12/11/2025
Barry didn’t die from a bayonet.
I expect the tale of this hero dog’s allegedly untimely demise was spun to make Napoleon look bad, because the French emperor was kind of a jerk. Barry was a precursor to the modern St. Bernard, a mountain rescue dog who was of a smaller build than the behemoth breed we’re familiar with today. My dad had a St. Bernard. Named him Clancy. Clancy seems a good name for a St. Bernard.
Anyway, Barry. Barry was a good boy who saved dozens of people from the freezing cold of the Swiss and Italian Alps. The myth is that a Napoleonic soldier was freezing to death in the mountains, buried in the snow. Barry unburied him and began to lick the soldier’s face to rouse him, but the soldier freaked out and was all “Ah! Wolf!” and went stabby on poor Barry with his bayonet and Barry died. But that’s not really what happened. What happened to Barry? His death was far less tragic, although the passing of any doggie, especially a sweet boy like Barry, is always a loss that is keenly felt by those who loved them.
We need to go back about a thousand years for some context.
Bernard of Menthon was born around 1020, in what is now east France, to a wealthy and noble family. But he wasn’t one to sit around on his rich butt and order impoverished servants to do his bidding. His dad had arranged a marriage for Bernard to a noblewoman and maybe Bernie didn’t like her or maybe he didn’t like women or maybe he just really loved God. At any rate, rather than perpetuate the aristocracy he fled his home and became a Catholic priest.
On the southern border of Switzerland, there is a place that gets a whole lot of snow called the Great St. Bernard Pass. Well, it wasn’t called that a thousand years ago, so … foreshadowing? The mountain pass was used by French and German religious pilgrims traveling to Rome, and it was not the most hospitable of journeys. Bernard was put in charge of caring for travelers in need so they didn’t freeze and turn into pilgrimsicles. And so, Bernard built a hospice at the highest point of the pass—8,100 feet elevation—to care for those making the arduous passage. The modern usage of “hospice” is a place for the terminally ill to spend their final days, but as an archaic term it refers to lodging for weary travelers, especially if that lodging was run by a religious order, as was the case in this mountain pass.
The Great St. Bernard Hospice stands to this day. Obviously, Bernard eventually attained Sainthood and also got the pass named after him. And a breed of dog. Having a dog breed named after you is no small accomplishment, especially a hero dog breed represented by good boys like Barry.
Speaking of whom, let’s get back to Barry’s bravery.
Watchdogs were introduced to the hospice in the middle of the 16th century. By 1800, which was the year Barry was born, they were using a certain breed of dog that would come to be called a St. Bernard as a mountain rescue dog. Barry weighed roughly a hundred pounds, whereas through another two centuries of specialized breeding St. Bernards now can weigh double that.
Just FYI, Barry did not promote consuming alcohol. Wait, what?
In older cartoons and other comedic media St. Bernard Rescue dogs were shown wearing a small keg attached to their collars. The keg was filled with brandy, which the person in need of rescue would take from the dog who found them and go all chug-a-lug to warm them up via the fiery and intoxicating liquid.
Two things about that. First, it’s medically unsound. Drinking booze doesn’t prevent you from freezing to death, it accelerates it. I mean, it might make dying from the cold suck less, but it’s still not a great idea. Second, the monks who ran the hospice said it’s a myth. They never did send booze with the rescue dogs to find lost travelers. “Hey someone is near death and in desperate need of saving let’s get them hammered first.” No. Didn’t happen.
Barry was credited with over 40 rescues during his tenure as a good boy mountain rescue dog at the St. Bernard’s Pass Hospice. One story stands out: his saving the life of a young boy.
The details are a bit hazy. It seems his mother was buried in an avalanche and the boy took refuge in an ice cave and proceeded to freeze. Barry, using his excellent sniffer, located the boy, who was near death. Barry warmed the boy up and prompted him to climb upon his back. Barry then packed the lad back to the hospice, where he recovered.
Fortunately, Barry did not die at the hands of a frightened soldier. The saying went that “He saved the lives of forty people. He was killed by the forty-first.” In reality, Barry lived a good long life. At the age of 12 he retired from rescue duties and a monk took Barry to the city of Bern in Switzerland where he lived another two years, hopefully snuggled up in front of a warm fire with regular scratches behind the ears and being told he was a good boy. Upon his death Barry’s body was preserved and put on display in the Natural History Museum of Bern, where it still resides as a popular tourist attraction.
In Barry’s honor, there is always a St. Bernard named Barry employed by the St. Bernard’s Pass Hospice. It is believed the hospice and the dogs who worked there have saved over 2,000 lives over the years.
