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One very cold day in the winter of 1862 there came to the Third Alabama Hospital,
in Richmond, Virginia, a sick soldier, belonging to the Third Alabama Regiment.
He was shivering, and so hoarse that he could only speak in whispers.
Instead of going at once to bed, however, he sat down upon a bench by the stove, keeping his blanket drawn closely over his chest.
His teeth were chattering, and continued to do so until I ordered him to go to his bed immediately, meanwhile hastening down-stairs to prepare for him a hot drink.
Upon my return, my patient was in bed, closely covered up,—head and all. As soon as I turned down the bedclothes from his face, I was startled by a furious er-r-r-r bow-wow, wow, wow, which also attracted the attention of every one in the large ward.
Of course it was impossible longer to conceal the fact that the new patient had brought with him a dog, so he showed me-nestling under his arm—a young
Newfoundland puppy, looking like nothing so much as a fluffy black ball.
His bright eyes gleamed fiercely and he continued to bark in a shrill tone, which could not be allowed to continue, as it excited and disturbed the sick.
I am a lover of dogs, and now offered to take charge of this little waif.
His master was unwilling to part with him, but there was no alternative, so I carried him off down-stairs, where, installed in comfortable quarters and petted by everybody, the ungrateful little dog seemed to forget the sick
