The collies of Sunnybank were one of the best-loved kennels for collie breeding in the twentieth century. The dogs were bred by newsman Albert Payson Terhune. Terhune had two loves besides his wife: his beloved collies and his home in New Jersey, Sunnybank.

Sunnybank is located in Wayne, New Jersey. Though the town is only about an hour from Manhattan today, the area was very rural when Albert Payson Terhune’s father bought the property. The Terhunes wanted a summer retreat and built a gabled home that looked out over Pompton Lakes. Anyone who visited the family remembers the home’s big verandas and the beautiful lavender wisteria that seemed to grow everywhere.

By the time Albert Terhune began Sunnybank Kennel, he was a well-known writer. Readers adored the stories about the dogs of Sunnybank. Terhune wrote so lovingly about all aspects of life at home that he cast a mythical spell over the collies as well as Sunnybank.  

In the 80-odd years since Terhune’s death in 1942. the passions of readers and collie-lovers has not dissipated. For the last 25 years (interrupted only by Covid), the Collie Health Foundation has sponsored “The Gathering” in mid-August. Over the course of two days, collie owners gather to meet and greet each other, compare notes, and raise funds for research on diseases that are common to collies.

Each year on that weekend, Sunnybank resounds beautifully with the barking of collies just as it used to when the Terhunes were alive.

Who Was Albert Payson Terhune?

Albert Payson Terhune (1872-1942) was born in Newark, New Jersey. His father, the Reverend Edward Payson Terhune, was pastor of the Old First Presbyterian Church in Newark.

The reverend met his wife when he was assigned to a congregation in Virginia. There he met Mary Hawes. They married, and she became a very successful author, writing novels and household books under the name Marion Harland.

Albert was the youngest of six children, but only three of them—Albert and two sisters—lived to adulthood.  

Reverend Terhune served as a pastor at several churches over many years. While they were based in Newark, they acquired land along Pompton Lakes. The family loved the time they spent there. Over time, the family added to the property, and at one point their holdings were close to 40 acres. 

His mother adored the garden and put time, thought, and effort into the flowers she chose for it. Reverend and Mrs. Terhune traveled a great deal and always brought home cuttings of plants that might adapt to the New Jersey soil. It was considered the “garden from everywhere.”

College Years

Albert Terhune graduated from Columbia University in 1893. He was a good-sized man—over 6 feet tall, 230 pounds with a muscular build.  During these years, he made a name for himself as an amateur boxer.  He fought in exhibition fights against some of the greats of that day.  Kid McCoy and Jim Jeffries were among them.

During his first year after college, Albert Terhune set off for an adventure in the Near East. Traveling by horseback, he toured through Syria and Egypt, living among the local people. When he returned home, he wrote a book about his travels. The book was published in 1896.

Journalism and Freelancing

In 1894, He was hired for a full-time job with The Evening World. From the beginning, he sold freelance articles and wrote books when he could.

But financial stability was vital to him. Long after he was selling regularly to both magazines and book publishers, he maintained his staff job until 1916. Even after leaving full-time employment, he worked six days a week generally for 9-11 hours each day. 

As his fame grew, this schedule became problematic. Terhune made Sunnybank so famous that it became a destination for families. In the beginning, people were able to come onto the lawn and wander down to the lake. But as the numbers increased, the crowds became very troublesome. Visitors often wanted to meet the famous author. When one of the dogs was killed by a visitor who drove too quickly along the driveway, additional restrictions were put in place.

A staffed guardhouse was placed at the gateway to the property. Visiting hours were limited to weekends only…before 10 am.

Marriage

Terhune married twice. In the late 1890s, he wed Lorraine Bryson. She gave birth to their daughter in 1898, but Lorraine died of complications from childbirth. Albert Terhune’s mother took over care of the baby. By this time, the older Terhunes were living at Sunnybank for much of the year. The little girl spent her first 8 years living there with her grandparents.

Not too long after, Albert Terhune remarried. He had known Anice Stockton since grammar school. She was a composer and music educator. Unfortunately, she wanted nothing to do with Terhune’s daughter. When Terhune’s mother could no longer manage full-time care of her granddaughter, the child was sent to boarding school. She was with her father for some vacations, but she also stayed with relatives.

Took Over Sunnybank

One of his sisters lived at Sunnybank during their mother’s final years, but Albert so desperately wanted the house that he worked out an arrangement to buy it from his mother before she died.  Albert and wife Anice took ownership of the property in 1909. Over time, Sunnybank became their primary home.

Dog Stories

With a news background, Albert Terhune was equipped to write on many topics. In addition to his work for The Evening World, he sold magazine articles on topics ranging from boxing to famous American Indians.

In the early 1900s, his editor at Red Book magazine [sic] noticed that dog stories were becoming popular. He suggested Terhune try his hand at one, guaranteeing that Red Book would publish it.  Terhune had a beloved collie named Lad (1902-1918), and Terhune made him the star of his first dog story.

After the story was published, readers couldn’t get enough of Lad’s tale.  Terhune and Red Book complied. While Terhune continued to write on other subjects, always hoping that one of his books would be the next Great American Novel, he was happy to produce whatever sold well. The dog stories continued and were published in many different publications.

As was the style of the day, Terhune’s plots were often melodramatic with dogs performing incredible acts of heroism. The strength in his writing lay in the personalities of the dogs. They were loving, lovable, and very faithful to their masters.  For the reading public, these were perfect.

Sunnybank Kennel

Lad, the dog that began the Sunnybank line, did not have AKC papers, but dog experts now know that his pedigree papers were lost. Reverend Terhune was not the dog’s first owner. According to Kristina Marshall, the kennel historian of the Terhune Sunnybank Memorial, Lad was purchased in Colorado by a Miss Booth. The dog was soon given to her brother, and his pedigree was packed in a trunk that was lost. At some point, Lad was given to the Terhunes. he was very much loved and an important part of the family. Without papers, he was not the best for building the pedigree.

Bruce (1909-1920) was Terhune’s first AKC-registered collie, and therefore, foundation of the Sunnybank line. Later, another collie, Treve, born in 1919, also brought favorable attributes to the kennel line.

When Terhune started his kennel, he knew that he would sell some of the puppies, but his primary motivation was to achieve the look, the temperament, and the coat texture that he preferred in his dogs. 

Showed Dogs Infrequently

As a devoted dog lover, Terhune did not like to be separated from his dogs. He permitted his kennel manager to show the dogs occasionally. The awards won were to maintain the reputation of the kennel.

Many years, Sunnybank had as many as forty-five collies on the property.  A few of them were designated as house dogs and had full run of the place. There was a heated outer house for mothers and puppies, and the collies kept in the kennels were not forgotten. On his writing breaks, Terhune would take walks through the property. Each time he would gather a big group of dogs to accompany him.

The Story of Wolf

Terhune was at his peak of popularity in 1923 when one of his dogs was killed.

The story printed in The New York Times read as if it were one of Terhune’s own works—and perhaps it was based on a press release sent out by the author:

The headline read: Wolf, the Hero of Terhune Dog Stories Dies Saving the Life of a Canine.”

“Wolf, son of Lad, is dead. The shaggy collie, with the eyes that understood and the friendly tail, made famous in the stories of Albert Payson Terhune, died like a thoroughbred [definitely a term from Terhune], so when Wolf joined his father in the canine beyond last Sunday night there was no hanging of heads.”

Wolf was known to the public to be among Lad’s “more boisterous” offspring. But over time, Wolf became a family favorite. He was one of the chosen who were house dogs. 

Wolf Protector

Wolf considered himself the warden of Sunnybank and was watchful with all litters of puppies. If cars were coming up the driveway, Wolf carefully herded any puppies up to the lawn so they wouldn’t be hit.  

Each evening, Wolf sauntered off the property for an exploratory walk. One night he was near the town’s railway station. An express train sped through the station. Wolf was nearby and saw a “canine tramp with a homeless droop to his tail” had paused on the tracks.

Wolf heard the train’s warning whistle. He raced forward, successfully scaring the dog off the tracks. As luck would have it, the hero himself was clipped and killed by the express train.

Those who saw it happen knew where to return the body.

Terhune In Accident

Five years later, Terhune himself had a bad accident. One evening he was out for a walk along the road after dark. (Kristina Marshall says that his dog Gray Dawn, wanted to go with him, but because it was dark he left her at home. While out, he was hit by a car and gravely injured and was bed-ridden for several months. Those who knew him said he was never the same after that.

While he returned to his writing in 1929, his output slowed. He still produced a few books (often story compilations) and continued to write some original stories, but the drive that kept him at his desk for at least 9 hours each day was no longer there.

Radio Voice

Terhune had a strong voice that commanded attention. Even after his accident, he was a frequent guest on radio programs. One of the radio producers decided Terhune could carry a program on his own. The producer signed up Spratt’s dog biscuits as the sponsor, and a team worked with Terhune to put together the weekly program.

But as time went on, Terhune’s health worsened. He turned out some stories and continued to have a Christmas party for the press until 1940.

He died in February of 1942.

His will made provisions for support for both his wife and the collies. A monthly stipend was also specified for his daughter who lived in New York City. 

Anice Terhune at Sunnybank

Anice Terhune remained at Sunnybank, maintaining the dogs that they shared. When Terhune died, there were about ten dogs still living with the couple. Chips and King Coal died shortly after their master. All the other dogs remained with Anice at Sunnybank.

 Anice lived until 1964, outliving Albert’s daughter by eight years.

Her will provided generous cash bequests for the staff of Sunnybank, and since the couple had no children, they established a charitable foundation, The Albert Payson Terhune Foundation.  Income continued to accrue for about another 10 years while the books still did well.

Desirable Real Estate

With Anice Terhune’s death, developers were ready. Thirty of the 40 acres were sold almost immediately. The last section to sell—perhaps because it was more costly—was the acreage with the house and outbuildings, and of course the gardens and beautiful lake view.  

When news broke that a developer bought that final piece of the property, neighbors, collie owners, and readers were galvanized into action.

Collie owner Claire Leishman from nearby Paramus, knew the property must be saved. National visibility would help the cause, so she wrote letters to collie organizations nationwide to ask for letters of support for Sunnybank.

Citizens for Sunnybank worked with the Wayne town council. Everyone was also looking for grant money. By the time the property was saved in a very close 5-4 council vote, grants had been obtained from federal and state organizations to help the town acquire Sunnybank.

It is now known as Terhune Memorial Park.

Volunteers raised money to save the house as well, but the town deemed it unsafe and the house was bulldozed.

Today Terhune-Sunnybank stands as a great success story.

The Gathering

Each August, the Collie Health Foundation sponsors The Gathering. Collie owners come from near and far to enjoy a weekend of being together to celebrate Terhune, Sunnybank, and their shared love of the collie breed.

The first gathering was held in 1997. Claire Leishman welcomed everyone. She had with her the memorabilia that had been saved from Sunnybank. Today those items are on display at the Van Riper Hopper House museum in Wayne.

The Gathering has been held annually with the exception of the interruption by Covid.

Throughout the year, an active group of volunteers still love and pay attention to the park. Graves where the dogs have been buried are tidied. Pathways to some of the “secret” parts of the property that Terhune wrote about in his books are now marked.  A memorial bench for the Terhunes and Claire Leishman has been added in more recent times. (Leishman also worked with the AKC to retire the Sunnybank Kennel name so that no other collie breeders could use it.)

“A Magical Place”

And each year, of course, a mid-August gathering and celebration continues. 

Pati Merrill, vice president of the Collie Health Foundation, explains that any funds raised from the activities of the weekend are donated to research and causes that help maintain the health and strength of the breed.

As for the next Gathering, Merrill, who travels from Florida, says: “We’re like children when we arrive! The setting is magical, and it’s absolutely thrilling to be with people who fell in love with both collies and Albert Terhune’s stories.”

On the Collie Health Foundation website, they have posted a tribute video to the Terhunes, the collies, and Sunnybank. Scroll to the bottom here, and you’ll find the video. And don’t miss the website telling about The Gathering. You’ll find many beautiful photos of the land as well as so many collies!

Thank you to Kristina Marshall, historian of the Terhune Sunnybank Memorial, for reaching out after the article was posted on my website. As you’ll see from her comments below, there was information that I had not uncovered. Those changes have now been made. I’m appreciative of her sharing her knowledge with me so that the article on America Comes Alive can be correct. Kristina Marshall also posts on Facebook in a public group: Sunnybank-Terhune Collies.

When President Taft took office, Mrs. Taft insisted they buy a cow to be kept at the White House. She knew that Washington, D.C. did not have dairies nearby. Her husband was well-known for his appetite, and their youngest child, Charles who was 11, would be living with them. Mrs. Taft wanted to be sure the family’s milk and butter needs were taken care of.

Mrs. Taft arranged for a prize-winning Jersey cow to be purchased and delivered to the White House. The family named the “first cow of the land” Mooly-Wooly.

Livestock Part of the Lifestyle

Like the Roosevelt family who preceded them in the White House, the Tafts moved in with their horses and carriages. While President Taft was the first president to keep an automobile at the White House, it was a time of transition in transportation, and horses were still in frequent use.

The White House stables were near the State, War, and Navy Building (now known as the Eisenhower Executive Office Building). The stables always had plenty of four-legged occupants, but it had been quite some time since there had been a presidential cow.

Cow Spotted by Public

In June of 1909, The Buffalo Enquirer reported that there was national astonishment and some ridicule when passersby began noticing the cow grazing peacefully on the White House lawn. According to the Buffalo newspaper: “Thomas Jefferson used to keep blooded cows on the White House lawn because he could not abide any milk except that which came from his own stock. Lincoln kept several cows, but until Mrs. Taft purchased a blue-ribbon Jersey, a cow had not been seen near the White House in forty-five years.”

Mooly-Wooly was often photographed in front of the Executive Mansion, “calmly cropping the grass of the White House lawn.” (Hutchinson Gazette, Hutchinson, Kansas.)

And The Des Moines Register wrote: “Mr. Taft’s cow brings the White House into an intimate touch with pastoral America—the America which makes it possible to build a White House and give it a tenant who can be  both a president and a man.”

Other Concerns

But the cow soon became the least of the Tafts concerns. Nellie Taft suffered a stroke in the spring of 1909, shortly after the president took office.

The doctor recommended a trip to a warm climate to recover, but she refused to leave her husband. Nellie was from a large family. Within days of her taking ill, four of her sisters arrived from Cincinnati to help with Nellie’s care and fill in as needed with First Lady responsibilities. President Taft was as attentive as he could be given the demands of his office.

Reason to Celebrate

In just under a year from when they entered the White House, Nellie Taft was able to resume her primary responsibilities. She helped plan a celebration of their 25^th wedding anniversary, and she successfully reached her goal of being well enough to enjoy the full evening.

Cow Summered with the Family

When the Taft family left the White House to summer in Beverly Massachusetts, the family took Mooly-Wooly with them. Presumably, the staff of the White House packed up to accompany the Tafts, so putting Mooly-Wooly on a rail car wouldn’t have been a particular problem.

Beverly citizens also admired the fact that the Tafts maintained a tie to the rural life: “The good people of Beverly look on the Taft cow and are glad they have a president who has not forgotten in his public service the good qualities of country life. A man who keeps his own cow is, after all, a good deal of a democrat even if he does associate at times with bejeweled diplomats and pursy [probably meaning monied] magnates. (Spokesman Review, Spokane, WA July 30, 1909.

Mooly-Wooly Passes Away

Unfortunately the Executive Mansion and environs did not agree with Mooly-Wooly. She died in 1910, about a year and a half after the Tafts moved to Washington.

It seems that while Mooly-Wooly was permitted to graze on the White House grass at her leisure, she was also fed at night when she was brought into the barn. Speculation is that she just ate too much.

Gift Cow Offered

When word got out that Mooly-Wooly died, Wisconsin Senator Isaac Stevenson volunteered to send a prize Holstein from his farm. Arrangements were made for the four-year-old Holstein, named Pauline Wayne, to travel to Washington, D.C. by train. Though her trip was delayed somewhat, there were plenty of people on hand at Union Station to escort her to the White House when she arrived.

But Senator Stevenson might have selected another cow if he had checked in with Pauline Wayne before choosing her.  She was pregnant at the time of her trip. Shortly after arriving at her new home, she gave birth to a calf. The staff named the newborn Big Bill in honor of the president. But Baby Bill was a second-class citizen on Pennsylvania Avenue. After a few days, he was cleaned up and sent off to a farm in Maryland to be raised by a surrogate.

Pauline, however, contentedly fulfilled her responsibilities. She provided the first family with an ample supply of milk and butter on a regular basis.

Taft weighed a hefty 340 pounds during his time in office, and he counted on three sturdy meals per day. (There were newspaper photos of four workers sitting in the larger bathtub they installed after Taft got stuck in the old one.) To read about President’s Taft’s efforts at dieting, read “President Taft’s Weight: Keeping the Pounds Off.”

Representing the President

While Pauline was well-loved for her fresh milk, cream, and butter, she also proved to be a popular emissary for the president. In 1911, President Taft was not going to be able to attend the International Dairymen’s Exposition in Milwaukee, so Pauline was sent in his stead.

You’d like to think that a trip involving a presidential cow scheduled for important appearances was carefully planned. Perhaps it was, and a problem arose because someone down the line got confused or flustered.

President’s Cow Missing

What with one thing and another, Pauline’s rail car was reported missing. Anxiety was high for two days. The national press kept the public informed about the fact that the “President’s Cow” was nowhere to be found.

The railroad management worked their way backward to assess what could have happened to Pauline, and they found the error. Pauline’s car had been switched on to a train on its way to the Chicago stockyards.

Fortunately, Pauline was discovered before she entered the slaughterhouse.

Once rescued, Pauline Wayne made the President proud. She was a very popular attraction at the Dairymen’s Exposition, and visitors could buy tiny souvenir bottles of her milk for 50 cents.

She went on to make appearances at a few other dairy and food shows. The Topeka Daily Capital (October 26, 1911) reported that she returned home with a “satchelful” of medals and blue ribbons.

Pauline’s Return Home

The White House issued reports on Pauline’s return. She was unwilling to leave her stable for a few days, but her butter and milk production remained good despite the travel. “This morning’s supply of milk was, if anything, larger and richer than before…”

When President Taft left office, Pauline Wayne was not doing well. Taft consulted Senator Stevenson, and it was agreed that the best thing for Pauline was to return to the beautifully green state of Wisconsin. News reports were that her health improved once she was back on her farm.

When the Wilsons moved to Washington, President Woodrow Wilson saw the wisdom of having sheep keep the White House lawn trimmed…but they never had a cow.

***

To read about other popular bovines, read about Else, the Borden Cow, and her husband whose head adorns Elmer’s glue.

Jim the Wonder Dog caused quite a sensation in Missouri in the 1930s. He was a Llewellyn setter and was a very impressive bird dog, known for the number of birds he could spot and retrieve. But that wasn’t all.

When he was three years old, his owner discovered that Jim could respond to commands as if he spoke English—and other languages, too. The dog correctly identified types of trees, colors of clothing or cars, knew people’s professions, and eventually, his owner Sam Van Arsdale learned Jim could predict the future. His achievements led to fame.

Some observers thought his owner was running a scam, but the eyewitness accounts from people in many communities all document one thing:  Jim may simply have been one-of-kind.

Here’s the story:

Jim was the Runt of the Litter

Jim was one of seven puppies born in Louisiana in 1925 to champion Llewellyn setters. (These black-and-white medium-sized dogs are known as stellar bird dogs.) Because the litter came from excellent stock, men in nearby communities quickly put money down on the bigger puppies. When only the runt was left, one of  Sam Van Arsdale’s friends thought it would be a great joke to present Van Arsdale—the best hunter in the region– with the runt.

Jim’s Training

Sam Van Arsdale figured the puppy would grow and could be a hunter, so when Jim was a little older, he dropped him off at Ira Irvin’s home in West Plains, Missouri. Irvin was the fellow who trained all Van Arsdale’s hunting dogs.

When Van Arsdale picked Jim up from the Irvins’ home, the report was not good. It seemed Jim simply lay in the shade and watched the trainer work with the other dogs.

Van Arsdale later told a reporter: “During his first six months he was sober and quiet as an old house dog. Even the professional trainer could not accomplish anything with him.”

Van Arsdale considered giving the dog away, but Jim was a sweet dog. He decided he would take him out for a test run despite what the trainer told him.

As he and Jim walked along, Jim detected a covey of quail and came to a perfect point. Van Arsdale took his shot when he could, brought down a bird, and gave the “retrieve” command. Jim handled everything as if he had been a star student in the trainer’s class.

Van Arsdale loved hunting and was known to travel to different states to hunt. Jim became his constant companion, and over the course of their trips, Jim retrieved more than 5000 birds. (Then Sam quit counting.) Both Missouri Life and Missouri Conservationist magazines deemed Jim the “Hunting Dog of the Century.”

More Talents

When Jim was about three years old, Van Arsdale was quite surprised to discover that his dog understood other things. The story goes that Sam and Jim were out hunting, and the sun was hot. Van Arsdale said, “We should rest a bit under a hickory tree.” To his amazement, Jim went directly to a hickory tree to lie down.

Van Arsdale felt it was just dumb luck—that the hickory tree was the logical one to sit beneath. He tested Jim again by asking that he pick out an oak tree, then a cedar tree, and finally a tree stump. In each case, Jim carried out the command.

Testing His Talent

Van Arsdale was surprised by Jim’s ability. When they were in town, he began asking Jim other things. “Show me a red car.” “Show me a lady in a blue dress.”

By this time, Sam Van Arsdale and his wife lived in Marshall, Missouri where Sam ran the first of what would be a small chain of hotels. (At some point, the hotel acquired the name the “Ruff Hotel.”)

When Sam and Jim were around the hotel, a crowd would gather to see what Jim could do. Sam would generally comply by asking Jim to do certain tasks. “Find the lady with the baby,” or “show me a man with a mustache.”

Over time, Sam began asking complex questions: “If someone here is sick, where should he go?” (Jim would go over and nudge the leg of the town doctor if he was in the crowd.)

Or a truly baffling one was when Van Arsdale asked, “What made Henry Ford rich?” Jim would then locate a Ford car.

The dog could identify cars with specific license plate numbers, and he could even spell. The Moberly Monitor-Index (February 14, 1935) reports that when Jim was told: “Find a man with a c-a-n-e,” he did so.

Responded to Others

Giving added credibility to Jim’s powers was the fact that he responded to commands called out by people in the audience. Some called out in other languages—including Spanish, Italian, German and Greek—thinking that would certainly confuse the dog. It didn’t, and Van Arsdale himself said that he did not speak anything but English.

Jim and Van Arsdale were invited to many communities around Missouri and in states farther west. These appearances attracted the public as well as the press, so there were many eyes to document Jim’s performances. Those who came to see the dog also kept careful watch on Van Arsdale to be sure he wasn’t signaling Jim in some way. No one could document that there was anything other than master-dog love between the two.

Predicting the Future

The people who knew Jim decided that indeed, Jim understood human language and was very smart.

Then someone thought: What could Jim tell about the future?

Early questions were the garden variety ones: “Will our baby be a boy or a girl?” (Van Arsdale wrote options on pieces of paper so Jim could select one.)

But then the questions became more complex: “Who will win the World Series?”

And in 1936, “Who will be our next president?”

The Kentucky Derby

Starting in 1930, Sam Van Arsdale began asking Jim to predict the winner of the Kentucky Derby.

As with the World Series game or the contest between Franklin Roosevelt and Alf Landon, Van Arsdale wrote on slips of paper the applicable names of horses expected to run that year. The papers were then spread in front of Jim and the question was asked: “Which horse will win the Kentucky Derby this year?”

Jim studied them (probably sniffing each one) and then placed his paw on a particular piece of paper. That paper was slipped into an envelope and put in a safe.

For seven years this process was repeated. Each year when the envelope in the safe was opened, Jim’s prediction was correct. No one could explain it.

Business Offers

Jim’s fame was growing, but when he was featured in Ripley’s Believe it or Not column, business offers poured in. Movie companies, dog food manufacturers, and bookies all knew they could benefit from this dog. Sam Van Arsdale was offered a lot of money from various sources that wanted access to Jim.

But Van Arsdale felt strongly that the dog was special, and his ability was nothing that should be sold. He wanted to simply keep Jim as part of the family.

That said, Sam was as perplexed as everyone else as to how Jim knew what was being said. He began to look around for someone who might be able to tell him.

Wonder Dog Visits a University

In 1931, Van Arsdale got in touch with Dr. A.J. Durant (1886-1980). Dr. Durant was a well-known veterinarian who was head of the School of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Missouri.

Van Arsdale explained why he wanted to bring his dog in to be examined, and Durant was intrigued.  He fully expected that he and his staff would be able to reveal a hoax.

Van Arsdale invited another veterinarian, Dr. Sherman Dickinson and two psychiatrists from Washington University to be in attendance on the day Jim came in. Other staff members and his students were also able to observe.

First, Dr. Durant conducted a thorough physical examination. He noted that Jim was much like any other Llewellyn setter with a few variations—Jim had a wider than normal span across his brow, a greater distance from the brow to the top of his head, and his eyes were unusually large.

Additional Testing

After the examination, the doctors, students, and invited audience members gathered in the courtyard outside the veterinary school. Everyone would be permitted to make requests of Jim.  A Paramount News crew was also given permission to film the event.

The doctors tossed commands at Jim (to locate people with certain characteristics, to point out various cars, etc.), which included commands in several different languages. They also requested that Sam Van Arsdale sit in view of the audience and remain perfectly still—they even asked that he try to avoid eye movement—all in order to ascertain whether Jim received signals or clues.

But nothing transpired between man and dog, and after each command, Jim simply returned to Van Arsdale’s feet where he lay down.

As for his success—it was outstanding. The only mission he failed to accomplish was an instruction to locate a boy whose hair had just been permanently waved. The poor young man was mortified, and he left the group before Jim could identify him.

Medical Conclusion

Dr. Durant and the other professors all stepped into a meeting room to discuss their observations.  Ultimately, Dr. Durant came out and announced their conclusion: that Jim “possessed an occult power that might never come again to a dog in many generations.”

The Last Hunting Trip

In March of 1937 when Jim was 12, Van Arsdale left the house, calling to Jim that they were going hunting. Jim woke from his nap and got into the car. When Van Arsdale reached the wooded area near the lake, he stopped the car and opened the door. Jim jumped out and ran just a short distance, then collapsed.

Sam Van Arsdale scooped him up, put him back in the car, and drove quickly to the Sedalia Animal Hospital, but Jim could not be saved.

Saying Good-bye to Jim

The Van Arsdales agreed that Jim was very much a part of the family, and they wanted him buried with them.

They owned a family plot in the Ridge Park Cemetery in Marshall, Missouri. But when they asked the administrator of the cemetery, it was explained that no animal could be buried within the grounds of the cemetery. (This is true of many cemeteries.)

A farmer with land that abutted the cemetery heard about Van Arsdale’s request. He suggested that the Van Arsdales bury Jim on his land, right next to the cemetery. The Van Arsdales took him up on it.

Ultimately, the family—and Jim—had the last laugh. As the cemetery filled up there was need for expansion. The land owned by the farmer was purchased to provide more burial sites, bringing Jim’s grave within the cemetery walls.

Even today, decades after Jim’s death, the cemetery caretaker reports that Jim’s grave is visited frequently. People leave coins and flowers for him.

The Community Remembers

The community still has fond memories of Jim. At one point, the town slogan was “Smart dog, Good people.” As people talked, they decided they wanted a special way to remember Jim.

In the 1990s, the land where the Ruff Hotel stood was vacant. The community obtained a parcel of the vacant land, and a garden was created to honor Jim. There are benches, walkways, plantings, and of course, a sculpture of Jim himself.  People visit regularly, and it’s a popular spot for dog training classes.

Jim would have been pleased with the place now known as “Jim the Wonder Dog Memorial Park.”

***

How to Explain Jim?

We’re all left wondering how Jim had the abilities he did. The stories truly stretch credibility. But I’ve seen articles from many newspapers written by people who witnessed Jim perform his feats at different times in different locations. They are all consistent.

One of the most compelling articles was written by Missouri resident Henry N. Ferguson. Ferguson was just a boy in Warsaw, Missouri, when he saw that a crowd gathered on a nearby street, and he went over to see why. Within the circle was Sam Van Arsdale and Jim doing what they did best—amusing the community.

The college Henry Ferguson attended was in Marshall, Missouri, the same town where Jim was living at the time. Ferguson observed Jim’s abilities once again. The memory of a teenager might be questioned, but the memory of a man who witnessed the same dog again adds credibility.

In my mind, we are left with Dr. Durant’s conclusion: Jim was a one-of-a-kind dog. We will never know how he understood so much. 

*** 

I am indebted to Eddie James for telling me about Jim. Eddie is also the fellow who has watched over Brownie, the Town Dog of Daytona Beach—another wonderful story about a dog in a loving community.

If you liked Jim’s story, please read the story about Drum, the other famous dog from Missouri. Drum is the reason we have the expression “a dog is a man’s best friend.”

And finally, there is one more story about a very smart German Shepherd. He lived in Michigan, and until the Depression, his owner brought him for frequent testing to Columbia University in New York City. He, too, was smarter than most canines.

In the 1920s, a collie mix was separated from his family in Wolcott, Indiana, where the family vacationed the summer of 1923.

Frank and Elizabeth Brazier and their two daughters, Nova and Leona, lived in Silverton, Oregon, along the foothills of the Cascade Mountains south of Portland. Driving their automobile, an Overland Red Bird, they made the long trip to Wolcott, Indiana, to visit friends and relatives, staying at tourist camps along the way. (By the 1920s, an increasing number of families owned automobiles. Along the bigger roads entrepreneurs built small bungalows to rent out nightly.)

The Brazier dog Bobbie (named because he had a “bobbed” tail which was unusual for a collie) accompanied the family. The Red Bird had a collapsible roof, but cars of that time were primarily open air automobiles, so Bobbie could ride on the running boards or on top of the trunk strapped to the back of the automobile. Either way, he was free to jump in and out of the car as they traveled. Auto speeds at that time were slow enough that it was not difficult for a motivated dog to re-join his travelers.

Bobbie Chased Away

One afternoon Frank Brazier left the home where they were staying to take the car to the service station. As usual, Bobbie went along. Frank stopped to chat with the station owner, and Bobbie hopped out to do his usual exploring. However, three stray dogs took issue with the newcomer, and chased Bobbie out of the area.

Frank Brazier was not particularly worried. Bobbie was fast and smart and generally figured out a way to circle back to the car no matter where he wandered. Frank remained at the station for a time, chatting with others who stopped by. After waiting for a bit, Frank sounded the signal to Bobbie. A couple of toots on the horn meant that it was time to get going. But Bobbie did not appear.

A Search for Bobbie

After waiting for about an hour, Frank decided Bobbie must have returned to the house where the family stayed. When he arrived, no one had seen Bobbie. Frank drove back to the station and waited a little longer, but as it got dark, he resolved to start hunting again early the next day.

Unfortunately, the next day was the same. Frank visited stores in Wolcott and stopped in at the local tourist camp, since the family usually stayed at similar places. Bobbie was not to be found. Frank circled around and honked again at the service station, but there was still no response.

Needed to Go Back to Silverton

The Brazier family owned a popular restaurant in Silverton, Oregon, and they knew they couldn’t be gone much longer. All they could do was leave word that if Bobbie returned, they would pay all shipping charges to have him sent home by rail.

With heavy hearts, the family set off for the long drive home without their beloved pet. As they traveled, they left their information at the tourist parks where they camped. Perhaps Bobbie would appear at some place that seemed familiar.

The family arrived in Silverton and re-opened the restaurant. Life had to go on.

What Happened Next

To everyone’s amazement, six months later Bobbie appeared in Silverton. He looked very thin, his fur was matted, and he limped because the pads of his paws were bleeding from the long trip on ice and gravel. Daughter Nova and a friend were first to see him. The girls were on the street outside the family’s restaurant on February 15, 1924, when Nova grabbed her friend’s arm: ”Is that Bobbie?”

With shouts of joy from the girls and yips and small jumps from the injured Bobbie, the girls and the dog shared hugs and kisses. Nova led Bobbie into the restaurant where patrons were surprised to see her bringing a bedraggled dog with badly matted fur inside. He limped slowly toward the back of the diner, only to be greeted by a cry from Elizabeth Frazier: “Bobbie!”

With that, the community realized what happened—Bobbie was home.

Finding Frank

Frank worked the early shift so he was upstairs napping before coming down to prepare the next meals. The rest of the family raced up the stairs behind Bobbie who used every last ounce of his strength to bound onto the bed beside his beloved owner.

Frank woke with a start with the first wet lick, but within seconds he realized that this worn-out dog was Bobbie.  Bobbie quickly nestled down beside Frank and the two continued Frank’s nap until Frank knew it was time to prepare for the next restaurant diners. But of course, his first priority was putting out a good meal for Bobbie.

While the family was elated over the return of their beloved dog, they couldn’t answer the question that bombarded them from all the townspeople: How did Bobbie get home?

In a fairy tale, Bobbie would step forward and explain his part of the story, but we all must acknowledge that’s not possible here.

What happened was the next best thing.

Bobbie Makes News

Today local television news shows occasionally provide airtime for a feel-good “dog-and-family-reunion” story, but print papers rarely cover such stories.  However, in 1925, Bobbie was a great local—and eventually a national—story.

The national news stories resulted in an outpouring of mail for Bobbie and his family. Often the letters were just addressed to “Bobbie, Silverton, Oregon,” or “Silverton Bobbie,” and not much else.

The post office knew where to find Bobbie and the Braziers, and each letter was carefully answered.

Unbeknownst to the family, these letters were key to unlocking Bobbie’s secrets. Some of the letters were from dog owners who were particularly touched by the story. Others were letters of admiration for Bobbie. Some sent gifts, others wrote poetry in Bobbie’s honor…all were touched by knowing that Bobbie got home.

Bobbie became even bigger news when he was featured in the syndicated column, Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

More News

As time went on, the Braziers began to learn a little more about Bobbie’s travels:

“Dear Sir: The enclosed picture appeared in an Indianapolis paper recently and I am wondering if I did not make the acquaintance of Bobbie last summer at my shack on the Tippecanoe River. I was sitting under a tree one summer day, when I heard a splashing in the river and running up the hill came a collie dog which I knew was seeking his master…”

Other Hints of Bobbie’s Whereabouts

Here and there, other news trickled in: “A dog that looked just like Bobbie stayed around our tourist park for a few days…then we never saw him again.”

There were two particular occasions when Bobbie stayed for a longer time. The first incident occurred near Des Moines. One night something must have startled Bobbie. He found himself in the rapidly moving water (presumably the Des Moines River). When he surfaced on the other side of the river, he may have been hit by a vehicle as he emerged from the water. He slowly made his way to a house where he pushed his way in through a screened door and found a friendly greeting.

Des Moines Stop

The Des Moines family wrote to the Braziers:

“I am prompted to write you in the hope of establishing his identity. He made his appearance during the night and finding my nephew sleeping on the porch, he offered his paw to shake hands, after which he quietly went to sleep.”

The family made over him the next morning and fed him breakfast. Each evening Bobbie returned to their home, but he spent his days elsewhere—perhaps scouting for a lead on his family.

After several weeks with the family, Bobbie was better fed and more rested. The injury to his hip also seemed better. One morning the family fed him as usual, and when they let him out, he didn’t return.

They were heartbroken that he didn’t stay, but after asking about for him, there was nothing they could do.

Portland Savior

His second long stay was closer to home. After many more miles, much bad weather, and almost certainly dangerous encounters, Bobbie arrived in Portland, Oregon, but he was in such bad shape he could not go on. This time he was taken in by an elderly woman who nursed him back to health and loved having him with her.

Those whom Bobbie visited were in awe of his determination to return to his original family. Despite warm welcomes in several locations, Bobbie insisted he had to go on.

Piecing the Story Together

The Oregon Humane Society heard the stories of Bobbie and the letters coming in that seemed to trace Bobbie’s trip. The story fascinated those who worked there. How could a dog travel so far on his own, and how did he possibly find his way?

The director of the Society paid a call to Frank Brazier at the restaurant. He offered to take the letters after the family answered them and let the staff try to trace Bobbie’s route home. The Braziers loved the idea, and the Society went to work.

As they followed the leads in the letters, Bobbie sometimes circled around and occasionally was led off-track (as in a trip to Denver by automobile), but ultimately, he pointed his nose West and did what he could to track back through landmarks the Braziers passed the first time.

Safe at Home

In the meantime, Bobbie received keys to various cities around Silverton and was invited for a week-long appearance at the Portland Home Show, where they provided him with an elegant doghouse, complete with it’s own white picket fence. People lined up for hours to wait to shake Bobbie’s paw and give him a good scratch behind his ears.

The happiest event for Bobbie, however, was the Silverton City Council’s resolve that Bobbie was exempt from the town leash law. Unlike the rest of the canines in Silverton, Bobbie was given free range to travel the town as he pleased.

The Braziers received countless invitations for Bobbie to appear at various events, and there was also an intriguing invitation from a producer who wanted to make a silent film of Bobbie’s life. Frank thought that was interesting, and when they said Bobbie would play himself, the family signed on.

Today one reel of the two-reel film has been located and restored. The other reel is still missing. In the meantime, to see Bobbie in action as himself, watch some of “The Call of the West” preserved by the Oregon Historical Society:

One Litter of Pups

Other dog owners considered Bobbie prime breeding material, but the Braziers moved forward with that plan cautiously. They finally agreed to let him father one litter of puppies with a local collie of good quality.

Several handsome pups resulted from the breeding. The Braziers took one of the dogs as a companion for Bobbie. Pal became Bobbie’s sidekick.

Bobbie died in April of 1927. The veterinarian that treated him speculated that the arduous journey took years off the dog’s life.

Memories of Bobbie

He was buried in the Oregon Humane Society’s pet cemetery in Portland. The doghouse/castle created for him marks the grave, and two hundred people attended the service.  Today visitors are able to go behind the building to see Bobbie’s final resting place.

A week after the funeral, the dog film star, Rin-Tin-Tin, made a special appearance. He brought with him a wreath that he laid atop Bobbie’s grave while photographers and reporters documented the arrival of the famous canine star.

Today there is a mural in Silverton telling Bobbie’s story, and each year, the town continues to have a Pet Parade in Bobbie’s honor. The parade began in the 1920s, with Pal, Bobbie’s son, as the first parade leader. It has been held since then as a way to recognize the important of pets to people.

A handsome dalmatian followed Quartermaster General Rufus Ingalls wherever he went at Army headquarters at City Point, Virginia.

General Ingalls (1818-1893) returned from a short trip to Washington, D.C. accompanied by what was referred to at the time as a coach dog—the dog we now call a dalmatian.  The medium-sized spotted dog was clearly devoted to the general, and whether Ingalls traveled by saddle horse or buggy, the dog was by his side.

Ingalls and Dalmatian Headquartered at City Point

Ingalls was appointed Quartermaster General of the Federal Army by General U.S. Grant in 1864. By that summer, Grant saw that disrupting the supply chain from Petersburg, Virginia, to the Confederate capital of Richmond would be key. When the Union failed to take Petersburg in a first effort, Grant prepared for a long fight. He established his headquarters and a major Union supply depot nearby at City Point, Virginia.

General Grant was joined at City Point by supply general and former West Point classmate Rufus Ingalls.

Dalmatian Was Unusual

It is reported that General Ingalls’s dog was the most photographed dog of the Civil War. While that’s difficult to document after all this time, it certainly makes sense.  The coach dog was not a breed that was often seen in the United States in the 1860s.

The origin of these dogs can be traced to Croatia in the 1600s, but they were not yet well-known in most other parts of the world. The one location where they became status symbols by the 19^th century was among the wealthy of Britain.

British stable masters saw that the dogs were perfect for carriage work. The dogs were strong, smart, and fast, with good endurance. They were also excellent with horses. They could guide a team flawlessly and they had a calming effect on the horses if they became spooked.

Coach dogs could be seen running aside a carriage, but they were also adept at working from under the axles to keep the horses moving in the right way at the right speed.

Firehouse Dog

These traits were how they came to be used at firehouses. The earliest fire companies had little money, so men pulled their own wagons and equipment. As fire companies became bigger, they added horse teams as well as dalmatians. Dalmatians could take the lead on the way to the fire. Then when the men unhooked the equipment from the horse teams in order to fight the fire, the dalmatian stayed with the horses, circling them, keeping them calm, and keeping them safe.

A Few Must Have Come to U.S.

As a result of their use by royalty and those of wealth in England, well-to-do Americans who visited England in the 19^th century must have been familiar with these attractive spotted dogs.

Perhaps that’s how a coach dog found himself in Washington, D.C. and was available to go back to the Virginia headquarters with General Ingalls.

A Dalmatian at Headquarters

Ingalls was popular with both officers and enlisted men, and he was even more so as he walked through the camp with his dog. The men loved the sight of the handsome dog with the aristocratic bearing.

General Grant always remarked on the dog when he and Ingalls met or a ran into each other.  It’s clear the dog had quite a personality.

In Horace Porter’s book, Campaigning with Grant, we have a report of Grant-Ingalls interaction that includes the dog.

“One evening, as the general was sitting in front of his quarters, Ingalls came up to have a chat with him, and was followed by the dog, which sat down in the usual place at its master’s feet.

“The animal squatted upon its hind quarters, licked its chops, pricked up its ears, and looked first at one officer and then at the other, as if to say: ‘I am General Ingalls’s dog; whose pup are you?’

“In the course of his remarks General Grant took a look at the animal, and said: ‘Well, Ingalls, what are your real intentions in regard to that dog? Do you expect to take it into Richmond with you?’

“Ingalls, who was noted for his dry humor, replied with mock seriousness and an air of extreme patience: ‘I hope to; it is said to come from a long-lived breed.’

“This retort, coupled with the comical attitude of the dog at the time, turned the laugh upon the general, who joined heartily in the merriment, and seemed to enjoy the joke as much as any of the party.”

The Dog’s Name?

I am indebted to the contributors on the Civil War Talk forum for locating this wonderful description from Horace Porter’s book. It is one of the few times when we have more than a passing description of the dog.

The other mystery that plagues researchers is that the dog is not identified by name. I came upon one reference that noted that General Pickett (also a West Point classmate of Grant and Ingalls) referred to the dog as “Rufe.” Pickett fought for the Confederacy, so I was puzzled as to when Pickett would have encountered Ingalls and his dog.

After investigating, I saw that Pickett might have met the dog. After the war ended, Pickett left for Canada, but by 1866, Grant had arranged for Pickett to be able to return to Washington. Perhaps there he encountered Ingalls and the dalmatian.

***

For other stories of dalmatians, see “Trainer Willy Necker and his Dogs”  and “How Dalmatians Became Known as the Firehouse Dog.”

Frank Lloyd Wright is among the best-known architects in the world, but few know that among his commissions was a doghouse.

How It Came About

After Frank Lloyd Wright designed a home for the Berger family of San Anselmo, California, in the mid-1950s, he received a request from their 12-year-old son. Jim Berger wanted a plan for a doghouse that would complement their soon-to-be-built Wright home. Young Berger would pay Wright out of his paperboy earnings.

Wright was preoccupied with his commitment to design the Guggenheim Museum. He told Jim he did not have time, but Jim could contact him again in a few months. Berger followed up with his second request in the autumn of 1956. A month or two later, Wright’s design team sent plans for the requested doghouse.

But this story had an earlier beginning. The first doghouse built at Wright’s home, Taliesin in Spring Green, Wisconsin, was built by a 10-year-old boy who lived on the property and played frequently  with Wright’s grandson.

I wrote about the Berger doghouse in a previous article for my website. After my article appeared, I heard from Paula Washow, a Spring Green resident and a volunteer at Taliesin. She wrote: “May I put you in touch with my cousin? He has a Frank Lloyd Wright doghouse story.”

I’ll let Martin Longseth tell you the story himself, but it turns out that Wright may have looked back to 1948 and Longseth’s doghouse for inspiration as to what a Frank Lloyd Wright doghouse might look like:

Martin Longseth’s Story

“In the mid-1940s, my father, Curtis Longseth, was the herdsman at Taliesin.  Our residence was Midway, which was the dairy farm.  We lived there about three years, and Brandoch Peters was a favorite playmate. Thus, I was often around the Wrights.”  [Peters was the grandson of Olgivanna, Wright’s third wife. The Wrights raised Brandoch because his mother had died.]

Longseth continues:

“The doghouse event would have been in late summer 1948 and I was not quite 10.”  [By this time, Wright and his wife Olgivanna, had opened their property to students looking to study architecture under Wright. If the young people were selected as Fellows, they had the opportunity to connect with Wright, and Wright gave them hands-on experience by letting them carry out construction projects on the property.]

“At Midway, one could go from the house to the barn without going outside via what was called the Dugway.  That year, the roof of the Dugway was in bad shape.  Replacing it meant hands-on chances for the students to experiment and learn.  I only remember one, a Norwegian named Godman Martinson.  The students let me help them as I was interested in what they were doing, and there was not much else to do. Then I had an idea: build a doghouse.

Doghouse Plan

“I roughed out a plan for a two-room house for our Spitz, Pat.  There would be an entry room with ample head space and then a lower sleeping room.  The roof peak would be about where the two rooms met.  This meant two different roof pitches and in turn meant some miter angles to figure out the framing.  [A couple of the students] helped me determine the angle cuts. There was a lot of scrap lumber to use so I had no problem making it work. The rest was all my doing.

“I don’t remember the exact height but the whole thing was probably 4′ wide.  The “day room” was about 1½ feet wide and the sleeping area was about 2½ feet.  Siding boards, I think, were vertical.  And, I topped off the roof with broken slate shingles that the students couldn’t use for the Dugway roof.  (I then cut them down to smaller size.)

“With the doghouse assembled, the last thing I needed to do was paint it. I found light brown paint left over from another project, so I set up to paint near where the students continued the roof work.

“As I worked, a shadow fell on me. Then a cane came over my shoulder and tapped all over the doghouse.  I didn’t have to turn around to know who was behind me.  Not one word was said.  When I finally got the courage to turn around, I saw Mr. Wright going down the path with his cape flying in the wind.

Call from Main Office of Taliesin

“Later that day, my mother got a call from the main office at Hillside.  The Wrights wanted my parents to come over that night after the milking was done.  Immediately, my mother figured that I was in big trouble for using material and tools to build the doghouse.

“This meant four or five hours of misery for me, knowing that I was not going to like what might be in store.  My thought was probably, “just give me a strap now and get it over with…” instead of prolonging the agony.

“With milking chores done, my parents went to the office while I dreaded their return.  When my mother walked into the house, there was no angry look but a somber face.

“’The Wrights have offered you a free scholarship,’ she told me.  I was probably as shocked as she had been.  If I ever wanted to study to be an architect, Taliesin was open to me.

“Life went off in other directions quickly after that. My father accepted a different job a month or so later, and we were gone from Taliesin.

“Many years later on June 9, 1966, I attended a First Day Ceremony at Spring Green where the stamp cover of the Frank Lloyd Wright two-cent stamp was to be unveiled.

“The event was held in the River Valley High School auditorium. Olgivanna Wright was the speaker.  As she stepped to the podium, her eyes searched the crowd for any familiar faces.  She stopped at mine and I will never forget her words: “Why, it’s Martin!  When are you coming back to us?”

“I could have used that doghouse to crawl into at that moment!”

Written for America Comes Alive by Martin Longseth

Epilogue

Neither the Longseth doghouse or the Berger doghouse were preserved, but there is now a replica of the Berger doghouse in Marin County in northern California. This is the county where the Berger house stands.

A documentary producer who heard the story of the doghouse suggested to Jim Berger, now a cabinet maker, that he re-build the doghouse from the plans.

Berger did so, and the doghouse was placed on display in a civic building designed by Wright. Berger then donated the doghouse to the county. The replica of the doghouse shows that Wright picked up on Longseth’s idea of the unique style of the pitched roof that used tiles that matched those that would have been on the original house.

While there are other design differences, it is notable that Frank Lloyd Wright, overwhelmingly busy with plans for buildings around the world, still took time to think back to the doghouse dreams of a young boy whose work he admired.

Martin Longseth may have been part of the reason that Wright took Jim Berger’s doghouse request to heart.

Many thanks to Paula Washow and Martin Longseth for this story. Working with them has been a delight.