An Independent Dog
(Published July, 2001)

No one seems to have noticed that we are marking the two hundred and twenty fifth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence this year. In an effort to rectify this slight, we present to you an entry from the journal of Thomas Jefferson from the fourth of July, 1801. When this entry was written, Jefferson had just assumed the presidency after a hotly contested election against Aaron Burr. We Americans were somewhat taken aback at the long indecisive period following our election last year, but we forget that Jefferson began his first term only after being chosen by the House of Representatives on the thirty-sixth ballot. Jefferson became leader of a rather weak and tenuous nation, one still being bullied by the British navy, and with a rather low standing among the powers of Europe (although the standing was higher than it might have been had not Jefferson spent years in France as a diplomat.)

Jefferson Wrote:

As I write this entry, it is just twenty-five years since strokes of the pens of a few colonial gentlemen gave birth to a new nation, one that would soon be baptized in musket fire and blood. That nation is now more than an infant, but is a sickly child withal.

Still, what I remember of those days is not the glory. It is the heat, the doubt ... and the dog.

The heat was oppressive in Philadelphia that summer, and this testimony from a man who has spent much of his life in Virginia. Adding to it was my doubt about what I was doing. When I left my home to represent Virginia in the Continental Congress, I knew that I might eventually be called upon to vote upon sundering our ties with Great Britain. I did not know that I would spend June of 1776 writing the declaration of that independence. If I failed at my task, I would be held up to the ridicule of my colleagues and might be responsible for years more of British rule. If I succeeded, I might be sending all of us to be hanged as traitors to the Crown. Who was I, the youngest member of the committee, to be given responsibility for drafting the document?

But I had been given that responsibility, and so I spent those long and sultry evenings in my rented chambers searching for inspiration and words. Because of the heat, I sat by an open window facing north and overlooking the yards across the alley, and that is how I came to know the dog.

He was one of two that seemed to be owned by a German family. The larger of the two was a sturdy Alsatian, but the little fellow who caught my fancy was an odd-looking hound with stubby legs, deep chest and long body. Each evening after the family's dinner, the dogs would be given the table scraps. And each evening, the Alsatian would take the choicest pieces, leaving the long little dog with the less desirable leavings, sometimes with nothing.

Then one night, I noticed that the little dog was not in his wonted place, but had moved to the yard behind the neighboring house. After a day or so, his presence was noted, and the family who lived there began to feed him.

All was well for two days, but then the Alsatian discovered that his old companion had found new lodgings. Starting that evening, he would come over to the neighboring yard and, as he had before, remove the choicest morsels.

It was now June 22, and my draft of the declaration was due to the full Continental Congress in little more than a week, so I saw that the long dog and I were both in an unenviable position, and I resolved to go and commiserate with him when I had finally failed.

But on June 29, a strange thing happened. The Alsatian came to take his tribute and met not craven groveling, but a growling, snarling beast who seemed to stand as tall on his abbreviated legs as did the Alsatian on his long ones. More shocked than anything else, the larger dog backed off and left the smaller one to enjoy a peaceful supper.

Enjoy your victory while you can, little fellow, I thought. Your oppressor will be back, and I shouldn't think he will back off twice. You have made a brave stand, and you will pay a high price for your effrontery.

Surely enough, the Alsatian was back the next night with what appeared to be a determination not to be taken by surprise again. But taken by surprise he was, for the dinner was there but the little dog wasn't. Striding forward for what must have seemed to be an uninterrupted repast, he passed by a large bush and very suddenly was struck between the shoulder blades by a small furious beast leaping from within the shrubbery. The little dog sank his teeth into the back of the neck of the larger one and hung on like a leech as the Alsatian screamed and leaped and rolled about. Finally the Alsatian made a run for the alley, and the little dog dropped off just as he was about to be borne out of the yard that was his new home. Although small of stature, he had been able to study the terrain of his new home and use its geography and its hiding places to his advantage against a more powerful enemy. It was at that moment that I sat down and began to write.

When I went back to review what I had written, I was amused to note that I began with "When in the course of human events" as if to distinguish those events from the events in the lives of, say, dogs. "Perhaps those differences are smaller than many suppose," I laughed, but I left the phrase in because I liked the sound and the meter of it.

After the declaration was accepted and signed, I vacated my lodgings and never saw the long, low little dog again. But he has been increasingly in my thoughts. He is surely gone by now, but I like to fancy that he lived his life in peace and in happiness and in a state of accord with all his neighbors. I wish that he might have received a fair measure of whatever praise has accrued to me. Fifty-six of us signed the fateful document, but one small creature, who taught me a lesson about determination and independence, deserved the right to have added his paw print.

Thomas Jefferson
July 4, 1801