Event Narrative
‘The most beautiful creature the world has ever created is the real Great Dane from Ulm, my ‘little lap dog’, ‘Moritz’. I bought him in Ostend from a good Belgian for five marks. His mother was a beautiful animal, as was one of his fathers, so he was a purebred. I am convinced of that. I had the choice and picked out the cutest one. Zeumer took a second one and called him ‘Max’. Max came to an abrupt end under a car, but Moritz thrived. He slept in bed with me and was brought up excellently. He accompanied me every step of the way from Ostend onwards and grew very close to my heart. From month to month, Moritz grew bigger and bigger and gradually developed from a tender little lap dog into a very large animal. I even took him with me once. He was my first ‘Franz’. He behaved very sensibly and was very interested in looking at the world from above. Only my mechanics grumbled afterwards that they had to clean the aeroplane of some unpleasant things. But Moritz was very happy again afterwards. [He is now over a year old and still the childish animal of a few months ago. He plays billiards very well. Unfortunately, many a ball, but especially many a billiard cloth, goes down the drain. He also has a huge passion for hunting. My fitters are very happy because he catches many a nice roast rabbit for them. I always give him a bit of a scythe for it, because I'm not so fond of this passion. He had a silly quality. He loved to accompany the aeroplanes every time they took off. The normal death of a flying dog on this occasion is death by propeller. Once again, he chased in front of an aircraft taking off, was of course caught up and - a very nice propeller was down. Moritz howled terribly, and a measure I had neglected was made up for in this way. I have always been reluctant to have him cropped, i.e. to have his ears trimmed in particular. On the one hand, the propeller has now made up for it. Beauty has never pushed him, but the one folded ear and the other half-coupled one look quite good on him. In fact, if it weren't for the curly tail, it would be a real, genuine Ulm Mastiff. Moritz really grasped the world war and our enemies. When he saw Russian natives for the first time in the summer of 1916 - the train stopped, [132]and Moritz was taken for a walk - he chased away the Russian youths who came running up with tremendous barking. He didn't like the French either, even though he was actually Belgian himself. I once gave residents in a new neighbourhood the task of cleaning the house. When I came back in the evening, nothing had been done. Annoyed, I sent for a Frenchman. As soon as he opens the door, Moritz greets him a little unamiably. Now I could explain why the gentlemen had avoided my château.’
