But mostly everyone just cheered for home. Soldiers and spectators alike, everyone cheered for the good old USA.
But just because we were back on US soil, it didn’t mean we could go to our real homes—not yet. It took a lot of paperwork and other human nonsense to leave the army, and so after a quick trip to see Bob’s family in Connecticut, we found ourselves in yet another camp, Camp Devens, outside of Boston. Only this camp didn’t have rats and lice and bullets flying. The food was always hot, too.
The men talked about home and what they were going to do there. Sometimes they marveled at what they had seen and what they had done in France, but mostly they looked to the future. It wasn’t long before they, and they rest of the country, started calling the war “the War to End All Wars.” I hoped that was true.
Bob and his buddies were all anxious to get home and begin their new lives. I guessed I would be starting a new life, too. I was going to miss all the guys, but I’d be with Bob and his family. Being with Bob was the most important thing.
Before the men were officially out of the army, we marched in a huge parade in Boston. I had marched in a few parades by then, but this was the biggest one yet. I trotted along next to the 102nd’s color guard—the men carrying the flags. I followed the Stars and Stripes, my eyes straight ahead. Then came the order for “eyes right.”
I turned to the reviewing stand where all the bigwigs sat, and then faced forward again. That got a huge response from the crowd.
I’m a trained soldier, I thought. That’s no big deal.
That parade was our last big job as soldiers. Less than a week later, Bob was discharged. He packed his gear, and this time—unlike when he first left for France—there was no question that I was going along.
“I’m a civilian now, Stubby,” he told me. “And that means you are, too. Time to go home.”
Things were hectic there, too. At least at first. We marched in a couple of small parades in Connecticut, and then it was time to settle down into our new life. That’s when we found out how famous I really was. Calls and letters started coming in asking me to do all kinds of crazy things. The craziest one Bob said yes to was a tour with a vaudeville company. In the middle of all the other acts—singers, comedians, actors, and dancers—I’d march onto the stage, sit down, and salute the crowd.
Unlike officers, vaudeville audiences don’t salute back. So on Bob’s signal, I’d drop to all fours and trot off the stage. It was an easy job, but Bob hated all the travel. We settled down in New Brighton, Connecticut, and Bob went back to his old job as a salesman.
The requests to appear kept coming. I marched in more parades, saluted at victory-bond drives to earn money for returning heroes, and even got a free lifetime membership to the YMCA with the promise of a place to sleep and three bones a day whenever I was away from home.
There were so many newspaper stories about me that Bob started a scrapbook to keep up with it all. And Boston terriers became one of the most popular kinds of dogs to adopt as pets.
I was happy in Connecticut, but I knew I’d be happy anywhere Bob was. So when he packed up and moved to Washington, DC, to go to law school, I went along. We lived with a whole bunch of other former doughboys called the Carry On Club, and got to work. While Bob was learning about the law, I was learning football! I became the mascot for Bob’s school and got everyone in the stands excited about the game at halftime.
I became famous all over again, and President Warren G. Harding (who was elected in 1920) decided he wanted to meet me. So I went to the White House and shook his paw. A few years later, I would meet yet another president—Calvin Coolidge. By that time, I was starting to feel right at home in the White House.
But long before then, I met the man that Bob said was the biggest honor ever—General John J. Pershing. Pershing was the man in charge of the American Expeditionary Force during World War I. Lots of doughboys believed that his leadership was the reason we won the war.
On July 6, 1921, Bob dressed in his best suit and made sure my coat was clean and that all my medals were shiny. We made our way to the State, War, and Navy Building in Washington, DC, and told the guards we were there to see the general.
“No dogs allowed,” a guard said.
“But this is Sergeant Stubby,” Bob told him. “He’s expected by General Pershing.”
I sat down and saluted, but I guess only officers are swayed by that trick. Finally, they made a phone call, discovered that Bob was telling the truth, and let me in.
Lots of reporters were waiting for us inside. The Humane Educations Society had created an award for me, and General Pershing was going to be the one to give it to me. The medal was solid gold and had a picture of me engraved on it.
The general made a speech about my bravery on the battlefield, and then he pinned the medal on my jacket. I bet it was the only time he honored a dog.
Since he made a speech, I thought I should, too. It was nothing, I barked. I’d do anything for Bob and the rest of the doughboys. Let’s just make sure we stay out of war from now on.
Life got a little calmer after that. Bob had law school, I was busy on the football field, and we went to as many veterans’ activities as we could. For about a year, Bob took a job with the Bureau of Investigation (it’s called the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or the FBI, today), but he had to travel too much. I stayed with the Carry On Club whenever he was away, but neither one of us liked being apart. He resigned and settled into a government job in Washington, DC.
I kept marching in veterans’ parades and raised money for the Animal Rescue League, but by 1926, my football days were over. Bob and I had been together for nine years. I didn’t know how old I was for sure, but Bob guessed I was around eleven. And the truth was, I was tired. It was harder and harder to get around. I didn’t even have the energy to eat more than a few bites anymore. Bob took me to a doctor, but they said there wasn’t much they could do. Old age had caught up with me.
I hated to leave Bob, the best human in the world, but I could tell I was going to have to. We were at home in our Washington apartment, when I realized it was time for me to rest forever. I thought about Smitty and the other soldiers I had seen go on the battlefield.
Bob was there for me in the same way I had been there for Smitty. He cradled me in his arms. “I’m going to see you through this, Stubby,” he said. “Thank you for being the best dog in the world.”
I looked up at him. His thoughts mirrored by own.
“Thank you for being my closest comrade, and for keeping me alive all through the war,” he added.
I tried to raise my head to lick his tears away, but I couldn’t. Instead, I did my best to give him a smile.
I closed my eyes. It felt good to rest in the arms of my best friend. And then I let go.
Goodbye, my friend. Thank you for being my human.
This book is a work of fiction, but Stubby was a real dog who became the official mascot to the 102nd Infantry Regiment during World War I. Although it’s impossible to know what he was really thinking and feeling, most of the events in this book really happened. Others are imagined.
James Robert “Bob” Conroy wanted future generations to remember his brave dog and to learn about Stubby’s contributions in World War I. He made sure that Stubby’s body and his impressive uniform were preserved. Today, you can see Stubby at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History in Washington, DC.
World War I began with the assassination of one man—Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The archduke, the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, and his wife, Sophie, were traveling in Bosnia, a province of Austria-Hungary. Many people in Bosnia wanted Bosnia to become a part of the Kingdom of Serbia. With the archduke’s visit, they saw their chance to make a statement.
A Serbian man killed the archduke and his wife. Shortly thereafter, Austria-Hungary and its partner, Germany, declared war on Serbia. Other countries in Europe quickly chose sides.
Russia joined with Serbia and declared
war on Austria-Hungary and Germany.
Germany invaded Belgium and Luxembourg on its way into France.
Great Britain, France, and Belgium joined Russia in the fight against Germany and Austria-Hungary.
Other European countries were forced to choose sides.
Eventually, the Great War, as it was then known, involved two dozen countries, including the United States. It spread to Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. It was the first war in which modern weapons were used—weapons that inflicted terrible damage. As many as twenty million people were killed.
The soldiers who survived this terrible war told themselves that surely it had to be the War to End All Wars. Then World War II broke out in 1939. The Great War, the War to End All Wars, became known as World War I.
Want to learn more about WWI and other military animals? Check out these great books.
Everything World War I by Karen L. Kenney with historian Edward G. Lengel, National Geographic Kids. An illustrated, fact-filled look at the weapons, the soldiers, the spies, and the countries that fought in the War to End All Wars.
G.I. Dogs: Judy, Prisoner of War by Laurie Calkhoven, Scholastic. The first book in the G.I. Dogs series tells the story of a dog who became an official prisoner of war on the island of Sumatra during World War II.
Military Animals by Laurie Calkhoven, Scholastic. Read about the dogs, horses, elephants, and even carrier pigeons that have aided soldiers through the ages.
Stubby The War Dog: The True Story of World War I’s Bravest Dog, by Ann Bausum, National Geographic. A nonfiction account of Stubby’s remarkable life.
Truce by Jim Murphy, Scholastic Press. Murphy tells the story of a Christmas truce, a day in 1914 when soldiers on both sides of the war defied their commanding officers and celebrated Christmas with their “enemies.”
The War to End All Wars by Russell Freedman, Clarion Books. A comprehensive look at the conflict that spanned the globe and changed the way that wars are fought.
Keep reading to meet Judy, an English Pointer and member of her Majesty’s Royal Navy!
Singapore was under siege. As a ship’s dog on the HMS Grasshopper, an English gunboat, my job was to keep the men’s spirits up and warn them when danger was near. Today, danger was all around.
Japanese bombs had been falling since December. The first Japanese troops entered Singapore in February 1942. On the eleventh, the British got the order to evacuate. Soldiers, government workers, and British and Chinese families all crowded the pier, fighting for a place on a ship—any ship. Every vessel, from small fishing boats to private yachts and passenger steamers, no matter how old, was called into service.
Gunfire and bombs were all around us. The normal waterfront smells mingled with the unsettling scents of smoke and death. And underneath all the other smells was fear. The civilians, especially the children, were terrified, and it was my job to help them. I was afraid, too, but I never let them see it.
On February 13, the final evacuation began. Sailors desperately tried to keep order on the pier while confused and frightened mothers and children came on board the Grasshopper. My friend George White gave each person a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate, while I wagged my tail, nuzzled little fingers, and barked a hello.
Welcome to the Grasshopper, I told them. You’re safe here.
As darkness fell, we began to pull out of the crowded harbor, when suddenly we got the order to turn around. There was another group of refugees who needed to come on board. Every inch of the ship was already full, but we somehow made room for more.
We finally left the harbor after midnight. The hardest thing was hearing the shouts from the people who had been left behind. I stood on the deck and howled with them.
I’m sorry. We’re already dangerously overcrowded. There’s no more room.
As soon as we were out of earshot, I snuggled down between two of the most frightened children and tried to get some sleep. But, as always, my ears were on alert for the sound of Japanese warplanes and the bombs they carried.
With luck, we’d make it to Java in a few days, and from there, larger ships could take us to India or Australia.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on our side.
I’m going to tell you the story of how I became an official Japanese prisoner of war during World War II, and how I managed to keep myself and my men alive.
But before we get to all that, let’s start at the beginning—in Shanghai, China.
LAURIE CALKHOVEN spent her summer vacations on a farm in Iowa ruled over by a St. Bernard dog named Ginger. At home in New Jersey, Friskie (a mutt adopted from the dog pound) refused to be trained not to run into the road. Then she ran right into a moving car. Friskie got around on three legs after that and learned not to play in traffic. There’s no room for a dog in the New York City apartment where Laurie currently lives, but her nieces and nephews have four: Hudson, Meisje, Molly, and Lucy. Laurie is the author of many books for young readers, including Military Animals; Women Who Changed the World; Dog’s Best Friend; and the first book in the G.I. Dogs series, Judy, Prisoner of War.
For your reference, the page numbers that appear in the print version of this book are listed below. They do not match the page numbers in your ebook.
Photos ©: cover reference: rebeccaashworth/Shutterstock; 91 top: Science Source; 91 bottom, 92: Military History/National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution; 93 top: Department of War Records/Connecticut State Library; 93 bottom: New Haven Museum; 94: Science Source; 95 top: The Literary Digest History of the World War, volume V., p.333/Wikipedia; 95 bottom: Connecticut National Guard; 96, 97 top: Military History/National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution; 97 bottom: The Granger Collection.
Copyright © 2018 by Laurie Calkhoven
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While inspired by real events and historical characters, this is a work of fiction and does not claim to be historically accurate or portray factual events or relationships. Please keep in mind that references to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales may not be factually accurate, but rather fictionalized by the author.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, September 2018
e-ISBN 978-1-338-18526-3
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