Greyfriars Bobby: The True Story of a Dog

This is the true story of a dog

who lived almost a century ago.

His monument stands in Scotland's

capital city of Edinburgh to this day,

commemorating his devotion

to an old man whom he loved in life

and guarded for 14 years

after death had parted them.

He made happier the lives of a whole

generation of children who knew him.

This is his story.

Jock, where's Bobby?

Will you listen to his barking?

- Good morning to you, master.

- Morning, Jock.

Bobby's in the barn hunting rats, Elsie.

Take him into the house.

He'll not come for anybody

but old Jock, father.

Aye, he'll come for me.

Bobby!

Down, Bobby.

You come to me

as if you belong to me.

But he'll know he's yours, Elsie,

if you take a wee bit of trouble with him.

Bobby boy. Shall I give you

some breakfast, eh?

Aye, do that, lassie.

- Well, Jock, are you ready to go now?

- Aye.

I have my things.

It wasn't a bad year for the lambing,

master. I can see that.

And young master Wattie

has learned the way of it now.

Aye, you taught him well enough.

Take Bobby into the house.

Jock and me are away to Edinburgh.

To the market.

Whist, laddie!

You're not coming this time.

Go with your mistress

and hold your noise.

Wattie! Open up the gate, will ye?

Come on, boy.

Come on, boy.

Put him in Jock's old seat

in the corner.

Maybe he'll keep quiet there

and stop his grieving.

Mother? Why did old Jock not take Bobby

to the market with him?

Give him a bowl of broth.

Keep him quiet.

Is Bobby really my own dog now,

to do what I like with?

- Aye. He's yours.

- And old Jock will not mind it?

Bobby! Come back!

Bobby, where you going?

Bobby, come back!

Bobby! Bobby! Come back!

Bobby! Bobby! Wattie, stop him!

Stop him, Wattie!

Bobby, come back.

Bobby! You naughty dog! Come back!

Jock, I'm no' happy about you goin'

from Cauldbrae. You know that.

Aye. I'm not happy myself, master.

Well, times are very hard, Jock.

I just cannot afford ye, that's all.

I'm no' blamin' ye, master.

I been a shepherd now for 60 years.

It will no' be so hard to find another place.

I did no' tell the bairns

you wouldn't be coming home with me.

- I could no' tell them.

- No.

It would serve no purpose.

Giyup, boy.

Hello, there!

Steady, boy.

I'm a minute slow by gun time.

How do you get used to the crack of it?

My head nearly jumped off.

I'd like to pay you

for two weeks, Jock.

I'll not take a shilling

I haven't earned.

Well, if you want.

There's no more to be said.

Thank you.

- I'll be goin' on my way.

- Aye.

Goodbye, then, Jock.

Good luck to you.

Come on, you silly boy.

You little imp! Go on.

Get down there. Get down!

Get out of here!

You did no' have to glare at me,

Mr. Traill.

Glare at the dog, jumpin' on my lap

and howling like a banshee.

You're in his master's usual place

for dinner on market day.

What's wrong, Bobby? You're usually here

bang on time with the 1:00 gun.

And you're all muddy and panting.

Where's old Jock?

No, old Jock's not here, Bobby.

Go find him.

I'd take my hand to the wee dog

for dirtying me like that.

If I did that to everyone who dirties up

the place, I'd have my work cut out.

Have you seen the shepherd body

from Cauldbrae, Jock, in the market?

Aye, just after time gun,

but I have no' seen him since.

It's the first time in years

he has no' come to me for his dinner.

Yet his wee dog was here.

Give it back!

Get away!

How did you get here?

You should no' be with me.

You should be home.

You should be home at Cauldbrae.

You'll have the wee Elsie

grievin' for you.

Have a wee drink. Come on.

At least have a drink.

That sounds like Bobby.

Aye, I'm coming.

I'm not staying in the kirkyard yet.

Just give me a chance to get my breath.

You're as great a scold

as the wife I never had.

Is that you, Bobby?

Here. What is it, Bobby?

Did you find...

So you found him.

All right, I'm coming.

Jock! Jock, man, what ails ye?

Man, you're sick.

And you're wet too. Here.

Come on. Come over to my place.

Give me your arm.

Come on, Jock. Take off your coat and

plaid and set down here by the fire.

Here. Give me the bag.

- Here.

- Aye, I'm wet.

- It's a misty night.

- Misty?

It's raining like a torrent.

And ye call it misty!

If Noah himself

had been a Lowland Scot,

he'd have said the deluge

flooding the world was...

Just fair wet.

Was not the deluge fair wet,

Mr. Traill?

- Have you had your supper yet, man?

- No, no' yet.

But don't bother yourself, Mr. Traill.

I'm bothered as it is,

so do not make it worse by arguing.

Bobby, stop that. I'm no' in need

of a shower in the house, thank ye.

Nor yet a pattern of dirty feet.

Aye, he's talking to you.

Here now. Eat!

You were always a hospitable man,

Mr. Traill.

And pray, how many market days have

you spent your sixpence eating here?

I'm thinking of nothing more than to

warm you up so you'll come again.

Do no' thank me for that!

You're fortunate that that's

a very intelligent wee dog you have.

He was here at the time gun

searching for you.

Man, you're ill.

You're very ill.

Stay here and eat your food.

I'll go and get a doctor for ye.

No! I'll not see a doctor.

You need of a dose of physic and a bed

in the infirmary until you're right.

No!

The infirmary's for poor people

that are dying.

No man leaves the infirmary alive.

Jock, that's no' true.

I go there myself

if I so much as cut my finger.

- Let any student laddie bind it up for me.

- It only proves you're soft.

- But not me!

- All right now, calm yourself.

Nobody's gonna make you do

what you don't wish.

Now eat your broth.

Bobby. Bobby, come here.

Where are ye?

He's over at my library

in the corner there.

- He's so smart he likes to read.

- No, he can't read, Mr. Traill.

I can't read myself.

That's a lot of books you've got there,

Mr. Traill.

You must be a very serious man.

Aye. I am that.

And books are wife and bairns to me

and as good company as that wee beast

is to yourself.

Here, Bobby. I'm thinkin' you've not had

very much to eat today yourself, laddie.

Here. There.

He's a good wee beast,

this Bobby of yours.

- You must be very proud.

- Aye, but he's not my own dog.

- He's not mine at all.

- Man, he's fair fond of you.

A dog chooses his own master.

Aye, but he can't choose.

He's got to go home.

I can't say that it won't be sad parting,

but he's got to go.

I must get word to Cauldbrae,

so they can come and take him home.

Bobby, now you lie still there

and mind old Jock.

I have to fetch the doctor to him.

I'm all right. I'm quite well.

Don't let a doctor see me.

You're very sick, Jock.

It's the only thing!

Now you stay here.

They'll not take me to the infirmary.

Come on, Bobby.

What am I to do with you, laddie?

I can get a lodging in here,

but the old woman that

runs it will not take a dog.

What's that you're saying?

Aye, you're a canny wee dog.

You're right.

I've carried newborn lambs in the pocket

of my plaidie, so why not you, eh?

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