The Story of Burt

Below is a poem that was written about Bert (Burt). This poem was done on a typewriter and a framed copy was in the display case at Station 16, along with this picture. I hope a place can be found to dispaly these in the new Station 16 as well.
I have been unable to determine the author but the with initials w.c.t. at bottom I may be able to find out.

I have copied this poem exactly as written including the punctuation.

The Story of Burt, The Fireman’s Dog

To begin with, Burt was just a dog,
And not very strong for looks;
She might have been a mongrel or a cur-
But smart! There isn’t a dog in the books,
In a fancy kennel or anywhere else-
Where good dogs have a part,
That could fill by half the warm—soft spot
Burt held in the Fireman’s heart.

Burt of course was a Fireman’s dog;
With nothing like a family tree;
But true blue boys, that dog was it,
Charlie Livingston said, if your asking me.

She was just a dog as I said before;
A homeless dog that drifted in,
And took her place with the rest of the crowd
As if they’d all been kin.
Burt was the company’s mascot,
And she never missed a fire.
Her short little legs could make the run
With a speed that didn’t tire.

Burt knew the whole outlandish bunch
That hung around the place;
When a fire was due—she knew that too;
Seems like she had a hunch.
No, she wouldn’t bite, that dog!
Too smart for a trick like that.
But let the bell tap one-two—three,
She was off at the drop of a hat.

She was killed in the line of duty
On her way to a fire;
Like the brave old scouts with whom she lived,
Her work wasn’t done for hire.
An Accident, of course, Bill Downing
Would never have run over Burt;
Not Bill! Good Lord no’
Bill was the one who was hurt.

Burt was just a dog-but tenderly
They draped her lifeless form
In something clean for a winding sheet-
Something to keep her warm;
They dug a grave in a quite spot—
I’ll say the boys were hurt—
And they lowered the box with misty eyes
As they said “goodbye” to Burt.


Goodbye little dog goodbye,
Who said you’d be forgot?
While a fireman lives
And a stone is left
To mark that quiet spot.

w.c.t.