Chap­ter IX: Old Dog; New Tricks opens with a chal­lenge to a famil­iar saying—one that sug­gests age and learn­ing are at odds. Lad, a dig­ni­fied col­lie well past the height of his youth, qui­et­ly dis­proves that notion through his actions rather than any dis­play of force or nov­el­ty. At twelve, his muz­zle is sil­vered and his steps are slow­er, but his mind remains sharp. One after­noon, he sur­pris­es his fam­i­ly by trot­ting home with a lace para­sol clutched del­i­cate­ly in his jaws. He found it aban­doned, yet untouched, treat­ing it not as a toy but as some­thing need­ing safe return. The para­sol is not his, nor his mistress’s, yet it is clear he under­stands the dif­fer­ence between what belongs and what is mere­ly lost. That thought­ful act earns him not only praise, but renewed admi­ra­tion from his peo­ple, who now look at him with fresh won­der.

Encour­aged by their delight, Lad devel­ops a new habit: seek­ing out trea­sures dur­ing his dai­ly wan­der­ings. One day, his instincts lead him to a pic­nic bas­ket, loaded with food, clear­ly meant for someone’s enjoy­ment. He doesn’t dis­turb its con­tents or treat it as spoil, but instead brings it home, as if it too had been mis­placed. His fam­i­ly, half-amused and half-awed, rec­og­nize the depth of Lad’s respect for bound­aries. Unlike a dog act­ing on appetite, Lad shows judg­ment and restraint—qualities that ele­vate him beyond mere obe­di­ence. His gen­tle mouth and keen eye turn these items into offer­ings, not theft. These gifts are not about reward, but about service—Lad’s way of being use­ful, of keep­ing his pur­pose alive as age creeps clos­er.

But one day, the game changes. Deep in the woods, Lad finds some­thing very dif­fer­ent from bas­kets or umbrel­las: a baby, swad­dled and alone. The child’s scent is unfa­mil­iar, but some­thing in Lad tells him this is a life, not a thing—a small being in need of pro­tec­tion. With great care, he nudges and gen­tly lifts the child, deter­mined to bring it home as he had with the para­sol. Unknown to him, the baby belongs to the Ren­nicks, a wealthy cou­ple who have been fran­tic with wor­ry since the child’s abduc­tion. The scheme was orches­trat­ed by Schwartz, a dis­grun­tled for­mer gar­den­er, and his accom­plice, who hoped to extort a ran­som. In their cru­el plan, they left the baby briefly while tend­ing to a tire, nev­er imag­in­ing that an old dog might unrav­el every­thing.

When the men real­ize the baby is miss­ing, they dou­ble back in a pan­ic, only to see Lad dis­ap­pear­ing into the trees. They pur­sue, cer­tain they can fright­en or over­pow­er him. But Lad is not an ordi­nary dog, and he is not afraid. Pro­tect­ing the child, he turns with the force of a guardian unleashed. In the fight, he lash­es out with pre­ci­sion, bit­ing one man’s leg and caus­ing the oth­er to stum­ble. The assailants, bruised and star­tled, retreat hasti­ly, aban­don­ing their twist­ed plot in favor of escape. Lad stands his ground, his fur streaked with dirt and his limbs tired, but his deter­mi­na­tion unbro­ken.

By the time Lad reach­es the gate of The Place, the baby cra­dled in a blan­ket against his chest, his fam­i­ly is in dis­be­lief. They rush to meet him, expect­ing per­haps a new “found object,” but fall silent when they see the child’s face. The res­cue is not just astonishing—it’s hero­ic. Gen­tle hands lift the baby as Lad slumps beside the porch, pant­i­ng but proud. Soon, word spreads. Police arrive, fol­lowed by the Ren­nicks, their joy and grat­i­tude beyond mea­sure. The offi­cers take the baby’s return as evi­dence enough to fol­low the trail back to the crim­i­nals. Yet all eyes return again and again to Lad, lying in the after­noon light, eyes half-closed, tail wag­ging faint­ly as if unsure what all the fuss is about.

The chap­ter clos­es not with applause, but with qui­et affec­tion. Lad doesn’t seek cred­it or under­stand awards. What he knows is that he did right—he served, he pro­tect­ed, and he adapt­ed. His age didn’t slow his mind or dim his heart. Instead, it gave him the patience and per­spec­tive to see clear­ly, to act brave­ly, and to car­ry life, not just objects, back to safe­ty. In doing so, Lad proves not just that old dogs can learn new tricks—but that the truest tricks are those born of instinct, love, and endur­ing pur­pose.