The Infamous Black Bird Southern Oregon History, Revised

Medford Mascots

Notable pets--the good, the bad--in the history of Medford, Oregon.

    There is rejoicing in dog heaven, but the canine population of Medford is wearing crepe and shedding tears of sorrow and regret--old Rex has gone home. He was the well-known bird dog belonging to W. W. Cardwell and his demise was due to the fact that old Father Time decided his stay amid the trials and troubles of the wicked and perverse dog generation had been of a duration quite sufficient--hence the shuffling off--Rex has gone home.
"All the Local News," Medford Mail, June 23, 1893, page 3

    Medford now levies a tax of $1.25 on each male dog and $2.25 on each female.
"Medford Squibs," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, February 12, 1894, page 2

    Last Thursday little Bertha, the ten-year-old daughter of landlord J. G. Ireland, of the Clarendon, while playing with a dog was badly bitten through the arm by that animal. The child complained of the arm paining her a few hours later, but the parents thought it was nothing serious, but when they saw the arm Saturday morning they were alarmed to no small degree, as they well might be, for her arm was black for some distance around the wound. Dr. Geary was called, and after a few hours treatment the patient began to improve and is now all right again.
"News of the City," Medford Mail, June 8, 1894, page 3

    "Jack," the marshal's dog, died last Thursday after a long and honorable career. He first commenced duty when H. W. Grimes was chief of police, about nine years ago, and never lost a night until his last illness. No matter who filled the marshal's office, "Jack" always was his attendant and assimilated his characteristics, following none else. He was decently buried the next day, with proper ceremonies, those whom he had served in an official capacity being chief mourners. Requiescat in pace.

"Local Notes," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, March 13, 1899, page 3

A Smart Dog.
    J. D. Heard of Medford, Or., an enthusiastic sportsman, relates an interesting story showing the sagacity and intelligence displayed by an English setter dog called Puppy, owned by G. E. Neuber, one of Jacksonville's leading sportsmen. Heard, Neuber, J. A. Whitman and Chas. Prim were quail shooting one day last fall, along the banks of Bear Creek, one of the tributaries of Rogue River, and a superb hunting country, by the way. A bevy of at least fifty birds were suddenly flushed and took flight across the creek, about 150 feet wide there, seeking cover in the willows fringing the opposite side of the stream. Heard called to his dog Rex, a son of Puppy out of Neuber's bitch Snow, and ordered him across the water, intending to send him around behind the quails so that they would be driven back to the shooter's side. Rex took to the water at his master's behest and bravely swam the rapid current, quartering down the stream. In doing so he got into a strong eddy caused by a large brush heap, and the best he could do was to "swing around the circle." Efforts to recall him were of no avail. Suddenly Puppy, who had been an interested observer of events, seemed to discern the predicament of the other dog, and springing into the water was quickly in the miniature maelstrom, and without more ado took a firm grip on Rex's ear with his teeth, turning shoreward, and soon had the almost exhausted Rex in safety. After a short rest Puppy and Rex, with Whitman's Gordon setter, crossed the stream further down and were directed up to and behind where the quails were still in refuge. They flushed them, the birds flying back to the side where the shooters were, and a number were bagged in good style.--[S.F. Breeder and Sportsman.
Democratic Times,
Jacksonville, April 5, 1900, page 3

    Ed. Van Dyke has lost his dog--six months old; full-blood Gordon setter; color, black--lost Sunday, Sept. 1st. Will pay reward. Leave information at store of J. G. Van Dyke & Co.
"Additional Local," Medford Mail, September 6, 1901, page 6

    Mr. and Mrs. J. A. Perry left Sunday morning for Albany, Oregon, where they will visit relatives for a couple of weeks. Mr. Perry is figuring on bagging a goodly number of China pheasants while in that locality--and Dr. Pickel, of this city, will join him in a few days of the sport--and try the mettle in his new fifty-dollar bird dog.
"Purely Personal," Medford Mail, October 4, 1901, page 6

    A sight familiar enough to citizens, yet which attracts the attention of strangers, is the one made by J. Beek, the hardware man, and his splendid Newfoundland dog while going along the street to and from his place of business. When walking Mr. Beek leans heavily for support upon the dog, and the faithful fellow, as though conscious of the duty depending upon himself, steps slowly and carefully along, suiting his pace to that of his master. Victor, as the dog is called, can do everything but talk. He is five years old and weighs 156 pounds. Mr. Beek purchased him when a pup from John Miller of Jacksonville. The dog has a fine, broad forehead, denoting unusual sagacity and big, kindly eyes.
"Medford Squibs," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, March 27, 1902, page 4

    A Citizen:--"Some of these moonlight nights I'm going to act contrary to the peace and dignity of the city of Medford, and I don't care who knows the reason thereof. Every once in awhile the canine population of this man's burg takes a notion to have vocal exercises, and invariably they choose my neighborhood for a general rendezvous. They start something like the farmers' band that parades the streets before a performance of "Joshua Whitcomb." Way in the distance a faint bark is heard, then another in a different direction, then more somewhere else. They keep getting closer and closer, until finally they converge as near as possible to my bedroom window. Some of these times I'm going to load an old-fashioned ten-bore shotgun I know of with slugs, nails and any old thing I can get and take a potshot at that canine orchestra. The old gun may kick hard enough to kill me, but if the superstition of the Indians is anywhere near right I'll be sure to have plenty of dogs with which to chase game in the happy hunting grounds."
"Street Echoes," Medford Mail, August 26, 1904, page 1

    Nearly sixteen years ago George Coulter, the painter, one dark, rainy night, picked up a bedraggled kitten in the street, near the Hotel Nash. He carried the kitten into the barroom and fixed him comfortably by the stove. The kitten waxed and grew strong and in time became a cat of large size and dignified mien, and the name of "Jerry" was bestowed upon him. Up to two years ago "Jerry" was boss of the hotel. No dog was allowed to invade that portion of the house which he regarded as his particular territory. He stayed through all the changes which took place in the management up to two years ago, when he left because he and Ragsdale's dog couldn't get along together. He was known to all the old citizens in the town, and nobody had anything but kind words for Jerry. The only time he was ever defeated in battle in his prime was when he tackled a cub bear, which refused to run, and in a short time Jerry was compelled to retire to the top of the barroom partition, where he remained, defiant but careful not to come down, until the bear was led away. About ten days ago old Jerry, worn out by the weight of years, passed away, and if there is a happy hunting ground for good cats, he is there.
    Since the above was put in type, "Old Jerry" has reappeared, and as a consequence has the distinction, enjoyed by few humans, of having good things said about him before his death.
"An Ancient Feline," Medford Mail, September 15, 1905, page 5

Strange Dog, Foaming at Mouth, Terrorizes Inhabitants in West Medford
and Is Dispatched by a Bullet--Owner Is Unknown.
    A huge dog, evidently with a strain of collie in him, ran amuck on South Grape Street Sunday afternoon, terrorizing the residents of that section until he was dispatched by one of the inhabitants. A number of people who were on the street sought safety in flight, and 'tis said that more than one young lady climbed garden fences with great dexterity to escape the mad animal.
    The dog appeared suddenly upon the street as a number of young folks were returning from the ball game. He was fairly "yelping his head off" and was foaming at the mouth. One of the residents rushed into his house, and when the rifle spoke the career of the canine was over.
    The dog was a stranger and no one appears to know its owner.
Medford Mail Tribune, April 4, 1910, page 8

Seeks Relief from Canines.
    Anent the controversy over the worthless cur question, now being waged in the columns of the Oregonian, a correspondent who is evidently well known in this vicinity pens the following in denunciation of "Old Dog Tray."
    "The writer's recollection of Medford, Ore., is that about one year since, his wife and self, after three nights' loss of sleep there, caused by hundreds of barking, howling curs making night hideous, had to leave that dog town and go on to Ashland to secure a night's slumber. The merchants of Salem, Ore., posted placards in their windows requesting their customers to leave their dogs outside. Will some dog defender set forth the benefits to Portland in its vast army of useless brutes? Sanitary measures alone should be sufficient to relegate this filthy monster to the wilds where he belongs, as not only does he befoul the food we eat, but our beautiful storefronts and doorways. Awaken, fetish worshipers and dog idolators! Alaskan wilds and trails need your dogs--the more wolf in them the better. Portland has thrown off the garb of savagery and wilderness, and can well dispense with any and all adjuncts of the wilds. Awaken, say I, make this a city for men and women, civilized men and women. Turn your eyes for a time on God's little children, and exterminate or send to the wilds this filthy monster, this ever-present menace to life, limb, property and comfort in any town or city."
Ashland Tidings, August 1, 1910, page 2

    "Dick," the coach pup, which was been following the fire wagon since he was weaned, was run over and killed on Main Street by an automobile Friday afternoon. Apparently no effort was made by the drivers of the car to dodge the little dog, and he was instantly killed.
"Social and Personal," Medford Mail Tribune weekly, September 1, 1910, page 7

Blooded Cats in Medford
    How many people are aware that Medford possesses a kennel of long-haired or Persian cats, known as the Westover Cattery, where the animals have been imported from England's most highly pedigreed stock? And is it generally known in the West that the United States Department of Agriculture sanctions a stud book for those beautiful animals?
    The breeding of cats is yet in its infancy, particularly in the West, where little attention has been paid to a cat of any kind (unless it proved to be a disturber of the midnight peace), where it has been carried on in a hit-or-miss fashion for a number of years. And it is only recently that fanciers have come to realize that a cat must be bred in its own color for many generations to command any price.
    The Westover Cattery breeds only silvers and silver tabbies. The former are pale gray, almost a lavender tinge, and some are so pale as to seem practically white, until they are placed beside a really white cat.
    The silver tabbies have the same gray undercoat, overlaid with broad black stripes and wheels. During the winter the cats have [a] very heavy coat, but as they shed much of it during the summer months, they have not gotten their heavy coats on yet.
    This cattery has not been in existence a great while, but possesses three breeders of the silvers and seven tiny kittens of both varieties, besides a brown tabby, and it is well worth the trip to see the little kittens at play. These cats have their own apartments, which are very airy and sanitary, besides a big outdoor run, where they can go at will. They are in fine condition and very handsome animals, and whether one is fond of cats or not, they are well worth seeing.
Medford Mail Tribune, September 25, 1910, page 14

    The Oregon dog keeps up his evil reputation for causing quarrels. The last difficulty reported happened at Medford and brought one man to his death, while another is a murderer. If the value of all the curs in Oregon could be boiled down into a jar of jelly, it would not be worth the life of a man, nor would it compensate for the lost peace of a neighborhood.
Sunday Oregonian, Portland, September 25, 1910, page C6

"Jack" Shows Up Again After Short Vacation--Often Goes Off on a Trip,
But He Never Fails To Show Up Again for Something To Eat.
    "Well, here I am again," said Jack, the yellow dog who has his habitat at Warner, Wortman & Gore's grocery, as nearly as he could in dog language, as he bounded into the store, barking vociferously, Friday morning.
    Jack has a history. He became acquainted with Lou Warner at the depot while the latter was looking out for the dinner business several months ago, and recognizing him as pretty good people, adopted him. From that on Jack was there at every train, watched the trucks and incidentally took care of the business. Finally he drifted down to the store and made his headquarters there. Twice has he been claimed by different parties and taken protesting away, but each time he has returned joyously to the store. Last evening he was claimed and taken away with a rope around his neck, but this morning he showed up bright and early with an appetite which might have been the reason of his desertion of his latest master.
Medford Mail Tribune, November 4, 1910, page 8

Nine Lives Snuffed Out at Medford Substation.
    Mail Tribune:--Nine lives were snuffed out in the twinkling of an eye at the Medford substation of the Rogue River Electric Company on a recent evening, when a cat, the official pet of the employees, flicked her caudal appendage against a wire carrying 20,000 volts and went to sleep. The proverbial eight lives went with the first. There was no "comeback" to this pussy.
    The cat was taking its regular prowl about the station when the tragedy occurred. She had jumped upon the top of the big transformers as was her custom and was stepping from one to the other, purring her contentment and waving her tail back and forth. That waving tail was the cat's undoing. In some way the caudal appendage connected with one of the 20,000-volt wires, there was a subdued mee-ow, and it was all off with the cat.
Ashland Tidings, November 17, 1910, page 1

Mrs. Paul Janney Exhibits Her Blue Blood Felines--
Many Blue Ribbons Are Annexed, As Well As Medals, Cups, Etc.
    Medford has come to the front again, and this time it is in a new line, for at the cat show which was held in Seattle last week three medals and nine ribbons (three of which were blue ribbons) were won by cats which are owned and exhibited by the Westover Cattery.
    Out of the 175 cats exhibited, "Flying Fox," a beautiful Angora, was considered the "best cat in the show," and won two medals and seven ribbons (two of which were blue). He also received wins on three silver cups--it takes winnings from three exhibits to claim a cup--besides winning first place in the three classes in which he was exhibited--novice, open and winner classes.
    There is no other cat of the color of Flying Fox west of Chicago, and there is no cat from the same family west of New York. This is the first time he has been entered in an exhibit, and he will enter all the shows on the coast.
    Amarye, another Angora, won two ribbons (one blue) and a silver medal. Mrs. Paul Janney--nee Spink--is the owner of the cats, and as she was unable to attend the show, sent the cats in charge of Mrs. Howard of Portland.
    Mrs. Janney will be the judge of the cat show in Portland next month.
Medford Mail Tribune, December 25, 1910, page 6

F. V. Medynski, W. W. Eifert and Others Lose Valuable Animals--
Six or Eight Dogs Killed During Past Three Days.
    That vandals and dog poisoners are holding undisputed carnival in the residential portion of Medford is the charge made by a number of persons who, within the last week, suffered the loss of dogs, valuable either for their real or fancied worth, at their hands.
    Early Thursday morning F. V. Medynski of 316 North Central Street was awakened by the barking of his dog, a hound valued by its owner as a bird dog. Going to the enclosure behind his residence Mr. Medynski let the suffering animal into the house, where it was seized with convulsions a few moments later and died. A physician who was summoned pronounced strychnine poisoning as the cause of death.
    Councilman W. W. Eifert, whose residence is in the same block, also lost a dog, a valuable cocker spaniel, in the same way. Three other dogs were reported this morning to have been poisoned during the night, and the dead body of an unclaimed collie dog is lying at the corner of North Central and Fourth streets.
    Numerous chicken thefts have been reported in the same vicinity lately, and the belief prevails that these miscreants are wantonly poisoning dogs in order to make stealing easier.
    Chief of Police Shearer has been notified and is conducting an investigation.
Medford Mail Tribune, December 30, 1910, page 4

Did This Dog Commit Suicide?
Feared Prize Homely Canine of the Valley
Grieved Over its Insignificant Appearance
and Made Way with Itself--Has Disappeared.

    The prize homely dog of the valley has disappeared. It is a forlorn looking, woebegone, sad-faced animal that appears to have lost its best friend and to be hopelessly adrift, a derelict in the dog world--neither smart, nor frisky, nor big enough to be valuable for sausage. Its head is abnormally long and its body absurdly short, while its wiry hair tries in vain to hide its defects.
    The dog gives the impression of perpetually grieving over its insignificant appearance and to be contemplating leaving this vale of tears and sorrows by the shortest possible route. Indeed, it would not cause much surprise if investigation proved it had actually committed suicide, though drug store records fail to disclose any purchase of poison made by the animal.
    This apology of the canine world answers to the name of Kirrie, and is the property of Mrs. George H. Carpenter, who is quite proud of it, presumably because there is no dog in its own peculiar class of beauty, at least not in this neck of the woods. "It" is what is known as an Aberdeen Scotch terrier. "It" is said to be a prize winner, presumably as a freak, at least there can be no other reason trumped up for a blue ribbon.
    "It" can't be very far away, for its legs aren't long enough to make either speed or distance records, but if you see it, telephone Mrs. Carpenter at the Eden Valley Orchard.
Medford Mail Tribune, April 18, 1911, page 4        See "The Merry Career of a Bulldog," below.

Oldest Dog in Southern Oregon--Had Remarkable History--
End Follows Paralysis of Spine
    "Pug," the oldest dog in southern Oregon, went to the happy hunting grounds Sunday. He was more familiar on the streets than most of the people of Medford, having been here while many a family came and went and others arrived to take their places. "Pug" was the property of B. S. Radcliff, of the Horseshoe Saloon, and he became so old and infirm in the past few years that he rarely ever ventured from his home on Front Street, a short distance south of the Hotel Nash.
    "Pug" was brought here twenty years ago from eastern Oregon by C. C. Ragsdale, then proprietor of the Nash, who bought the hotel from "Shorty" Hamilton. The dog then was four years old. He was a yellow pug in breed, and his chief accomplishment consisted in being a pet but a very wise one. He was particularly sociable with persons who had done him kindnesses, fed him dainty things, but he drew the line on beer, which he would not drink. Many persons have remarked that he had a beer look during his old age, as many saloon dogs have, but "Pug" never drank it. If you did him an injury he never forgot it. Some seven years ago some fellows in the Nash played a mean trick on him, and he never entered the hotel after that. He would not even walk on the sidewalk when he wished to go around into Main Street, but invariably took the middle of the street when passing the Nash.
    For quite awhile he had been showing signs of weakness of the spine, and Saturday night he had lost control of his hindquarters, probably by paralysis of the spine. As an act of humanity "Pug" was relieved of his misery by chloroform.
    It is a part of the local tradition that several years ago the sum of $25 was deposited in the Jackson County Bank to be used on the death of "Pug" to give him a decent burial. As his death occurred on Sunday while the bank was closed, Mr. Radcliff had the obsequies performed without application to the bank for the deposit.
Medford Sun, May 23, 1911, page 5

Ray and Frazier to Start Cat Farm
   Before leaving for San Francisco, Col. Frank H. Ray left with Frank Frazier plans for establishing a cat farm, which promises to be a fortune maker for the promoters. A limited amount of stock is offered for a few days by Mr. Frazier.
    Colonel Ray's plan for this great money coiner shows his Wall Street training. It is as follows:
    The object of this company is to operate a large cat ranch near Tolo where land can be purchased cheaply. To start with, we will collect about, say, 100,000 cats. Each cat will average twelve kittens a year. The skins will sell for from 10 cents for the white ones to 75 cents for the pure black. We will have about 12,000,000 to sell, at an average of 30 cents apiece, making our revenue about $10,000 a day.
    A man can skin fifty cats a day. He will charge $2 a day for his labor. It will take about 100 men to operate the ranch, therefore the profit will be about $9,800 a day.
    We will feed the cats on rats, and will start a rat ranch adjoining the cat ranch. The rats will multiply four times as fast as the cats, and if we start with 100,000 rats we will have four rats a day for each cat, which is plenty.
    We will feed the cats on rats, and in turn will feed the rats on the stripped carcasses of the cats, thus giving each rat one-fourth of a cat.
    It will be seen by these figures that the business will be self-acting and automatic. The cats will eat the rats and the rats will eat the cats, and we will get the skins.
Medford Mail Tribune weekly, November 30, 1911, page 3   Due to numerous inquiries, it's apparently necessary to point out that this is a joke. Ray and Frazier had no intent to actually begin a cat farm.

Proprietor and Clerk Give Mad Pursuit, But Escapes with Ill-Gotten Gains
    A dog with an unknown name and an unknown capacity for meat caused a great deal of excitement on West Main Street Thursday afternoon.
    Fido, Sport, or whatever his name might have been, is an extremely wise dog, and when he saw a nice assortment of meats lying within reach at the West Side Butcher Shop, owned by Louis Heil, he immediately figured a plan for obtaining some of his favorite flesh.
    Lying on the table with other meats was a nice ham and a string of link sausages. Pork was evidently his choice, for he walked up to a ham that had been cut in two to show the quality of the meat, grabbed the ham, dropped it, grabbed a yard of sausage and then picked up the ham in his teeth and started down the street like Barney Oldfield breaking a record.
    During the process of selection the clerk, followed by Mr. Heil, ran from behind the counter, emitting threats and entreaties in the same breath. The hungry cur, thinking to appease his pursuers, dropped the ham, but continued in his mad race down the street, with a yard of sausage literally flying from the corners of his mouth, like bonnet strings in a Kansas cyclone.
    Pursuit was useless, and the sausages were so soiled that recovery would be of no benefit, so the butcher, followed by the clerk, entered the shop "sadder and wiser men." The hound, seeing that the pursuers had abandoned the chase, stopped, took one of the mud-covered links, devoured it in a single gulp, picked up the remaining number and trotted out of sight.

Medford Sun, December 30, 1911, page 6

    A furious bull terrier, using old-style football tactics, this morning attacked and threw one of the heavy farm horses being driven by W. R. Lamb on East Main Street. A large crowd saw the dug run under the team, seize the horse by the leg and drag it to the pavement. When this was done the dog transferred his grip to the horse's nose, closed its eyes and hung on after the manner that its ancestors have made proverbial.
    The horse, crazed with pain, struggled to its feet and tossed its head and reared high in the air trying in vain to shake off the persistent pup. In a few seconds the street at Main and Bartlett was blocked with people and some of the more venturesome quieted the horse while others pried the dog's jaws loose. The horse was badly injured. An officer, who had helped in freeing the horse, arrested the now frolicsome dog, tucked it under his arm and marched him to jail.
    Judged Canon gave Mr. Bull Pup a short but solemn hearing, and the prisoner being unable to offer anything in his favor, a death sentence was passed. In the canine happy hunting grounds the dog is now chasing anything it likes and the owner, Harry Davis, is mourning the loss of a valuable animal.
Medford Mail Tribune weekly, January 11, 1912, page 3


Auto in Hurry Passes Over Mongrel Playing in Sunshine--

Passes to Happy Hunting Grounds
    "Doc," an English bulldog, known all over the city for his playfulness and amiable disposition toward other members of the canine family and to man as well, was instantly killed yesterday by an automobile.
    "Doc" was owned by A. W. Walker, proprietor of the Nash stables, and by him as well as those who worked in the stables he was highly prized and somewhat privileged. For in spite of his ancestral tendencies, training had made him civilized enough to refrain from taking an undue advantage of the other pups that frequent the city. At the time of his sudden death "Doc" and several dogs of the neighborhood were engaged in a friendly wrestling bout in front of the Nash stables. "Doc" was lying on the pavement and playfully slapping another shaggy cur, who upon the reception of each blow would cavort around like a young colt, only to come back for another love tap.
    The automobile, one of those on the Gorst auto livery and traveling north along Front Street, swerved from its course as it neared the dogs, and "Doc," being undermost in a pile of assorted pups, was unable to escape. In a vain endeavor to escape, the hind wheel passed over his neck, and "Doc," playful "Doc," was dead.
    "I won't do anything," said Mr. Walker; "the dogs had no business in the street, but I am of the opinion that it might have been avoided."
Medford Sun, January 21, 1912, page 1

    Little Rastus, the best known scotch terrier in Jackson County, died at his home in Jacksonville yesterday of rabies. The little fellow belonged to Bill Barnum, who praised him very highly. There was not a trip made by the large motor running between Medford and the county seat that little Rastus could not be seen sitting beside his master apparently as much concerned as he himself
Medford Sun, undated clipping

    "Bully" is the name of Austin Corbin's costly bull terrier--or rather was his name. Bully was white, full of joy of life for himself but not for others. He has lost his life--but not in saving others.
    "Bully" began his career on the Yankee Creek ranch of his owner. He first won fame by valiantly assaulting, conquering and slaughtering two of a neighbor's thoroughbred hogs. This escapade cost his owner a pretty penny, and when he left on a visit to New York, "Bully" left also to spend a vacation with Phil Hamil.
    After a day or two spent in familiarizing himself with his new surroundings, "Bully" started in on a merry career. He visited George Carpenter's home and, not liking the appearance of Mrs. Carpenter's $250 prize Aberdeen terrier, proceeded to strangle it. When tired of playing with its lifeless body "Bully" started for home, but seeing a neighbor's prize Rhode Island Red rooster, took it along, despite the vigorous protests of its owner.
    Meandering around the hills, Bully fell into a farmer's steel coyote trap. He was held prisoner for two days, and when freed Mr. Hamil tried to restrain his exuberance by attaching him to a log chain fastened to two flatirons. In the meantime Mr. Corbin had heard of the escapades of his pet, and the wires clicked with the following death sentence: "Please have Bully killed without delay."
Medford Mail Tribune weekly, February 8, 1912, page 2


No One Harmed--City Health Officer Stearns Advises Owners to Chain Dogs

    A "mad dog," the first of the year to be reported, appeared yesterday morning, but before he became especially rabid, his master, W. D. Foster, ended his life.
    The dog had been acting queerly for the past few days, and Monday morning he was noticed to be frothing at the mouth. At 9:30 symptoms of hydrophobia were plain developed. He was taken out of the city limits and killed.
    Although climatic conditions in Medford are not such as to cause dogs to become subjected to the disease, owners of dogs are advised by City Health Physician Stearns to watch their dogs during the hot weather, particularly in the afternoons. In case the dogs act queerly they should be chained until it is cooler or until evidence of rabies have disappeared.
Medford Sun, July 30, 1912, page 1

    Paul Revere's ride was a walk compared to the ride of Robert Ruhl, editor of the Medford Sun, who fled homeward Tuesday night after a vain endeavor to catch and tame a pretty little black and white cat found peaceably trotting by the wayside.
    Visions of long winter nights with no tabby dozing by the Ruhl fireside accomplished Ruhl's ruin as astride his pert steed he ambled at a foxtrot under the soft light of a July moon.
    The "cat" and Mr. Ruhl discovered each other about the same time.
    The next time Mr. Ruhl discovers a cat for family selection it will be at a cat show with a catalogue.
    Medford, peacefully slumbering, dreamed not of the cataclysm enacted [on] Siskiyou Heights where, denied admission to house and home, Robert Ruhl spent the balance of the night in the woodshed studying natural history.
    Between times, with pencil and paper he figured the dimensions of a grave for his new flannel trousers, while the family with smoke helmets on said things through cracks in the door.
    Ruhl's saddle mare has been turned over to the Medford Fire Department, who are testing some new hose--the cat, a Pole by birth, is still at large.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 2, 1912, page 2

    The humble felis domestica has spread the name of Medford from coast to coast during the past month. That felis domestica, which is another term for cat, does well in this climate and altitude is evidenced by the fact that Medford cats have taken first prizes within a month in Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York City.
    The cat that went to New York was sent by Mrs. Paul Janney of Perrydale. It is a Persian cat of the Silver Tabby variety and journeyed across the country with a litter of kittens. The kittens died on the way, but Tabby arrived safely and within a few days of her arrival took second prize at a show in the Plaza Hotel. Later she took first prize in two shows over the cat that took first at the Plaza, for Tabby had time to put on a thicker set of furs and fatten up after its long journey. Tabby also took first prize for being the prize winner which had taken the longest journey to the show.
    Mrs. Frank Clark of Perrydale won prizes at Portland with her Rogue River Valley Persian cats, and Mrs. Fred Renner, a former resident of Medford, has won firsts at Los Angeles and San Francisco.
Medford Mail Tribune, January 30, 1913, page 6

    The dog catcher got on the job Saturday, and many unlicensed stray dogs in the city were caught and placed in the city pound in the rear of the public market. Small boys acted as ex-officio dog catchers, turning the stray dogs over to the poundmaster for a small sum. They did a thriving business for a time.
    A large number of licenses have been sold. The last day of grace for unlicensed dogs was Friday. Now if a dog without a license is placed in the pound it costs a dollar to get him out. If it is unclaimed it is shot after three days.
Medford Mail Tribune weekly, March 6, 1913, page 3

    Diligence to the point of "rubbing it in" was exemplified Saturday when boys sent out to round up all unlicensed dogs brought dog catcher Aydlatt's canine to the pound. The dog catcher's dog had no license and was treated the same as any other unfortunate.
    Mr. Aydlatt Saturday announced that he would pay 25 cents each for all untagged dogs brought to the pound, and as a result a crowd of boys pursued stray pups in all the highways of the city. It was a man, however, who spotted the dog catcher's dog and led it to the pound. He says he was given a 15-cent reward, the dog catcher evidently believing that any time he wished to catch his own dog he could do it unassisted. Mr. Aydlatt's dog now has a license and may cavort the length of Main Street unmolested.
Medford Mail Tribune weekly, March 6, 1913, page 3

Robert Burgess Suffers After Savage Attack Made on Woman.
    MEDFORD, Or., March 13.--(Special.)--A bulldog owned by Dr. F. S. Barber went mad today and savagely attacked Mrs. F. O. Burgess. Robert Burgess, her son, witnessed the attack and rushed to the rescue. Before the animal was subdued he tore most of the clothes from Robert and badly lacerated his arms. His wife, as an emergency, then poured a bottle of pure carbolic acid on the wounds, inflicting painful burns.
    As Burgess is being treated for extreme nervousness, it is feared the shock may prove harmful. The dog was killed.
Morning Oregonian, Portland, March 14, 1913, page 8

    An epidemic of dog fights broke out on Front Street Friday afternoon, between about a dozen country dogs and Mose Barkdull's "Turk," the most belligerent of Medford canines. "Shorty" Miles' Airedale, called "Mike," stood on the sidelines out of danger and barked.

"Local and Personal," Medford Mail Tribune, March 7, 1914, page 2

Medford's Volunteer Fire Department Has Fredenberg as Nucleus.
    MEDFORD, Or., March 7.--(Special.)--All that is left of the Medford volunteer fire department is Jack Fredenberg and the departmental cat. Mr. Fredenberg refused to resign and the cat refused to be given away.
    The reason for the resignation by the fire boys was given as the refusal of the City Council to continue to supply the members with free phones. The relic chest accumulated through the years was presented to the Commercial Club, the office desk bequeathed to Fire Chief Amann, recently resigned, and the caps and coats were returned to the members.
    According to members of the City Council, however, Mr. Fredenberg will be the organizer of a new volunteer company which will be willing to cooperate with the economy policy of the city and supply their own phones.

Sunday Oregonian, Portland, March 8, 1914, page 7

    Dangers from rabies among the dogs of the city caused Chief of Police Hittson to issue notices Saturday that all dogs within the city limits unmuzzled or unchained after Tuesday, August 4th, would be shot or impounded.
    This drastic cautionary move was taken when it was determined that a dog belonging to J. J. Buchter died last week from rabies, and had bitten several other dogs. The hot weather adds to the dangers. A Portland bacteriologist pronounced the cause of the death of the Buchter dog as rabies.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 3, 1914, page 4

    Medford will make its canine sacrifice to the rabic theory in the morning. Twenty-nine dogs will be electrocuted by High  Executioner Loomis. The dogs are charged with being liable to have rabies. It is further alleged they are liable to bite someone. They would not have to take the plunge into the "bow wows" if they had a muzzle. Their only crime is that no one would buy them one. The shuffling off of the dumb brutes in accordance with the city ordinance will begin at 9 o'clock.
    The wholesale killing will be accomplished by means of an iron sheet, upon which the dog is supposed to stand while an electric current is sent through him. This way is more effete and less bloody than shooting.
    Among those listed for an unwarranted death are several valuable dogs whose owners are out of town. Chief Hittson advises all who have a missing dog to look over the city pound collection.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 17, 1914, page 3

    The city slew twenty-three dogs this morning by electrocution, and dog catcher Loomis is looking for more canine victims. The charge against the dogs was wearing no muzzle and liability to rabies. Most of the dogs belonged to people out of the city on camping trips. Six dogs were taken Monday night by dog fanciers and saved from execution.
    Mrs. A. L. Armstrong, Mrs. Laura G. Gardiner, Fred Wolff and Charles Craig were fined $5 and costs for having unmuzzled pets by Police Judge Gay this morning.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 18, 1914, page 2

    The ordinance requiring that all dogs be muzzled until October 1, on the grounds that they were liable to go mad, was rescinded, and canines of the city need no longer be tortured by leather and wire straps over the snout. Colonel Sargent led the fight for the lifting of the ban, and councilmen Porter and Hargrave opposed the change for some reason.
"No Need of Muzzling Dogs," Medford Mail Tribune, September 16, 1914, page 2

    A sensational dog fight occurred on Main Street this afternoon when a bulldog belonging to Earl Reynolds chewed an ear off Ralph Bardwell's spaniel. Chief of Police Mego stopped the fight by turning a garden hose on the combatants. A traveling salesman who grabbed the bulldog by the tail was bit on the wrist.

"Local and Personal," Medford Mail Tribune, October 21, 1914, page 2

    Dr. A. J. Helms' Great Dane, surnamed [sic] "Daniel," has received a shot of German kultur, for "Daniel" has developed a streak of intelligence bordering on the uncanny. In compliance with the city ordinance regarding the muzzling of canines, the massive brute wears a leather muzzle. The muzzle is no balm of Gilead to Daniel, so he has learned to rub the muzzle off and put it back on again when he sees a policeman coming. That Daniel is able to distinguish between a policeman and an ordinary citizen is unusual, as all humans look alike to dogs as a rule. A demonstration of the mental faculties of Daniel has been given enough times to prove that it was not accidental eluding of the law, but performed with premeditation and forethought. The muzzle is of leather, and built to give its wearer as much comfort as possible. Daniel is the biggest dog in Jackson County, and was imported 18 months ago.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 2, 1915, page 2

    The family of Roger S. Bennett mourn the loss of "Dickie," a canary bird that has gladdened their home with song for eleven years. It is believed that it died of old age. The empty cage will be hard to fill with a sweet songster so generally beloved.
"Local and Personal," Medford Mail Tribune, March 7, 1916, page 2

Officer Crawford Draws Gun on Canine--Mad, Perhaps, or Poisoned.
    A white dog entered the police station Tuesday night about midnight and ate the tail off Sergeant Pat Mego's overcoat. This distressing event brought to light the fact that Sergeant Mego is an artist with the lasso, and resulted in the white dog being incarcerated in the city jail, to recover from a case of hydrophobia or an overdose of strychnine, police opinion differing as to which.
    When it was discovered that the afflicted canine had chewed up part of the sergeant's wardrobe, Officer Bill Crawford was for shooting the beast without further ado, but Sergeant Mego rushed to the Nash, secured a piece of clothesline, made a loop therein, and with one dexterous heave captured the white dog. Forthwith they led him to the city jail, Officer Crawford bringing up the rear with his six-shooter leveled upon the aft portion of the prisoner, who was walking lame.
    The dog was foaming at the mouth and growling suspiciously, and it was feared that he might take a bite out of the sergeant's leg if he got a chance, but Wednesday morning he was resting easy and on the road to recovery, and not a mad dog.
Medford Sun, July 13, 1916, page 2

    While tons of all kinds of rubbish, tin cans and old stoves were gathered up and hauled to the dumping grounds, Medford's annual cleanup yesterday was almost fraught with tragical consequences due either to some family trying to get rid of a big gray tomcat or the prank of some wicked practical joker.
    Everything was going lovely, and the dumping ground in the rear of the old water works station on South Riverside [about 101 S. Riverside] along the west bank of Bear Creek was rapidly filling up when the excitement started.
    Ole Arnspiger, the city engineer, city water superintendent, city electrician and city purchasing agent, and past leading knight of the Elks Lodge, felt so pleased at the situation that when Oscar Stinson's wagon began to unload he stood on the Bear Creek embankment and prepared to take a picture of the grand sight with his camera. Oscar had just thrown off a gunny sack half full of rubbish which bursted on hitting the dump, and out between Ole and Oscar jumped a big tomcat spitting, hissing, whirling and snarling in circles.
    "Mist Alcrity," ejaculated the startled city poobah as he stepped backwards on a tin can, which pitched him and all his titles into raging Bear Creek, from which quickly came shouts of "Ph-ph-halp!"
    "Holy smoke!" cried the equally startled Oscar as he quickly seized a club for self-defense. Oscar's thoughts in time of dire peril always turn to religion.
    "What's the matter! 'Smatter!" called Superintendent Runyard as he rushed out from the public market, suddenly saw the feline whirlwind and connecting unexpectedly his right foot with the top of an old bucket skidded away to join Ole in the creek.
    After a few more whirls the big cat, which the trio estimated all the way from five to fifteen feet long and proportionately wide, and which according to all information obtainable was frankly excited, started at immense speed to Main Street, turning the corner sharply to the west in front of the Gates store, where Bill Gates and Otto Jeldness were holding a street consultation.
    "Me cheeild, I must save her!" exclaimed Bill as he started for home at his Peoria gait to protect the new baby from harm.
    "My dog!" shouted Otto, who had lost 16 dogs in the past 13 years by violent deaths, as he also started for home.
    As the excited cat shot up East Main Street, still spitting, Harry Manning, who was sunning himself in front of the Wonder Store [315 E. Main], and who had a fight last week with a west side rooster, or rather it was a White Orpington, gave one glance at the oncoming cyclone, and dived into the store calling out in high Caruso-like tones "Papa! Pagliachi!"
    When the bunch of excitement passed by the Commercial Club Secretary Steel calmly watched it turn down the railroad track and disappear, and inquiringly remarked, "Is it a grizzly?"
    Nevertheless five wagons and one auto truck worked from morning till night and there was one less cat and considerable less dirt, this morning.
Medford Mail Tribune, May 23, 1919, page 3

Dog Patted by Wilson and Bryan Dies in Medford.
Twenty-Year-Old Canine Once Attended Democratic Convention.

    MEDFORD, Or., Jan. 6.--(Special.)--Turk, a blooded Shepherd dog belonging to Mose Barkdull of this city, died here last Sunday at the age of 20 years, a veteran of scores of street fights and so far as is known the only dog in the world to journey to a Democratic national convention, having accompanied his master to the Democratic convention in 1920.
    Turk led an active life here until the rheumatism claimed him several years ago and had since resided in ease at the Barkdull orchard. In 1915 all the hair was blown off his body when a gasoline torch blew up in a local tinshop in which he was loafing. During his days Turk had his head patted by Woodrow Wilson, William Jennings Bryan and a number of other national Democratic leaders.
    Turk was born in England in 1903 and was brought to this country by Colonel Ray of New York and formerly of Medford, who brought him to Gold Ray in 1907 when the Gold Ray Dam was being built. [The dam was completed in 1904.] When Colonel Ray returned east he bequeathed Turk to John D. Olwell, and later when Olwell left Medford the dog became the property of Mose Barkdull, whose property and pal he had been for the past 16 years.
Oregonian, Portland, January 7, 1923, page 43

    Buster, the aged dog of H. O. Frohbach, who until the last retained his exceptional canine wisdom, intelligence, courteousness and portliness, is dead of advanced age with complications. Like his master, he was not a world-beater in looks, but during his long life of 14 or 15 years, he always used his noodle and heart, and took on such likable and amiable qualities that all the local world can truly say, "Here was a dog."
    About seven and one-half years ago, when Mr. and Mrs. Frohbach were living in Three Forks, Mont., they fell heir to Buster through the latter taking a liking to and adopting them, and had been a lovable encumbrance of that household ever since. For years when Mr. Frohbach was secretary of the Chamber of Commerce Buster spent large portions of his days loafing in the sun or shade of the Chamber of Commerce building. Lest some citizens should have forgotten him, it is herewith stated that he was the homely large brown-colored scroot that used to repose in front of the Chamber building.
    Buster never used tobacco or liquor in any form, and had always had a hearty tail wag and smile for all comers, as long as he was able to wag and blink.
Medford Mail Tribune, April 8, 1925, page 5

    "Rowdy," the Mail Tribune dog, supported by A. F. Stennett, left Sunday night for the Klamath country. He was given to a homesteader, and it makes the fourth time that he has been given away. He has always returned to his favorite spot, by the steam radiator in the composing room, and is expected back again the end of the week. Rowdy is supposed to be on a timber claim, 14 miles the other side of Topsy grade.
    The first time he was given to Romeo Koppes [Roma Addison Koppes], but he ate too much. The second and third times he was given to farmers, and on all these departures he returned faster than he went away. His present deportation is hoped to be conclusive, though odds are being freely wagered that he comes back.
    Rowdy is a low-bred cur of yellowish tinge, and bashful. His predominating traits are sleeping and eating abilities. He must be a year old. He came to the Stennett home about six months ago, where he has stuck like a long-lost brother.
Medford Mail Tribune, April 15, 1925, page 3

    A sick cat, with only four and a half of its nine lives left, came in the back door of the local Y.W.C.A. headquarters three weeks ago for food. So pathetic a picture did it present that the kind ladies rooming there exerted efforts to bring it back to health and vigor. But the cat ate greedily and grew worse.
    Finally Mrs. Lydia Miller, religious worker from Los Angeles, exhausted the pages of the telephone directory trying to find the number of a humane society that might come and put the animal out of its misery. But her efforts were in vain.
    Finally she called up the police department and explained the situation. "They told me to call up the county courthouse and they'd look after it," she said.
    "I asked them who I should call for down there, but they told me that anybody would do. So I talked to each of the courthouse employees in turn, each of whom referred me to someone else. I was given the names of individuals, and each of these individuals referred me to someone else. For two weeks I sought and pled with 'individuals' who were recommended for their cat-killing proclivities.
    "Finally I called up Dr. Pickel, as head of the board of health. I figured that surely here they would make some provisions to put the poor animal out of its misery and keep it from spreading its disease. But the only answer I got there was a slow drawl to the effect that 'It isn't my business to kill cats.' I argued further and he finally hung up with the comment, 'Well, I guess if you want that cat killed, you'll have to do it yourself.'
    "Then I went to the veterinary. He was very nice about it and agreed to do the deed if I brought the cat into his headquarters. I came home determined to do so, but alas!"
    So poor Tabby will go on, an object of pity and horror to the weaponless ladies, who must look out upon her daily from the Y.W.C.A. window.
Medford Mail Tribune, October 16, 1927, page 8

Nameless, Crater Cat, Back on Old Job Again
    Nameless, the cat with a nice sense of distinction between park rangers and mere tourists, is again clearing Crater Lake Lodge of its winter supply of mice after an unusually long summer spent in the woods. Nameless did not report for duty until December 8, after the blizzard in the park.
    The high-hat feline wandered into Crater Lake Lodge six years ago, and since that time has spent every winter with the keeper, clearing the building of mice hoping to find winter's quarters in the linen or basement stores.
    Inability of any of the staff to agree on suggested names led to the unusual cognomen.
    No tourist was ever known to break down the outraged reserve of the big cat. With the first visitor of the summer, Nameless departs forestward, to reappear only after the last tourist departs.
    His unusually long vacation last summer made rangers fear he might have left permanently, and a young cat named Slim was brought up to stay at the lodge. Slim did not approve of loneliness, however, and rode away on the running board of one of the last cars visiting the park.
Medford Daily News, March 16, 1930, page 1

    Word has been received at the Mail Tribune that Miss Frances Everett, the "cat woman" who has become quite a part of the Medford scene, has recently lost her purse containing keys and $6 in cash, all the money that the lady possessed.
    The purse, a brown one, was lost at or near the Alexander grocery store January 9, and she is very anxious to recover it.
    Miss Everett is the lady who is host to any number of otherwise stray cats and kittens at her home on the corner of King and Stewart Avenue here. Any member of the feline tribe who is lost or deserted always finds a welcome at the Everett home. That lady had apparently never heard that "there are other ways of killing cats besides choking them to death with cream," for she spends most of the little money she manages to scrape together in caring for them.
    Any person who knows anything of the purse would be doing a real kindness to either take it to the aged lady, or leave it at the Mail Tribune office, from where it will be delivered to her.

Medford Mail Tribune,
January 20, 1935, page 3

    Frances Everett, Medford resident for many years, passed away yesterday afternoon at the Jacksonville Sanitarium, after an illness of several weeks. She was approximately 80 years of age. Services will be conducted by Perl Funeral Home at 10:30 tomorrow morning. Rev. W. R. Baird will officiate, and burial will be in the I.O.O.F. cemetery. The deceased has no known relatives.
    Frances Everett was a well-known figure to local people, her eccentricity of adopting large numbers of stray cats leading to the appellation of "cat woman." For a number of years she lived in a small house at the corner of Stewart Avenue and Kings Highway, where passersby were accustomed to seeing the overgrown yard apparently alive with cats. She frequently cared for between 10 and 20, calling them all by name and finding food for them before thinking of her own needs.
    She not only knew practically everyone in town, but was also familiar with dog and cat pets throughout the community, often walking long distances to "visit" them.
    Although living alone and apparently completely wrapped up in her feline friends, the "cat woman" greatly enjoyed visits and conversation with whomsoever had time to talk to her. She attended every funeral and public gathering she knew of and could get to, and was a constant visitor to the downtown district.
Medford Mail Tribune, December 18, 1935, page 1

    When all humanity is drawn inside by the fragrance of fir and pine, and darkness claims Medford's outdoors, somewhere near the southern outskirts the stillness of Christmas Eve will be broken this year by the mournful cry of a cat. And the prophetic starshine will be reflected in the gleam of feline eyes, as one by one the cats, who for the past 12 years were fed and feted in the little brown house at the end of King Street, pass unnoticed through the frosted grass. For the "cat woman" is dead.
    Scratches on the worn, weather-browned door will bring no answer. No light will shine through the small square (the cat entrance), and the pan, filled with warm milk for cats of all breeds and colors each year that St. Nick came, will be empty. Funeral services were held at the Perl parlors yesterday for Miss Frances C. Everett. There will be no paper-trimmed Christmas tree. There will be no purring of Christmas carols in the brown shack this year.
Familiar Form Recalled
Thirteen years ago the bent, gray figure which for more than 18 years walked Medford's streets, arms locked over market basket and umbrella, inaugurated a Christmas tree for cats. Innumerable ones (no one ever knew how many), who made their home with her, were joined by additional strays on the night before Christmas and warm milk was served to all. A small fir tree was decked with colorful papers to be rattled by cat claws, and maintained throughout the Yuletide. It was a custom Miss Everett never abandoned no matter how severe the rheumatism got. The day after Christmas, with the cats she celebrated her birthday. This year she would have been 82.
Known as the "Cat Woman"
While to most people she was just the "cat woman," who wandered about the city--into church, funerals and markets, her heavy shoes each year beating a slower tattoo on the pavements, to those who ventured beyond her door, drawn at first by curiosity, she was a different creature. A woman sitting alone in the dim light of a kerosene lamp, within walls hung with bed quilts, designed to keep out the cold, asking about the babies of the town. The "Smith" boy's cold. She was so glad he was better.
Loved Everyone's Baby
She had never been in the "Smith" house. Mrs. Smith probably never knew that she lived, where King Street is crossed by Stewart Avenue. But Miss Everett knew when the Smith baby was born. It was the same night that "Spot" first came to her door, hungry and with wet fur. She took him in, as she took in every cat that was dropped in the road. The next day she saw in the papers (for she always read the papers) that the Smiths had a baby boy. "Fortunate," she would say, whether it was the "Smiths" or the "Joneses," and then it became obvious to the visitor that she loved cats not because she preferred them but because they were what life happened to bring her--she had to have something to love, for she was that kind of person--"Fanny, Fern, Pretty Tail, Halloween (who had come with the ghosts on that night), Blossom, Toots, Fluffy, Ruffles, Buttercup and Casper" were the answer.
    Just where she came from to befriend the cats of Medford, no one knew. She never revealed the identity of her family. She crossed the plains in an ox wagon many years ago, she often related, expressing the desire to travel once by plane before completing her stay here. Arrangements were made for a flight at the Medford airport, but that day arrived and Miss Everett, who believed in the will of the Lord, dismissed the desire. She wanted to see "San Francisco, Barbary Coast and all," she answered once, when asked why she came to Medford. She saw it "and nothing happened." On the return she stopped in Medford.
    "I'm getting a bit short of breath," she complained last Christmas eve as she lighted the kerosene lamp to show the cats' Christmas tree. And so she must have been.
    Quietly she came to the little brown house. Quietly she left it for the Jacksonville Sanitarium, where she died Tuesday. And the only question Medford asks is, "Did you know that the cat woman was dead?"
Medford News, December 20, 1935, page 1

    Lord of the manor is Duffie, who long ago took over supervision of the household at 514 South Holly Street.
    "Lord, what a manner," is the way the Scottie expresses it. He has been trying to make friends with Duffie for all of the three years he has been there, but Duffie is conservative and may consider Scottie as a friend after eight or ten more years but accepts no friends on a short three years' acquaintance.
    Duffie is a Persian cat. He took over the Ottoman household just 15 years ago. Bob Ottoman, a sophomore in forestry at Oregon State College, was six then and wanted a cat. Bob's father, M. Ottoman, ticket clerk for the Southern Pacific, did not want a cat, and so Bob won and they have had the cat ever since.
    Bob and his sister, Ruth, teacher in the school at Talent, gave birthday parties for Duffie. They even remembered him during each Christmas holiday. Duffie always got a catnip mouse for a present, and on such occasions unbent somewhat and chased the catnip mouse round and round the tree.
    Of late years, Duffie has felt that he must put away kittenish things and so the catnip mouse was discontinued. These days, Duffie confines his activities to taking a walk a few doors down the street. Reversing the usual procedure, he does his visiting during the day and is taken in at night, for Duffie is no gadabout.
    Nowadays he may be seen lying in the sun on the Ottoman front porch. He hopes to attend Bob Ottoman's graduation in two years more, and the Ottomans are all hoping he will be around to join in the celebration. He is wondering if he has not the distinction of being the cat in Medford who has been longest in one family at the same location.
Medford Mail Tribune, May 30, 1937, page 10

Medford Character Disappears
    For more than a few years Arthur Perry, author of the Medford Mail Tribune's column Ye Smudge Pot, has been ably assisted in his literary stint by a feline character styled "the Elks' old tomcat." That is to say, this tomcat-ward of a great fraternal order was more than occasionally employed as a character in Mr. Perry's column, to such degree that almost he had risen, in the public fancy, to the status of assistant director. To the best of our recollection the columnist never has described the Elks' tomcat save by the adjective of age and the designation of sex. Yet as the slow, fleet seasons passed, and the meanderings and maraudings and meowings of the tomcat repeatedly were chronicled, and engagingly, one came to feel that one knew him well, the cynic eye of him, the moth-eaten but valiant tail, the jaunty, swaggering intrepidity.
    And this is mentioned for the reason that recently Mr. Perry reported in the Smudge Pot that for a matter of two weeks the Elks' old tomcat has been absent from his accustomed haunts in the clubroom, and though rumor has it that he has been seen in various far places, none of these accounts has been substantiated. "Hope," sighs Mr. Perry, "has about faded . . . he is ten years old." In the vernal period of a tomcat's life, when all the geese are swans, an absence of a fortnight might pass without other than [the] lightest of suggestive remarks--but, as the columnist intimates, the Elks' old tomcat has begun the descent, as the moon of the tomcats declines, and in any case it is late in the season for him to neglect the more substantial comforts of existence for the illusions of romance and the spurious glory of combat. It may, indeed, be that some strange ashcan now affords a resting place for his heroic but weary remains; or some weed patch to which the crows are stooping. For he ought to have been home long ago, at this time of life.
    When a cat is a tomcat and also an Elk by adoption, and likewise a sort of newspaper man, as assistant to a columnist and that columnist Arthur Perry, heaven alone, in any instance, knows when the cat will come stalking out of the gloaming. In addition to the natural excitements and impulses to which any proper tomcat is heir, he has acquired three hazards not common to tomcats--and we may fear, as does Mr. Perry and the B.P.O.E., that which is gloomily styled the worst. Yet we once knew a cat, of the masculine gender, who by positive count squandered not nine but twenty-seven lives, and lived to breathe peacefully his last on a cushion at home, in an odor of catnip and sanctity. On this, as well as similar observation, we consider it at least even money that the Elks' old tomcat has yet to finish his saga. Kitty! kitty! kitty!--The Oregonian.
Medford Mail Tribune,
July 14, 1941, page 4

    Careful attention to dogs after their annual three months' confinement is now needed so that the pets will not let their protective instinct develop so much as to endanger newspaper carriers, mail carriers, milk men and others, the Southern Oregon Humane Society advised pet owners today.
    Dogs also should have plenty of fresh, cool water in this hot weather so that they will not become irritable, the society said. The advice was given after two Mail Tribune carriers, Jackie Clark and Tommy Tam, were bitten by dogs Wednesday afternoon. Jackie was bitten on the left side as he delivered papers on West 11th Street, Tommy on the right foot at West Jackson Boulevard.
Medford Mail Tribune, July 18, 1941, page 7

Heartbroken Boy Seeks Body of Lost Dog
So He Can Give it Proper Burial
    Broken-hearted over the apparent death of his pet dog, which fell into Bear Creek and disappeared Sunday, 11-year-old Duane Denney has made an appeal to the Tribune to help him find the animal's body in order that he may bury it.
    "While playing in Bear Creek Park Sunday afternoon I saw my dog fall in the water under Bear Creek bridge," Duane wrote. "Then he was washed over the falls at the west end. He never came out of the whirling water. If someone finds my little pal washed somewhere along the bank please let me know. For this information I cannot pay, but will thank you sincerely," the boy's note concluded.
Was Blue Terrier
    The dog, which Duane called Diablo, was a blue terrier with white markings. He wore a rabies vaccination tag No. 117598 and a 1950 license number on his collar.
    Duane's mother, Mrs. Laura Denney, 504½ North Grape Street, said that Duane and a companion were playing in the park and were skipping rocks along the banks of the creek. Diablo had been trained to fetch rocks and sticks, and when one went too far and fell into the water, he rushed after it.
    The two boys and Mrs. Denney spent about two hours searching along the edges of the creek after the accident, the mother said, but no trace of the dog could be found. She said Duane and the dog had been constant companions for three years, and the dog had been trained to ride in a basket on the boy's bicycle.
    Duane got up early both Monday and Tuesday mornings and hopefully hurried out to look in the dog's box, thinking he might not have drowned and might have come home during the night, she said.
    "The reason Duane is so anxious to find the pet and bury the body is because Diablo was following orders when he was drowned," Mrs. Denney explained. "This really means a lot to Duane."
    The Denneys' telephone number is 2-8390.
Medford Mail Tribune, March 7, 1950, page 4

Barking Bedlam
    To the editor: I would like to bring to the attention of your readers a subject that is vitally important to the growth of Medford and the peace and happiness of its citizens.
    I refer to the hundreds of barking dogs we seem to possess and the hundreds of dog owners who do not seem to realize that such goings-on are only to be normally found in an Indian encampment or a Mexican slum village. At any time of the day or night almost anywhere outside the immediate downtown area several dogs can be heard barking or howling. In some sections it is almost a bedlam. An owner who permits his dog to do this in the daytime disturbs the peace of the home, and one who permits it at night disturbs the peace of the home, and one who permits it at night disturbs the peace and sleep of his neighbor. And seriously reduces working efficiency. In many cases actual breakdown of health is caused by this constant racket.
    I am very fond of dogs myself, and have raised and trained dogs all my life. I would not be without one. But I would as soon beat a dishpan in front of my neighbor's house as to permit my dog to bark and howl. I have never owned a barking dog for the simple reason that I had consideration for the peace of my neighbors and trained them to act as a dog should. I would be glad to offer my services to any person who would like to have their dog broken of this habit. It is very simple. Or could we form an anti-dog barking club to function somewhat as does our Chamber of Commerce.
    When one leaves San Antonio, Texas, after a visit one has long-lingering memories of cooing turtledoves, from Los Angeles one remembers the sirens and the mockingbirds, from San Francisco the foghorns, and from Medford the bedlam of barking dogs. This is not a very nice situation and is a direct reflection on we who live here. Cannot something be done about it?
    Yours for peace and quiet,
Rt. 2, Box 147.
Medford Mail Tribune, June 1, 1945, page 9

Duane Buries Diablo Today; Pet's Body Found in Creek
    Today after school Duane Denny was to bury his pet blue terrier, Diablo, in the yard of the home, 504½ North Grape Street, where the 11-year-old boy and his mother live. Diablo was drowned in Bear Creek Sunday afternoon when he chased after a rock thrown by Duane when the two were playing on the banks of the creek in the city park.
    Tuesday the small boy made an appeal though The Tribune in an effort to find his pet's body, and Wednesday morning a schoolboy phoned to say that he could see the dog's body lodged against a pipe jutting into the stream under the Jackson Street bridge. Later in the day it was recovered.
Expresses Gratitude
In a second note to The Tribune, Duane expressed his gratitude to the paper and to others who helped him recover the pet's body.
    "I would like to thank The Tribune for helping me find my little dog," he wrote. "Also thank the schoolboy that phoned me Wednesday morning, telling me where Diablo was, and I also want to thank Mr. Bill Millett, Route 1, Box 443, who waded under Jackson Street bridge and brought Diablo out to me, where I gave my little pal his last ride in the basket on my bicycle where he had enjoyed riding so many times before.
    "I thank you, one and all, for your kind words."
Medford Mail Tribune, March 7, 1950, page 4

Last revised January 24, 2021