Stray dogs have always been attracted to construction sites. This was certainly true in Colorado in the late 1940s when a new road was begun that would link Denver to the fast-growing university town of Boulder, just north of the city.

When the Colorado Highway Department received funding for what would be a toll road, construction started. Shortly after, a young dog began hanging around. The construction workers welcomed their new companion, and he made the rounds of the men at mealtime.

Shep and Building the Turnpike

The dog was clearly part Shepherd, and the men named him Shep.  Shep became skilled at maneuvering around all the big equipment, and life was good as long as the work continued. 

The Denver-Boulder Turnpike (U.S. 36) was constructed with one toll booth from which toll takers could collect money from both directions on the highway. The toll plaza was mid-way between Denver and Boulder, right near the exit to Broomfield. 

At that time there were no toll readers or credit card systems, so a toll taker was stationed there to collect all the money. The toll charged was 25 cents.

Shep and the Toll Takers

 When the highway was near completion in 1951, the men wanted to be sure the toll booth operators knew to take care of Shep.

Because Shep was accustomed to touching bases with the workmen, it didn’t take long for him to figure out that the toll booth operators were his new best friends—and they were. They brought food regularly, and always shared with Shep.

One cold Colorado night, one of the toll takers worried about Shep sleeping outside. He convinced the dog that it was safe to come into the toll booth to sleep. This was a win-win. Shep now had a warm place at night, and the toll booth keeper had company.

Commuters

Over time, the drivers who traveled the road regularly noticed the friendly dog at the booth. Some brought food to him; others donated an extra nickel or dime to a fund to provide food and toys for Shep. He improved their days, and they wanted to improve his.

The staff at the toll booth eventually tacked up a bucket up on either side of the toll collection area. That way if anyone had spare change to donate for Shep, they had a convenient way to do so. One fellow remembered arguing with his sister about whose turn it was to throw in the family’s loose change.

Some families were so excited to see the dog—a  real Broomfield celebrity—that they would pull over to have their picture taken with the mutt.

Shep was a Roamer

Like most stray dogs, Shep had no need to stay put. He was curious about the world, and during the days, he often explored the farmland all around him.  Sometimes the toll booth operators were left to worry about where he was, but generally, he would show up before too much time passed.

However, one day in 1958 he returned limping. He’d been shot in his left front leg. When Dr. Clyde Brunner, a Broomfield veterinarian heard what happened, he volunteered to treat Shep’s wound at no charge.  The vet bandaged up the leg. While Shep was slowed for a time, the leg soon got better.

Shep also gained a friend for life. Brunner continued to attend to all Shep’s medical needs for the remainder of his life. 

Sad Day

By 1964, the toll booth operators had to face a grim fact. Shep was not doing well. He didn’t hear, couldn’t see well, and he mostly needed to be carried in and out of the toll booth. At that point, the staff made the difficult decision to take Shep to Dr. Brunner for a last visit.

But they also wanted to be sure that Shep returned to the place he belonged—right near the plaza where the toll booth stood.  A small group worked to establish a burial plot. The first tombstone was a rough-hewn one made by one of the toll takers. It was inscribed “Our Pal.”

Later on, someone must have donated the money for an official tombstone. This one said, “Shep, 1950-1964, Part Shepherd, Mostly Affection.” A low fence demarcated the area where Shep was buried, and both tombstones marked the grave.

Commuters Suggest New Dog

While the toll takers were likely lonely for a time, no one made a move to bring in a Shep II, which turned out to be a good thing.

The Denver-Boulder Turnpike became a toll road success story. On September 14, 1967, a ceremony was held near the toll booth plaza to announce that the road was fully paid off. The traffic using the road had been so much greater than estimated, that the cost of the road was paid off 13 years early!

There would be no more tolls charged, and of course, no more toll booths or toll takers.  It was thought to be the first time a public toll road ever paid itself off and became free.

More Change

As the road usage increased even more, changes were needed. The highway planners put forth that a new on-ramp was needed near Broomfield. The only way to add the new road was through the patch of land where Shep was buried.

No one liked that idea. Because Shep had been a local celebrity and still lived on in stories of Broomfield, the townspeople decided that Shep’s gravesite needed to be moved. A place was made for him at Zang Spur Park next to the Broomfield Depot Museum. (The video below tells of the day the gravesite was moved, and there is an interview with Dr. Brunner, Shep’s vet. It shows how very much the people of Broomfield cared for Shep.)

People can still stop and pay their respects to Shep, the faithful, affectionate Turnpike dog.

Another story about a dog named Nig who made his home where the massive Hoover Dam was being built.

The stray dog must have been about a year old when he wandered down Orange Avenue to Beach Street in Daytona Beach in 1940. The junction of these two streets brought him to a central location in town right across from the marina. White sands…beautiful weather…a few people nearby…nothing wrong with this.

An additional attraction at that corner was the presence of the Daytona Cab Company, owned by Ed Budgen, Sr. who was having his lunch when the dog stopped by. Ed offered to share. All these elements were enough to say “home” to Brownie, as the taxi drivers began calling him.

Brownie the Dog

Brownie (1939-1954) is described as a short-haired brown dog with a white chin. Some locals felt he had a bit of Labrador retriever or Rhodesian ridgeback in him. While he headquartered at the cab company, he patrolled several blocks along Orange Avenue and Beach Street. There was a pool hall, Liggett’s drugstore, a barbershop, and a bank. There was also a bus stop at that corner so there were always people around. Brownie got to know his new neighbors and let them know he was always available to help with anything they weren’t going to eat.

As the weeks passed, Ed Budgen decided that if Brownie was staying he needed a house. He and a couple of drivers used an old moving box and created a decent-sized dog house.

Daytona Cars

Even in the 1940s, Daytona Beach was place where people brought their fancy cars and enjoyed driving them. In 1947, Brownie—who had a tendency to wander into the street—got hit by a car. A taxi driver saw the accident, immediately stepped out of his cab and scooped up Brownie to take him to the vet.

When the taxi driver returned to the taxi stand, he posted a note: “Brownie has been hurt and is at the veterinarian’s. Would you like to help out with his hospital bill?”

According to a write-up in the local paper, $32 came in during the first 30 minutes the note was up. The funds continued to grow, so there was plenty of good news: Brownie was getting better, and he was going to be able to pay for the care he received.

Real Doghouse

While Brownie was in the hospital, the taxi drivers opted to make a “real” doghouse for their favorite mutt. They built a new house out of plywood with his name writ large across the front. It was Brownie’s house indeed.

A few days later when it was time for Brownie to leave the vet, the drivers drew lots to see who got to bring Brownie home.

When the winning driver escorted Brownie back to his favorite corner at Orange and Beach, a small crowd waited to greet him. There were dinner scraps and a pork chop or two, all with a “Welcome Home” feeling to it.

A Bank Account for Brownie

As a responsible caretaker, Ed Budgen knew that a time might come when Brownie needed funds again. He took the remaining money from the donation box and established a bank account for Brownie at the Florida Bank and Trust Company down the street  (account number 3318, complete with Brownie’s own bank book).  When there were vet bills or Brownie needed some dog food, the money was there for Brownie’s use.

Package shop owner, C.P. Miller always took care of Brownie’s dog license, and of course, it was important to the town that Brownie get License #1.

At some point the town put out a proclamation making Brownie the official Town Dog. Did he have to go to a city council meeting to be so honored? He might have, if there were treats.

With the business of life taken care of by others, Brownie was free to live up to his official responsibilities of patrolling his streets. There were always people around, going in and out of stores or sitting on the bench waiting for the bus. Brownie liked to lie in the shade under the bench, his head was within easy reach of hands that could give him a pat or an ear scratch.

The taxi company ran an all-night service and both Brownie and the night drivers were happy they were there together.

As one local said, “He was nobody’s dog but he was everybody’s dog.”

Brownie’s Fame Grew

Daytona Beach draws tourists throughout the year, and soon visitors realized that Brownie was a “town regular.” He was written about in newspapers and magazines nationwide, and visitors arrived looking for him. They sent him Christmas cards and packages, too.

An enterprising local businessperson realized that Brownie needed something to send in return, so he created a postcard with Brownie’s picture on the front. Of course, these also sold well to tourists, adding a little additional cash to Brownie’s bank account. There was also a Christmas version of the card so Brownie had a way to thank all who remembered him.

In 1949, a local columnist for the Daytona Beach Morning Journal, Fred Langworthy, reported that a nurse rushed into the cab stand one morning shortly after her night shift ended at 7 a.m. She always waited for the bus at that corner and was greeted by Brownie. Today he was just lying in his house. Was he OK?

Brownie was fine… it was February. He probably saw no need to make an early start to the day.

Elsie Borden and her Calf Come to Town

Daytona Beach was a popular community, but who would have guessed that among the visitors would be the Borden cow and her offspring? The Borden family must have come in for several guest appearances, but the Fort Lauderdale News (12/30/50) noted that Elsie, Elmer and their calf Beauregard were “vacationing in Florida for the winter.”

While Elmer may have been relaxing, Elsie and Beauregard were out and about.

One afternoon the press was invited to Brownie’s corner. Elsie was bringing Beauregard to meet Brownie. It was planned that Brownie and Beauregard would walk down the street together. Beauregard would wait while Brownie stepped into the bank to withdraw a few bucks. Then calf and dog walked on to Liggett’s Drugstore where Brownie purchased a vanilla ice cream soda for each of them.

Perfect!

Reports as Brownie Aged

As Brownie grew older, the local reporters seemed to pay more attention to how he was doing. In 1951, columnist Fred Langworthy reported (12-27-51) that over the course of the year, two aggressive mutts picked a fight with Brownie.This sent him to the vet for a couple of days, drawing down a bit on his bank account. But as December came along, Brownie seemed fine. He was sporting a red ribbon someone had tied around his collar, and another friend left him a poem:

“Trusting old Brownie, you’ve done all a dog can do.

Faith to your highest instinct, ever loyal, kind and true.

And I think when you have ended your career of canine cares,

I shall hear your pattering footsteps as you climb the Golden Stairs.

Then I think that some bright angel at Heaven’s gate will bear you through.

For you never were disloyal, that’s as well as any dog can do.”

Langworthy concludes: “Old Brownie, canine king and patriarch…has weathered another year and passed another jolly Christmas.”

Another Year, Another Report

A year and a half later, Langworthy was back with another report: (May 11, 1952): Brownie was under the weather. It turns out Brownie had heartworms but was never adequately treated. The vet was starting a series of 14 treatments to try to make the town dog better.

Langworthy writes that the first treatment seemed to help. Brownie was back patrolling the street again. He ”tagged along at the heels of police patrolmen,” watchfully sniffing at the warm sounds and smells Of Orange Avenue, and keeping everything well under control.

The End Comes

Brownie became ill in early October of 1954. For 20 days there were regular reports in the local paper as to how he was doing. As we all know, dogs never live long enough. Finally, Brownie breathed his last. It is estimated that he was 15 years old by that time.

Led by the taxi drivers, the citizens of Daytona did right by Brownie. The remainder of his bank account was used to settle his vet bill and cover funeral expenses. Two taxi drivers built a small casket for the body. He was to be buried across the street in Riverfront Park.

That Saturday morning about 75 mourners came to pay respects. The mayor gave the eulogy. He had many nice things to say about Daytona’s loyal citizen, concluding with “Wherever it is that good dogs go, Brownie has already gone.”

Life Moves On

Like all towns, the people of Daytona Beach moved on. A Brownie #2 took up a home at the post office and is buried there, but over time, the townspeople forgot about Brownie the Town dog.

Brownie Grave Re-Discovered

Then in 1994, members of the Daytona Civic Association were cleaning up Riverfront Park. Some volunteers found Brownie’s grave site and decided the old dog deserved to be remembered.

Several years later, a local woman, Brenda Gibson, took responsibility for maintaining Brownie’s grave. From that time on, it was always well tended and often decorated for an upcoming holiday.

Gibson died in June of 2017, but fortunately, good people come along when needed.  Two weekend residents of Daytona Beach, Eddie James and Alvin Almodovar, decided to move to the community full time.

Alvin is a scientist and Eddie is a technology consultant, but they shared a love of animals. Between them they always have several dogs and cats, and often, rabbits and chickens, too. They felt Daytona Beach could use a specialty dog store, named after Brownie of course.

Brownie’s Dog Boutique

Brownie’s Dog Boutique was born in July 2016, and Eddie and Alvin enjoyed running the store for two years.

During that time, the men became stewards for Brownie-related information. They created a website to tell Brownie’s story, made sure the gravesite was tended, and they worked to raise money for a statue to honor Brownie.

By 2018, the funds were raised for a memorial to Brownie. Beside the grave there is now a bronze statue of Brownie. Original benches from Brownie’s lifetime were refurbished and were dedicated to people who helped Brownie during his lifetime (including the mayor, the vet, the people who built his dog house, his pallbearers, and friends.)

There is also a marker for Brownie’s grave that tells his story.

Brownie’s Dog Boutique closed in April 2018. It’s now part of Brownie’s story.

Beloved Dog

Then and now, Brownie is a great town representative and builder of a community. As Fred Langworthy wrote in the 1950s: “There’s something mighty wholesome about a City whose people can pause …to remember an old and beloved dog.”

If you are in Daytona Beach, please stop and visit the memorial.

I am indebted to Eddie James for telling me about Brownie. I’ve always said, “If dogs just left diaries…”  Eddie has sent me so much material on Brownie (and Brownie was so loved during his lifetime) that I almost feel like Brownie did leave a diary. Thanks, too, to Eddie for the updated information and photographs.

What do you do if you run a dog rescue operation near Los Angeles

and want to move to Maine—with the dogs? Maybe you do what David Rosenfelt and his wife, Debbie Myers, did.

After spending months puzzling through the challenge of transferring their 25 dogs—many of which had health problems or were too old to be adopted by others–they ultimately rented three RVs and welcomed 11 wonderfully willing volunteers to help with the dogs. Their intention was to “drive straight through” as much as they possibly could.

Of course, not all could go as planned with 25 dogs involved. There were the inevitable stops for dog-walking, dog-feeding, and people-feeding as well as the need for drivers to sleep. However, David Rosenfelt documents it all with great humor in his book, Dogtripping: 25 Rescues, 11 Volunteers, and 3 RVs on Our Canine Cross-Country Adventure, a truly fun read.

In an interview with Bark magazine, Rosenfelt was asked what he would do differently about the trip: “What would I do differently? I don’t think anything. We had a great group of volunteers. If everybody else had their option, they would’ve done much the same; [they just should have] left me at home. They literally say it was one of the greatest adventures of their lives.

It was just terrible, but everyone else loved it.”

The Rescue Dog Life Began with a Date

Rosenfelt’s dog adventure began with a date. He had plans to go to a

movie with a woman to whom he had recently been introduced. After the movie, David suggested dinner. His date, Debbie Myers, demurred as she needed to go home and put eye drops in her dog’s eyes.

Between the two of them they finally resolved to have dinner, meeting 45 minutes post-eye drops. The dog in question, Tara, was a golden retriever whom Rosenfelt was soon to meet and also fall in love with.

Soon Rosenfelt and Myers became a couple and Tara became the dog they both adored. About a year later, Tara was diagnosed with cancer. It was a terrible day in the household. Debbie and David helped Tara live comfortably for as long as she could. When she died it was a total heartbreak.

Rosenfelt and Myers were at a loss as to what to do. Getting another dog right away didn’t feel right to Debbie, but they wanted a way to fill the hole in their hearts. A friend suggested they volunteer at the animal shelters around Los Angeles.

After work and on weekends, the couple helped out at several different shelters. They knew their work was important, but they also knew that so many animals needed even more help.

Debbie determined it was time for a new plan. She was still working full time at a major ad agency, but together with David they formed the Tara Foundation to try to help place more animals. Because of Tara, they were willing to rescue any golden retriever they heard about that was at risk of being euthanized, but they also had a soft spot for the older dogs or those with health problems that are hard to place.

Because they wanted those dogs to live out the end of their lives feeling loved and cared for, they began bringing those dogs home to stay.

In 2010 Debbie retired to focus full time on the dogs, and they quickly expanded from four dogs to 27 dogs. Initially, they lived in Santa Monica but eventually moved to a larger space in nearby Orange County.

With the move to more space, they began to take more dogs. Some they did find homes for; others they simply brought home to keep.

The Cross-Country Trip

Once Debbie and David firmed up the plan for their cross-country

trip, they went about gathering the supplies, the volunteers, and all that they would need for the adventure.  Rosenfelt does a great job of documenting the trip that they made four years ago in Dogtripping, and readers are kept laughing. Rosenfelt, who also writes the successful mystery series featuring Andy Carpenter, writes with wit and keeps his feet firmly based in reality. He sees their activities as “lunacy” but lunacy he would not give up for anything—he’s fully committed.

Once they arrived in Maine, they drove about 75 miles north of Portland to the house they owned near Damariscotta Lake. Next they undertook re-settling the dogs, sending the volunteers home with big hugs and deep gratitude, and building a new life for themselves.

In Maine unwanted dogs are a much smaller problem. Instead of running a rescue organization they now provide sanctuary for any dog that is not likely to be adopted because of age or poor health.  This summer they have 18 dogs with them, still plenty for David to have lots of company in and around his desk as he writes.

Being unable to sit down for a meal or get the dogs to move out of the recliner so he can watch television is just part of their daily life, as is feeding, dispensing medicines, cleaning up after the dogs, and generally making certain that the dogs that live with them—dogs that have been traumatized, mistreated, or in some way have seen a very dark side of life—enjoy a good quality of life and know they are sincerely loved.

Rosenfelt concludes Dogtripping with what he has learned from the experience:

“…if I’ve learned one thing during our descent into dog rescue lunacy, it’s that dogs bridge gaps between people. They smooth over the human condition, and they provide an extraordinarily valuable function. They take people of all political persuasions, religious faiths, and geographical locations and represent something that everyone can love. The value of that cannot be overstated.”

He now has two new books out: Lessons from Tara: Life Advice from the World’s Most Brilliant Dog, and his latest in the Andy Carpenter series (#13, Who Let the Dogs Out?) Life is good in their household.

George Tirebiter, a scraggly mutt, had the good sense to wander onto the campus of the University of Southern California in the early 1940s. He stayed around long enough that the students decided to make him mascot—a role he played with gusto for about seven years.

When Tirebiter arrived, he seemed to be a stray. Some say his owner lived nearby and had passed away, but no one really knows where the dog came from.  Whatever his origin, George Tirebiter arrived looking for free meals, companionship, and fun. At USC, a school known for its school spirit, he found it all.

Tirebiter’s Official Duties

His official mascot duties involved appearing at football games. Tirebiter led the Trojan band onto the field for each home football game. He was often wearing a USC sweater and cap.  He also appeared in photos with homecoming queens and sometimes rode in a parade car as one of the important school representatives.

His unofficial role sometimes involved coping with indignities heaped on him by the Spirit of Troy’s crosstown rival–the Bruins of the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA).

Tirebiter’s Story

There are many stories of where George came from, but only one story about his name. In the 1940s, University Avenue (now called Trousdale Parkway and a part of the campus now closed to vehicular traffic) provided a perfect place for George’s favorite hobby—chasing cars and biting the tires of the slower-moving ones. (He was said to take a lesser interest in bicycle tires.)

In 1947, before he was mascot, the students on campus for the summer session started a fundraising drive to collect money for Tirebiter to have a bath, a haircut, a nail trim, and a new collar as well as to pay for license renewal.

Perhaps that was the moment when the student body determined that George, their year-round eternal student, should be given a special honor.

Tirebiter Voted Mascot

On October 22, 1947, the unofficial mascot was voted in as an

official USC mascot. His coronation was celebrated with a campus-wide parade.  Just as the Hollywood stars placed their handprints in cement at Grauman’s (now TCL) Chinese Theatre, the USC festivities involved having George Tirebiter place his paw prints at the north entrance of the campus along with the footprints of SC’s All-American athletes and a favorite coach’s bow tie.

Shortly after he became the official mascot, he learned that the job was not all treats and games.

Dognapped!

One night soon after he was named mascot, he was dognapped by several UCLA students. As the events unfolded, the next time he

appeared was with said UCLA students who brought him to the offices of The Los Angeles Times (11/1/1947) with the story of their “heroism.” They stated that they had found the dog on UCLA’s Westwood campus—just as he was—and they were doing a good deed by returning him to the Trojans. “Just as he was” involved a very dispirited Tirebiter: He had the letters, UCLA, shaved into his coat.

The students left the newspaper offices and seem to have simply deposited him on the USC campus where he was found, groggy, probably from being anesthetized for the shaving. (The Los Angeles Times reporter did not remark on his mental condition.) The Trojans took him to a vet where he recuperated.

The USC football team made it to the Rose Bowl that year, and George Tirebiter was there. He kept his sweater on for the duration of the championship game so that his maimed coat was not visible), but that didn’t help the team. The Michigan Wolverines defeated USC in a blowout (49-0). [From the L.A. Times, January 1, 1948.]

Tirebiter Had Trojan Fight In Him

Most of the time, Tirebiter could take good care of himself. One year

at a football game he was being teased by the fellow who was in a bear costume representing the UCLA Bruin mascot. Tirebiter didn’t like being teased, so he took a bite out of the mask, nipping off the nose.

The students also loved the story of the time that Tirebiter chased Berkeley’s bear mascot up a goalpost.

Tirebiter Ages Out

Though he had only been in his official role for a few years, George Tirebiter was getting elderly for a dog. As he aged, he became a bit ornery.  He sometimes nipped people as well as tires. That was a tough thing for the school to defend, so administrators told students they needed to find a home for him. The summer of 1950, a USC alum who lived on ranch in El Centro, California, offered to take him. That was good news for the USC Trojan family.

Sadly, however, there were tires to be bitten on the ranch, too. George Tirebiter wasn’t as spry he once was. In September 1950, he was happily chasing a vehicle when he was run over.

Campus Takes the News Hard

Upon hearing the news, the Trojan Knights—the group that had

taken charge of Tirebiter on campus–immediately scheduled a funeral. A caravan of cars, led by the Knights and the Trojan Band, paraded through the campus on the way to a shrine near where George Tirebiter had left his paw prints.  After the crowd assembled, TAPS was played. Then the USC student body president, Al Wiggins, stepped forward to deliver a eulogy:

“From the gutters of University Avenue and the alleys of Jefferson Boulevard came this scroungy mutt, whose spirit captured the imagination of 15,000 students [and] epitomized the spirit of Troy.”

The Daily Trojan wrote: “Gone to Heaven where he will have cushion rides for breakfast, white sidewalls for lunch, and cold rubber recaps for dinner.”

Tirebiter Successor?

Immediately following the funeral, a campaign was undertaken to elect a successor. A good number of options were put forward, including, prophetically, the suggestion of a horse (a Trojan horse, of course).  But Hector, the horse, belonged to a stable and would have had to be rented for each use—a dog was much easier and much cheaper.

By September 28, 1950, a George Jr. was found.  He was owned by a

local doughnut shop owner and was also a mutt. Unfortunately, Tirebiter II became unnerved by the crowds at games and barked incessantly throughout.  By 1953 he was retired and Tirebiter III came in. Tirebiter III was also difficult to handle so he was given back to his owner.

George Tirebiter seemed to be irreplaceable. The mascot space was left empty until 1957 when a Tirebiter IV was selected. He served for one season and then went happily home with a professor, never to have to attend a game again.

By 1961 the Trojans welcomed their current and final mascot—a white horse called Traveler. The current Traveler (VII) is an Andalusian horse owned by Joanne Asman.

Remembering George Tirebiter

In 2006 the Blom family donated funds for a statue of Tirebiter, created by sculptor Michael Davis. The statue (a copy of the fluffier Tirebiter II) is on Trousdale Parkway, Tirebiter’s old tire-biting grounds, on the way from the campus to the Coliseum where USC plays its football games. Over time a tradition has arisen. In addition to kicking a light post before crossing the street, students also touch Tirebiter’s nose on their way to the games for good luck. Enough hands have touched the statue that the nose seems to be permanently shiny.

The plaque on the statue reads:

George Tirebiter: A Record and a Script

In addition to being USC’s first mascot, George Tirebiter I had the good sense to walk by the childhood home of David Ossman (1936-    ) who was to grow up to be one of four members of the comedy troupe, Firesign Theatre.

In one of Ossman’s early plays written for the group, he created an Everyman character named George Tirebiter. George was introduced in the 1970 recording, “Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers.”  Tirebiter became a recurring character in additional stream-of-consciousness plays that the group recorded and performed on radio. Today you can still purchase the “The Geroge Tirebiter Collection,” a series of CDs put out by Ossman’s Otherworld Media.

Recent Script Written

Two recent USC alums of the film school, Dustin Jacobs and Ronald

L Olson, Jr., found relevance for today’s audience in the Tirebiter story and have written a script, The Legend of George Tirebiter. They are in the pitch stage of development and are interested in hearing from backers. For more information, see The Legend of George Tirebiter’s facebook page, or write georgetirebiterfilm@gmail.com.

Bummer and Lazarus were stray dogs who wandered the streets of San Francisco in the 1860s, begging for handouts and patrolling the area for rats to kill. They were also good pals who were unified in all they did. Bummer was said to do the biting; Lazarus the barking.

The bond that grew between the two dogs attracted attention along Montgomery Street, the main street for restaurants and bars in San Francisco.  But Bummer and Lazarus had one other quality that strongly recommended them: they were excellent ratters at a time when rats were also a serious problem.

One day when a fruit stand was cleaning out an upper gallery, the men flushed out a huge number of rats. Bummer and Lazarus were right there to help with the clean-out, clearing the area of a reported 400 rats. Another time they were said to have killed 85 rats in 20 minutes.

While some felt sentimental about the pair, business owners came to seriously value having the two dogs around.

How Bummer and Lazarus Met

Bummer, a short-legged, black-and-white shaggy Newfoundland mix (“bull in his fighting quarters and Newfoundland in his vital parts”—Daily Evening Bulletin), was the first of the pair on the scene in San Francisco. According to research done by Malcolm E. Barker, author of Bummer and Lazarus: San Francisco’s Legendary Dogs, Bummer came to San Francisco with a reporter for the newspaper The Alta California (published for readers south of San Diego).  An article in that newspaper in 1861 said that Bummer would go along the street, looking for “an acquaintance or a lunch-eater,” and he persuasively bummed handouts, thereby earning his name.

Lazarus arrived under duress. He was described as a yellow-black cur, with long legs, smooth fur, and a weak chin. The dog was emaciated and being chased by a much larger street dog.  Bummer saw that the little dog was being threatened and stepped in to protect him. The big dog backed down, but by this time Lazarus had suffered a bad bite on the leg.  San Franciscans who stopped to observe the dogs didn’t think the smaller dog would make it.

Friendship Begins

After Bummer scared away the bigger dog, he let Lazarus limp to the safety of a protected doorway.  For the first couple of days, Bummer brought back handouts for the dog. At night, Lazarus lay closest to the door and Bummer curled up around him to keep him warm. (This was also the beginning of their long-time sleeping position—the two dogs curled up in the doorway, Lazarus falling asleep with his head on Bummer’s flank.) As Lazarus improved, he would limp along behind Bummer as Bummer gathered food for both of them.

The cur gained the name “Lazarus” because those who had observed the fight couldn’t believe he lived—it was as if he had risen from the dead. (In the Gospel of John, Jesus restores Lazarus to life four days after he died.)

Martin’s, one of the bars along Montgomery Street, was a big hang out for newspapermen; the friendship of the two dogs and Lazarus’ recovery began to seem like good stories (particularly after a few drinks).  As a result, readers today have eyewitness reports as to the comings and goings of the dogs, though some of the stories are clearly “yarns.”

The dogs also caught the interest of French illustrator Edward Jump, whose cartoons were often published in the various papers.  For that reason, images of the dogs live on.

Street Dogs Multiply

In the mid-nineteenth century, Bummer and Lazarus were not unique in western towns. As the population of communities grew, so did the presence of stray animals.  In Los Angeles in the 1840s, dogs actually outnumbered people by two to one.  San Francisco’s problem was less severe but there was still a high population of wandering dogs.

As the town became more overrun by dogs, the Board of Supervisors passed an ordinance in April of 1862 authorizing a dog catcher to pick up and destroy all dogs that were not claimed after a certain period of time.  This included Bummer and Lazarus.

Merchants stepped in to defend the pair.  Like barn cats that get rid of mice, Bummer and Lazarus were earning their keep on Montgomery Street. Restaurateurs and bar owners wanted to keep them around. A petition was started, and several hundred people signed; enough to get it introduced at a meeting of the Board of Supervisors.

On June 17, 1862, the newspapers reported that the two dogs waited outside the supervisors’ meeting in order to hear their fate. If, indeed, Bummer and Lazarus were there, they were lured by a fine snack provided by a restaurant owner in order to bolster the case that was to be presented via the public petition. It is doubtful that the dogs stayed long after the snack was served.

And really, no need for them to stay. The meeting was well covered by the newspapers, and the Board of Supervisors agreed that the two dogs should be left untouched. Bummer and Lazarus were given the freedom to roam as they liked–winning hearts and killing rodents.

Death of Lazarus

In 1863 Lazarus was poisoned with rat-bait laced meat.  The father of a young boy claimed that Lazarus had bitten his son, and therefore, the dog deserved to die.

After an uncomfortable night with Bummer at his side, Lazarus passed away. Bummer was said to spend the rest of the day looking for him in all the places the two would have gone.  Unbeknownst to Bummer, however, Frederick Martin (owner of Martin’s Bar) had taken the body to a to a local taxidermist to have him stuffed.

A couple of weeks later, proprietor Martin picked up the “new” Lazarus and brought it back to Montgomery Street. He was said to have shown it to a very puzzled Bummer before he put the dog on display at the bar.

In early 1864, The Daily Morning Call (7-31-1864) wrote that a young puppy was hanging around Bummer.  The reporter mentioned that it was too soon to know if this was a new “Lazarus.”  (It was later reported that Bummer’s lack of enthusiasm for the pup sent the pup off to seek his own fortune.)

Bummer’s Life After Lazarus

Bummer lived two more years after Lazarus’ death, but reportedly he was not the same after losing his canine companion.  In 1865 he was kicked down a flight of stairs on Montgomery Street by a man who had too much to drink.  Bummer was clearly injured and died two months later.

The newspapers were competitive and were rushing to be first to report Bummer’s demise.  This resulted in several false reports of his death—and subsequent returns to life. The Daily Evening Bulletin (9-15-1865) wrote:

“This morning while a party of mourners were standing around his prostate body in Clay Street and lamenting his untimely end, Bummer suddenly jumped up and walked across the street with head and tail erect, looking fresh and hearty…”

These stories alternated between sweet tributes to the dog and jaded remarks like those of Mark Twain who wrote: “full of years, and honor, and disease and fleas;” Twain also felt Bummer would be forgotten in a few days’ time.

But there were also loving poems.  One reader submitted the following to The Alta California:

He, who was faithful to the end, 
The noble Bummer sleeps;
Gone hence to join his better friend,
Where doggy never weeps."

Bummer and Lazarus’ Plaque

On March 28, 1992 a brass plaque was placed in Transamerica Redwood Park (at Montgomery and Columbus Ave.) to commemorate the two dogs from the 1860s:

Bummer and Lazarus were two stray dogs who roamed this part of San Francisco in the 1860s. Their devotion to each other endeared them to the citizenry, and the newspapers reported their joint adventures, whether stealing a bone from another dog, uncovering a nest of rats or stopping a runaway horse. Though authorities destroyed other strays on sight, the city permitted these two to run free. Indeed, they were welcome, regular customers at popular eating and drinking establishments on Montgomery Street. Contrary to common belief, they were not Emperor Norton’s dogs. [Norton was an eccentric fellow who roamed the streets of San Francisco for 21 years, claiming to be Emperor.] They belonged to no one person, they belonged to San Francisco. When Lazarus died in October of 1863 (followed by Bummer in November of 1865), a reporter for the “Bulletin” describe them thus:

“Two dogs with but a single bark, two tails that wagged as one.” 

National Mutt Day, celebrated on July 31, was created by animal advocate, author, and editor Colleen Paige to raise awareness of the number of mixed breed dogs in shelters that desperately await new homes. Her website says it well: “In every heart there is a hole…in every shelter there is love to fill it.”

To help carry the message that mixed breed dogs make great pets, American Dogs is featuring a story that appeared in The New York Times on December 17, 1939, “In Praise of Mutts: Canine and Human,” by Henry M. Curran.

Curran’s essay talks of the fact that the American people are very much a blend of many peoples, and for that reason, we should be particularly tolerant of mixed breed animals: “Yellow, brown, or black and tan, tail or no tail, head or cow catcher, rough or smooth of coat, the mutt, above all dogs, is filled with an affection for mankind that is the loveliest of consistently misplaced trust that nature affords. He never wavers. He will die for it, die happily. There is little in mankind to compare with it.”

A Mixed Breed Dog Comes to Visit

Curran then tells a story of a dog who clearly came to him, looking for a home. He describes the dog as a city dog who, in his later years, must have decided to move to the country.  When the dog appeared on the doorstep, the two-legged master said, “Come in!”  The story continues:

“To this day [Frankie] is grateful, obedient, affectionate to a fault. He shakes hands. He barks only in welcome or to warn of danger. He can fight like a fiend, but does not, because the dogs of the neighborhood know Frankie’s abilities with the first look. He is not the half of an inch jealous of the thoroughbreds who share his master’s affections.  He is an old gentleman now.  Frankie will not last for long. But his brown eyes giving their message as no words can do, will last the lives of the lucky family that knows the heart behind the eyes.  Frankie is a mutt.

“If all the mutts could live as Frankie does, it would be a just and fair world. But mostly it is otherwise. Harried, hunted, hungry, the mutt is usually on his own, a stranger to laps and leashes and little coats, an alley waif, a light cruiser dodging the bombs and mines of mutt life.  Yet his affection is there, overriding his experience. His faith is there,and his love of the humans who hurl rocks at him, turn up their noses and murmur, “Just a mutt.”  His heart, that belies his curious hide, is there; loyal, warm and overflowing—golden it is—and that is all that counts in this little life we live.”

What We Can Do

If your household is filled with as many four-legged friends as you can manage right now, send a few dollars (as little as $5-10 will help) to your local shelter.  They can use all the support they can get.

My Mixed Breed Household

I currently have two mixed breeds, one of whom had a broken leg when the shelter (the Lange Foundation) pulled him from the pound.  This shelter had been given a “surgery fund” by a donor, so since Teddy was only a year or two old, the shelter invested in getting his leg repaired so he could be adopted.  The shelter has a no-kill policy so one year after Teddy came in, he was still there when we were looking.  He occasionally favors the injured leg but it doesn’t slow him down a bit.

And he’s smart enough to know that the dog who was brought to us after she was rescued on the streets of Mexico is the family’s boss.   There’s not a day that goes by when they don’t seem to thank us for opening our home.  (My husband would note that they are probably just saying, “thanks for dinner.”  But what does he know?)