been laying poison for rats, coyotes, etc., but it would be a kindness to take any measure that would insure a well-beloved dog — temporarily a visitor — a safe retreat, without indulging the dangerous practice of scattering a poison carelessly for the good, bad and indifferent to procure."

Again in 1910 reports we read:

"Some low lived villain is again at his dispicable work of dog poisoning in this city. The authorities are on his trail and the medicine he will have to swallow when caught, will effectually stop his barbarous work."

"Another slaughter of the canines has been effected by the brute in human shape, who has added half a dozen more to the list of poisoned dogs this week. He will have a hot time when caught, and they are hard on his trail now."

Such awful reports on the pages of the Times were counter-balanced by brighter, kinder sentiments:

"A man may own a dog. … He may get this faithful animal out in the fields, throw a stick and his arm out of joint simultaneously, and experience the doubtful pleasure of seeing the noble creature bring back the stick covered with nice, enthusiastic saliva. The doctor will bring back the joint."

Women then, as now, were known for being sappy sentimentalists when it came to their dogs: "When a woman with a poodle dog in her arms enters the crowded car we never have any trouble finding something interesting in our newspaper."

Greenwood's Mrs. Vray was once quoted as saying: "He's a homely dog, but he has a wonderful pedigree. His mother, his grandmother, his great-grandmother and his great-great-grand mother all lived in Methodist families."

The Times treated readers to a report from 'across the pond', that the Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava had a dog named Flossie, whose ears she had pierced and bedecked with sapphire earrings.

We'll conclude our survey of dogs in the next edition, with a collection of more bizarre tails.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Boundary Creek Times — Sep 25, 1897, p. 3
https://open.library.ubc.ca/collections/bcnewspapers/xboundarycr/items/1.0170727#p0z-10000r0f:dog

[2] Boundary Creek Times — Jan 31, 1902, p. 1
https://open.library.ubc.ca/collections/bcnewspapers/xboundarycr/items/1.0170871#p0z-10000r0f:dog

[3] Boundary Creek Times — Oct 3, 1902, p. 1
https://open.library.ubc.ca/collections/bcnewspapers/xboundarycr/items/1.0170736#p0z-10000r0f:dog