AIN'T NOTHING LIKE A HOUND DOG

By Craig MacDonald

Amazing Mining Camp Canines

Dogs Brought Luck, Delivered Mail & Supplies, Protected, Entertained, Provided Income and Much-Needed Affection to Homesick Miners in Gold & Silver Camps

One very special Hound Dog had a high-pitched howl that entertained and enriched people who lived at or visited the Northern Sierra's Boston Ranch.

He could out howl any singer or musical instrument back in 1857. So much so that his fame grew up and down the Feather River. Eager miners wagered on the "phonetic prowess of the loveable, hulking, ragged hound of diverse ancestry," noted scribe Bill Talbitzer.

"Old Dan" became the featured entertainer on Saturday nights at Smith Hurles' hotel and stagestop. Miners came from far away to place bets on the hound's uncanny ability to beat all competitors. For a long time, "Old Dan" reigned supreme. Then, one evening an Oroville organ grinder was brought in to "battle" the aging champ.

By the end of the evening, the faithful hound had literally given his all—belting out his final howl before keeling over in the line of duty. The Sierra legend will not be forgotten.

There was another incredible canine who gained a widespread reputation as a "good luck omen" by helping miners locate riches time and time again.

"Stray Dog Bob," whose good luck charm was first noticed in the area around Manhattan, NV, became so sought after that miners tried to attract him with candy, steak and even cotton beds in tents, according to reports at the Nevada Historical Society in Reno.

Ironically, the collie reportedly never stayed in an area longer than three days nor offered a friendly greeting to his former hosts when he saw them in town.

But this particular critter never seemed to lose his touch, no matter what camps "Stray Dog Bob" showed up in—some over 40 miles away. Prospectors continued to make rich finds in his presence. He even had a mine named after him.

A much friendlier dog in the Carson City-Gardnerville area ended up bringing luck to two miners by helping save their lives.

"Frozen Miners Rescued When Message Tied To Dog's Neck Leads Posse To Cabin," proclaimed the headlines of the Nevada State Journal.

The miner's cabin had been snowed under for eight days. Fortunately, their faithful furry companion managed to dig himself out and travel several miles to Gardnerville, where a posse read the note and took action.

"The miners were found nearly dead on the floor of a cabin at Winter's Mine," The Journal reported. "One of the rescued men caressed the dog with the affection of a child. The canine was fed the daintiest foods and told he shall never be in want as long as he lives!"

Other four-legged friends saved miners by keeping them supplied with food and in touch with the US Mail.

During at least four deep snow winters (beginning in 1857), dogs carried 250-500 pounds of mail and freight (and sometimes even a passenger on a sled) over 30 miles between Buckeye Ranch in Yuba County and Quincy in Plumas County.

The dogs, a cross between Alpine spaniels (or "Bernardine") and New Foundland, provided an invaluable service when miners and townspeople were cut off in severe winters.

"The Dog Express," as it became known, took only 10 hours when the snow was compact, according to Hutching's California Magazine. The Whiting & Co. Dog Express ran regularly without interruption.

Mail and freight also were delivered—this time singlehandly—by a dog named "Dorsey" in the Calico Silver Mining Camp. Dorsey was a stray that became a sidekick to the mail carrier and knew the route well.

When the mailman fell very ill, a small saddlebag was made and Dorsey delivered its contents to the Bismark Mine, 7 miles away. Soon, he was making the trip three times a week. The cautious collie took his job seriously. If he saw a stranger on the trail, Dorsey made an instant detour, then circled back. He knew the mails must go through and be on time!

Other canines were heroes as well. Miners' letters, diaries and camp newspapers are chockfull of references about dogs chasing away wolves or warning of impending dangers. They were often adopted by firefighters, stagecoach companies (one guarded strongboxes!) and the railroad.

A dog named "Jack" actually rode on a train's cowcatcher in Reno, then the Virginia local," said The Virginia City Chronicle. "The faster the train went, the better Jack liked it. He could jump on a train in motion and was never known to miss his footing."

The shepard dog became a symbol of good luck to the railroaders and people along the line.

But not all canines were loved. There was one "undesirable" dog at Martin Station in the Truckee Meadows during the 1860s. Apparently the stray dog became such a nuisance that some desperate miners tied a small can of powder to his tail and attached a long fuse so it would not explode until at a safe distance. They hoped the canine would get such a scare he would never return.

The dog, however, got his revenge at the plotting prospectors in an amazing manner.

He was placed on the Virginia Road "when he saw the sputtering fuse, turned around and made straight for the men watching him," according to papers at the Nevada Historical Society.

One chap, trying to dodge the dog, stepped in a hole, hurting his leg. Another was knocked over by the canine, who then ran right between the legs of the last schemer, nearly capsizing him.

"The dog then ran through the open doorway into the barroom, where the can of powder slipped from his tail and skidded under the stove just as the explosion took place."

"The stove was badly wrecked, part of it being blown through the windows and a hole was blown in the floor."

The lively dog successfully served its own brand of justice and went off to live in a more peaceful and understanding environment.

POSTSCRIPT: Mining Camp dogs left a permanent mark on the Sierra: Dogtown (Feather River) was where a Mrs. Bassett raised hounds and sold them to the miners. Dogtown (north of Angels Camp) was named for a stray dog and some say, Red Dog (Nevada County) was named for a red collie who walked west from Missouri.

(Pulitzer Prize nominee Craig MacDonald's great-grandmother came to California in a covered wagon during the Gold Rush. Two other relatives came as a miner and gambler. The author of 24 books speaks at national conferences and universities. The California State Library has recorded several of his books for the Braille and Talking Book Library and recently selected his "Old West Christmas—Tales with a Twist" as the "Book of the Week.")