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Wallace, Dillon, 1863-1939

"The Story of Grenfell of the Labrador A Boy's Life of Wilfred T. Grenfell"

They would as lief snap off the hand that reared and feeds them
as not. It is never safe for a stranger to move among a pack of them
without a stick in his hand. But a threatened kick or the swing of a
menacing stick will send them off crawling and whining.
The Hudson's Bay Company once had a dozen or so of these big fellows
at Cartwright Post, in Sandwich Bay. They were exceptionally fine dogs
of the true husky breed, brought down from one of the more northerly
posts, and the agent was proud of them. This was the same agent whose
dogs ran away to chum with the wolves, and I believe these were some
of the same dogs. They were splendid animals in harness, well broken
and tireless travelers on the trail.
One evening, late in the fall, the agent's wife was standing at the
open door of the post house, and her little boy, a lad of about your
years, was playing near the doorstep.
Labrador dogs are fed but once a day, and this is always in the
evening. It was feeding time for the dogs, and a servant down at the
feed house, where the dog rations were kept, called them.


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