WANDERER AT REST
END OF A FAMOUS DOG
One of the strangest funerals held in Wellington took place today. It was held for a dog—the well-known "Paddy the Wanderer," or "The Irish Flying Dutchman," who frequeixted the Wellington wharves and travelled New Zealand —and overseas in any ship which took his fancy. This red Irish terrier had thousands of friends among seamen, waterside workers, and taximen, and the funeral was no mock affair but a touching tribute to a good comrade. Paddy died early this morning. His body was wirapped in a shroud at Harbour Board shed No. 1 (whei-e he died), placed in-a coffin, and put on the back of one of the twelve taxis which took part. On the coffin were the words, "Paddy the Wanderer —At Rest." Fifty or sixty watersiders and seamen watched the cortege start on its short journey from Queen's Wharf to the incinerator. A traffic officer led the way. SAW THE WORLD. Ever since people can remember him the wanderlust was strong in Paddy. By air, land, and sea, in the past ten or twelve years, he travelled all around the New Zealand coast and to many inland towns, and even fur- | ther afield. He was one stowaway who was greeted cheerfully whenever he came aboard. He always came back to Wellington as his headquarters. He acknowledged no owner. He was the fi-iend of all who work about ships or the watei'front, and fraternised with them as an equal. LICENCE PAID FOR. It was after the dog-catchers had caught Paddy in an unguarded moment that the taxi-drivers proved their friendship by clubbing together and paying his licence fee and guaranteeing it for the future. He showed scant gratitude to his rescuers, however, for a week later he left town. It is said that this was his first sea voyage. Now and then he would make a run up country with his taxi-driver friends, and he knew many of the North Island towns. He made a trip by air, too,, a few years ago, at the expense of his friends. AN INTELLIGENT DOG. Paddy was extraordinarily intelligent. For instance, he knew the traffic lights and would not cross a street until the green showed. For this reason he was well known to the Wellington traffic officers. Two weeks ago Paddy fell ill. The taxi-drivers sent him to a home for dogs, but he started to fret, and when one of the men went to the home with his cab. Paddy immediately left in the cab. Later he wandered to the wharves, and took refuge in No. 1 shed. A veterinary surgeon attended to him, but the cold snap was apparently too much for him.
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STRANGE FUNERAL, Evening Post, Volume CXXVIII, Issue 14, 17 July 1939
STRANGE FUNERAL Evening Post, Volume CXXVIII, Issue 14, 17 July 1939
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