Bummer and Lazarus: San Francisco's famous stray dogs

Part 1

Who were Bummer and Lazarus

Bummer was a black-and-white Newfoundland mix who set up outside Frederick Martin's saloon on Montgomery Street in 1860. He quickly proved himself an exceptional ratter. In 1861 he rescued another dog who had been badly injured in a fight, bringing him scraps and warming him at night until the dog recovered. That recovery earned the second dog the name Lazarus. As a team, you would have been hard pressed to find better ratters, since Bummer and Lazarus once killed 85 rats in 20 minutes.

Newspapermen who drank at Martin's saloon began writing about the dogs regularly. The Californian, the Daily Alta California, the Daily Morning Call, and the Daily Evening Bulletin all covered their exploits.

Part 2

Life on the streets of Gold Rush San Francisco

San Francisco had a serious stray dog problem in the 1860s. In Los Angeles in the 1840s, dogs had outnumbered people by nearly two to one. Most strays in San Francisco were poisoned or trapped, but a dog that proved useful, such as a skilled ratter, sometimes escaped that fate. Bummer begged scraps from passers-by and saloon patrons along Montgomery Street, and that is where you would most often have found him and Lazarus.

You may have heard that Bummer and Lazarus belonged to Emperor Norton, the self-declared Emperor of the United States. That is a popular legend, but no contemporary record shows Norton actually owned the dogs. The story likely grew from cartoons by the illustrator Edward Jump, who often drew the two dogs alongside Norton begging for scraps. Norton was reportedly angry when he saw himself pictured with the dogs in a shop window and broke his own cane over it.

Part 3

Newspaper fame and Mark Twain's account

The dogs' exploits were reported almost like an ongoing serial, with editors competing to give the stories dramatic, human touches. Papers described Bummer as a faithful gentleman down on his luck, while Lazarus was cast as the fair-weather friend who left when it suited him. Their exploits were recorded in detail in the city's newspapers.

• Stopping a runaway horse and cart on Clay Street.
• Getting locked inside a jewelry store and smashing display cases, or getting locked in a stationery store overnight.
• Stealing bones from other dogs on slow news days.
• Killing around 400 rats flushed out during the cleaning of a fruit stand's upper gallery.

Mark Twain, then a young reporter for the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, wrote an obituary for Bummer after his death in November 1865. Twain wrote that Bummer died "full of years, and honor, and disease, and fleas." The Daily Evening Bulletin had earlier run a lengthy obituary for Lazarus called "Lament for Lazarus."

Part 4

Legal protection and the city's affection

In June 1862 a new dog catcher took Lazarus in for the pound. A mob of angry citizens demanded his release, and residents circulated a petition asking the city to protect the pair. The Board of Supervisors released Lazarus and exempted both dogs by name from the ordinance against strays. That ordinance normally let officers shoot unleashed dogs on sight or send them to the pound, where a five-dollar fee bought back the lucky few and most others were killed.

Part 5

Death and lasting legacy

Lazarus died in October 1863 after being given meat laced with rat poison, reportedly after he had bitten a boy. Citizens put up a fifty-dollar reward for the poisoner. Bummer lived two more years and died in November 1865 after being kicked by a drunk man.

Both dogs' deaths drew heavy newspaper coverage, including lengthy obituaries. Their stuffed skins were displayed in the saloons they had frequented, and later given to a museum before being destroyed in 1910. In March 1992, a brass plaque recalling their story was installed at the base of the Transamerica Pyramid.

Part 6

Fact from folklore

Other details are less certain: one later retelling says Lazarus was kicked by a fire engine horse, while earlier newspaper accounts say he was poisoned. The link to Emperor Norton is largely legend, kept alive by cartoons rather than by any record that he actually owned the dogs.

The dogs became fixtures in the city's newspapers, their exploits reported again and again.