THE HANOVER SCENE

SPRING comes late in Hanover, and our local fauna are just beginning to appear in force. The deer are coming out of the woods along the South Royalton road, and birds have started to twitter at an absurd hour around homesteads unfortunate enough not to own cats. Of course, all winter we have had squirrels and chipmunks scampering around the branches of our pines, and always we have the Hanover dogs. They are a tremendous and variegated pack, who achieve their greatest public glory during football games on the local gridiron. One of the most important tests a managerial aspirant must face is in showing his ability to whistle, wheedle, or waft a dog or two out of the way of a pass receiver. The dogs are utterly impartial, being as willing to break up one of our plays as one of the opposition's. But the Hanover dogs by no means migrate in off-season. They are perpetually in and out of the Library, and it is amazing how willing a dog is to risk a revolving door for entrance and how loath to use one as an exit. We once thought they were afraid of catching their tails on the way out, but we have measured, and the area is the same coming or going.

Airedales, boxers, and French poodles have gone a little out of fashion and the latest fad seems to be for Weimaraners - beautiful taupe creatures, lithe and playful and bashful and decorative all at the same time; but the vast majority of our canine population is that faithful and confused breed, the farm collie.

We realize the dangers of discussing specific dogs because of sins of omission. "Why not tell about Tracer, or Spangles, or Cider, or Princess, or Jusqu-a?" But we'll risk it and, naturally, will start with the pup that adopted us for some fourteen years. We never knew his folks, but he was apparently a mixture of collie and German shepherd, friendly and affectionate with everybody except pedestrians, truck drivers, and bicyclists. All the kids in the neighborhood could pummel him with impunity, make him pull their sleds, climb ladders, or walk the tightrope. One even used to send us poison pen letters because she thought we were not sufficiently appreciative of his virtues. He was named after a famous general who later became President of Columbia University, and he had a special charter to keep our end of the street clear of letter carriers and laundry men.

There were, however, other dogs more famous throughout the town, a lack of specific neighborhood duties giving them opportunity to influence wider audiences. We will pass up the professor's airedale who used to sit in the center of campus and howl whenever the chimes played; the unknown hero who helped dedicate the World War I memorial stone; the фT white bulldog who was frequently decorated with the red, blue, and gold of ∆KE; and even Herby, the beer connoisseur.

We mention two in particular because of their wide acquaintanceship with the student body. One was "Tip Strong, an oversized farm collie - almost a St. Bernard, but without the cask of brandy. He should have stayed at home out by Storrs Pond, but he took the fancy of accompanying more urban friends around the village and hanging his head and grinning when chided for being on the campus. The students dubbed him "Ambrose," and his favorite stunt was to lurk behind the elms on the campus and ambush passing motorists.

The other was "Ubie" (probably for ubiquitous), a nondescript little shaggy dog who infested the gymnasium and nipped at the ankles of quarter milers practicing on the indoor track. Of him The Dartmouth said in March 1941: "That little ferret, the lightning-like canine, Ubie, reminded Hanover fans yesterday that he was not to be left out of any national tournaments. Although he did not voice his intentions in recognizable words, Ubie's actions in the Alumni Gym definitely showed that Dartmouth's one-dog team is rounding into shape for his final effort.

"After making a quick four-minute mile around the track, in which he was seen cutting corners unfairly, Ubie proceeded to indulge in baseball practice with a great one-handed backhand stop of a hard grounder. Then he impressed the gridders with a timely downfield block. He was later seen dribbling around on the basketball court. Ubie is ready to go!"

Just as we were revising galley proofs of this column, a lugubrious beat of drums heralded the slow and ceremonious pro- cession, past our window, of a twenty-car cortege and be-creped marchers, signalizing the demise of Herman - the Xφ dachshund. Our heart goes out to our brothers in their loss.

We promise not to write about cats.