The Great Mount Ayr Dog Holocaust of 1925
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[Editor’s note: In recognition of Mount Ayr’s sesquicentennial observance next year, the Record-News will run an occasional feature story recounting the early days of the city and county. Items are told in the colorful vernacular of the day in which they were written, but some have been edited with discretion.]
From the Mount Ayr Record-News,Thursday, March 25, 1925
Written Unanimously
“Doggone!”
A dog holocaust has occurred in Mount Ayr and the canine depopulation has been thorough and complete.
It seems that some imperial Caesar with a disordered stomach took the majesty of the law into his own hands and set Saturday, March 21st, as the date to slaughter of the innocents.
This monstrous Nero and self-constituted hangman instead of resorting to the old-fashioned rope methods of ending innocent life scattered succulent meat with a relish of arsenic in the usual habitats of the dog tribe.
The fiendish trap was sprung between the hours of 11 a.m. and high noon and the census taker reports that during that fateful hour about a score (twenty) of dogs were ushered into the portals of dog heaven, there to continue to wag their tails in appreciation of some kindly human voice and to express their gratitude with their wonderfully wistful and appealing eyes for such tempting morsels of food as might be thrown at them by the eternal administrator of their heavenly abode.
Included in the list of causualities was “Nig,” a clever homeless dog who was the companion and protector of Harve Seevers on his walks from home to shop.
Then there was “Little Billie” who took up his home in the post office lobby to escape the ravages of the winter’s storms. At least one of his ancestors belonged to the Fox Terrior tribe, and even though this innocent dog never harmed a festive flea, still he was placed on the conscription list.
And the chief of the whole tribe of dogs departed this life with his companions. This was “Buck” the fine Collie owned by Paul Anderson, and a fitting companion for Jack London’s dog that answered the call of the wild in far off Alaska and proceeded to improve the breed of his original ancestors.
Dr. Bailey, who loves a dog, mourns with Grant Hayes and all bereft of dogs, and rejoices that he is still permitted to feed his homeless stray.
But why bring tears to the eyes of Record-News dog loving readers by a further recital of the harrowing details of the massacre. Enough tears have been shed already. It is even related that there are fiends incarnate in this man’s town who smiled audibly when told that Emery Saltzman shed briny tears on being informed that some of his devoted canine friends would appear no more to feed from the bounty of his larder.
Those who do not love a dog and whose natures are void of those kindlier impulses of the human heart, should pause in their gleeful expressions over this wanton outrage on the canine species, and for one brief moment think of the little heartbroken children sobbing their hearts out for a dog that will never return, and see them as they cling for comfort and consulation to the maternal bosom and between sob asking beseechingly in sweet innocent anguish, “Mamma dear, why don’t papa bring our dog back home?”
This is no time for boisterous demonstrations of joy. It is a more fitting time for alll to reflect on the shortness of life and the certaitnty of death. Nature is rejuvinating. It looks like an early and beautiful spring. Already the robins and the blue birds are mating and their sweet love notes are adding an indescribable joy to life.
