Just Nuisance was a Great Dane that lived in South Africa. While a puppy, his tail was injured. The bandage slipped, the wagging tail spattered blood on his friends. That's how he got his name. He was officially rated an able seaman in the Royal Navy. In the records the rangy, tawny dog's religion was given as "scrounger," his character as "very good," his efficiency "moderate." He liked beer.
He had a range of self-imposed duties, mostly of an escort character. If a blue jacket grew tipsy, Nuisance would grasp his sleeve, guide him understandingly to ward a haven. He regularly rode the interurban between the naval barracks at Simon's Town and the nearby port of Capetown. The railroad long ago gave up trying to collect his fare or put him off.
On the last train out at night, Nuisance made it a practice to bark sharply at all sleepy sailors and tug their sleeves when the train slowed for the base. Nuisance slept, stretched out like a man, in a reserved bunk at Klaver Camp near Simon's Town, or at the Union Jack Club in Capetown, whichever was nearest, when he finished his chores.
He subsisted mostly on meat pies and cakes, regularly received dog license #1. Nuisance never walked with his nose to the ground, sniffing; he kept his eyes up, looking for sailors to follow. He had no time for officers. Admiralty estimates put Just Nuisance's friends in the service at 10,000, his contribution to naval charities through sale of his photo at $3,000.
Last spring he fell sick, was put to bed in a naval hospital, got the best care of the best naval doctors. When he died, after weeks of treatment, Just Nuisance was wrapped in a white Naval Ensign and buried with naval honors. A detachment of Royal Marines fired a volley over his grave; his friends stood at attention. By the time his story reached the U.S. last week, a headstone had been erected. It read:
"Great Dane, Just Nuisance, Able Seaman, Royal Navy, 1940-44."
He was seven years old.