The Story My Doggie Told to Me

[We had some fine times together!]

The Story My Doggie
Told to Me

By

Ralph Henry Barbour

Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “The Half-Back,”
“Tom, Dick and Harriet,” etc.

With Illustrations by

John Rae

New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1914

Copyright, 1914,
By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

TO GRETCHEN

in the hope that she will
read it to her children and that they
may profit by its lessons, this
book is dedicated by
her Master

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

PART ONE
WHEN I WAS A PUPPY

CHAPTER I
PLAY DAYS

Bow!

I always begin a story that way. It is what you Two-Legged Folks call “making your bow.” With us dogs it means “Hello” and “How do you do” and “Good morning” and—and lots of other things too. And sometimes it means “Look out!” You see, we have so many ways of saying it!

Perhaps some day I’ll tell you how to know just what we mean when we say “Bow!”—like that—sort of quick and friendly; and what we mean when we say it slow and gruff, way down in our throats.

And then there’s “Wow!” too. “Wow” is different from “Bow.” And “Bow-wow” is still different. But this isn’t telling my story, is it?

Of course, you haven’t said you wanted me to tell you my story, but I’m almost sure you do. I think you’ll like it, because I am a very good story-teller—for a dog. And, although I am not quite three years old, I have seen a lot of things in my day.

You won’t mind if I wag my tail now and then, will you? It is very hard for a dog to tell a tale without wagging. Some folks say a dog talks with his tail. He doesn’t though; not really. He just uses his tail the way you Two-Legged Folks use your hands, to make others understand better what you are saying.

When you tell a story you should always start right at the very beginning, and that is what I am going to do.

The first thing I remember was when I was about two weeks old. I’m sure you can’t remember when you were two weeks old. I think that is very clever of me, don’t you? It shows what a fine memory I have. I was lying in a sort of cage made of criss-cross wires. There was sawdust on the floor. There were four of us in all, for I had two sisters and one brother. My mother’s name was Gretchen and my father’s name was Fritz. I am named after my father. He had two or three other names besides, but they’re very hard to say, being German. You see my father and mother were both born in Germany and brought to this country when they were very young, and so, of course, they spoke German very nicely. But they never taught it to me. I suppose there wasn’t time. There are so many, many things a puppy has to learn. I didn’t see much of my father when I was a tiny puppy. Sometimes he came to the cage where we lived and licked our noses through the wires, but he was a very busy dog and had lots of things to attend to.

My mother was very beautiful, with the loveliest soft brown eyes and the longest, silkiest ears and quite the crookedest front legs you ever saw. (You see, in my family crooked front legs are much admired.) We all loved her very dearly, but I am afraid we caused her a lot of trouble. But she was very fond of us and very proud of us. Sometimes I wished she wasn’t so careful about keeping us clean, for lots of times when I wanted to play with my brother and sisters I couldn’t because she had to wash me all over. You see, puppies don’t like being washed much more than you do; and I heard you making an awful fuss this morning!

We lived very happily in the cage for several weeks. We ate and slept and played, but most of all we ate and slept. At first it must have been funny to see us trying to walk, for our legs were so weak that they just sprawled out under us when we wanted to use them. But it wasn’t long before we could run and jump as much as we pleased. I was the biggest and the strongest of us all, and I think my mother was every bit as fond of me as she was of my two sisters and my brother, but it did seem to me as if I got most of the punishment. Maybe I was the naughtiest one, too!

As we grew older and stronger our mother used to leave us alone for a little while every day, and we didn’t like that at all at first. We used to whine and cry and feel very lonesome until she came back. But she always did come back, and pretty soon we got to know that she would, and so we didn’t mind so much. We had some lovely frolics, we puppies. We used to make believe that we were very cross, and tumble each other over in the sawdust and bite each other’s ears and legs and growl such funny little growls!

A man named William looked after us. He wore leather gaiters. They tasted very well. Mother said he was a coachman. He was very kind to us and brought us things to eat and water to drink and petted us a lot. Then there was another man who only came to see us a few times. We didn’t like him so well. He was a Doctor and smelled of medicine. He came to see us once when my sister Freya was sick and once when I had an awful pain in my insides. That was later, though, after we were out of the cage and running around in the yard. It was when I ate the harness soap. Mother told me afterwards that it was a mistake to eat any kind of soap. I think she was right.

Then, of course, there was the Master, and the Mistress, and, best of all, the Baby. She wasn’t exactly a baby, because she was almost two years old, but every one called her the Baby. We all loved her very much. She used to take us up one by one and kiss us on our noses and call us “Booful dogums” and hug us. Sometimes she hugged so hard it hurt, but we never let her know it. She had golden hair and blue eyes and two little fat red cheeks and was always laughing. Her real name was Mildred. The Master was a very big man, so big that I could only see to the tops of his riding-boots when I was little. He had a very deep, gruff voice and called us “Those little rascals!” But we knew he didn’t mean it and we liked him. But we liked the Baby best of all, and after her the Mistress, who was the Baby’s mother. She was quite small for a grown-up and had such a nice voice that we loved to hear it and would all go running to the front of the cage or the yard fence when she came.

The Family—we called the Master, the Mistress and the Baby the Family—lived in the country in a beautiful white house with green blinds that stood on top of a little hill and had trees and fields all around it. There was a pond, too, and a brook that ran out of it. That’s where the ducks lived. Ducks are very funny things. Later I’ll tell you something about them. There was a stable, as well, and outside the stable was a yard fenced in with wire netting, and in the corner of the yard was what they called the Kennel. That was where I was born. The yard was quite large and after we were allowed to run around in it, we had a fine time. There was so much to see from it: the house and the duck-pond and the country road, with people going by that had to be barked at, and the place where William washed the carriages when the weather was fine, and many other things. Also, there were squirrels in the trees, and birds, too. And there was Ju-Ju.

CHAPTER II
WHAT WE LEARNED

[She used to think they were to chase]

Ju-ju was a cat. She was grey, like smoke, and had a bushy tail and long hair and yellow eyes. I don’t think yellow eyes are very pretty, do you? None of us ever liked Ju-ju very much, although we soon got to respect her. She was very vain of her long hair and thick tail and used to spend hours doing nothing but washing herself. Cats are very lazy, I think, and waste too much time on themselves. Once I asked Mother what cats were for and she sighed and said [she used to think they were to chase] but she had changed her mind [and thought now they were just to look at]. Mother had a place on her nose like a scratch where the hair never grew and sometimes I’ve wondered whether Ju-ju made it. When we first got out into the yard Ju-ju used to come and jump on top of one of the fence-posts and look down at us just as though we were funny and strange. That used to make us very angry and we would bark and jump at the post for the longest time. But of course we couldn’t reach her and after awhile she would blink and blink at us and then go to sleep up there! Cats are very annoying. They’re almost as bad as ducks!

[... and thought now they were just to look at]

We were born in the Spring and lived in the yard until we were four months old. Then my brother, whose name was Franz, and one of my sisters, whose name was Franzchen, left us. They went away off to live in the city and Freya and I were quite lonely at first, and our mother felt very badly about it. But she told us that they had gone to live with some nice, kind people and would be very happy, and after that we didn’t feel so badly about it.

After Franz and Franzchen left us we were no longer kept in the Kennel yard, but were allowed to go anywhere we pleased—except the house. We weren’t allowed in the house, but sometimes we got in. When we did we scampered straight for the kitchen. The first time we did it Cook had a tin dish filled with cake-batter in her hand and when we ran at her and barked and jumped up on her she was so surprised and scared that she cried “Saints presarve us!” and dropped the dish. [Most of the batter went on Freya] and she ran out as quick as she could go, much more frightened than Cook, and I after her. We had a fine time licking the batter off. It was nice and sweet and sticky and lasted all day. Father was quite angry with us, but Mother said “Puppies will be puppies.”

[Most of the batter went on Freya]

After that it was very hard to get in the kitchen, and when we did get in Cook would drive us out with a broom. Of course we tried not to go and made believe we didn’t know what she meant when she cried “Shoo!” and “Scat!” We would run under the tables and into the pantry and quite often she would have to coax us out with pieces of meat or something nice. It was very exciting. If we thought she really meant to hit us with the broom we would lie on our backs with our feet in the air and pretend we were awfully frightened. Then Delia, who was the maid and a great friend of ours, would say “Oh, the poor little dears. Don’t you dare hit them, Mary McGuire!” Then we would have a piece of cake each and Delia would pet us and put us outside.

Father was a very busy dog and had a great many things to look after. He always went to drive with our Mistress and sat very straight and fine beside William on the front seat. Then, too, [he had to help William do all sorts of things], like wash the carriages and feed the chickens and ducks and cut the grass and rake the leaves. He must have been a great comfort to William.

[He had to help William do all sorts of things]

Mother had her paws full looking after us most of that summer and so she was not able to help much with the work. Of course she kept watch and taught us to, and we soon learned who to bark at and who not. When the man from the butcher’s came Mother always made it a point to be very polite to him. She wagged her tail and sniffed his boots and followed him around to the kitchen door. He smelled very nice. Sometimes he gave us small pieces of meat and we were always glad to see him. But when a tramp or a pedlar came Mother barked and the hair stood up all along her back. We soon learned to do the same and tramps didn’t very often come much farther than the gate.

Of course [we learned] a great many other things too. Such as [to stand on our hind legs and beg] when we wanted anything and not get under the feet of the horses and keep away from the carriage wheels. Once a wheel went over the end of my tail and it hurt a good deal and I crawled into a stall and cried. Mother came and told me I was too old to cry and that it would teach me to keep out of the way.

[We learned to stand on our hind legs and beg]

Another thing we learned was not to jump up on the Baby. We did it because we loved her and wanted to lick her face, but she always tumbled over. That was because she only had two legs and was no fault of ours. Once when she tumbled she struck her head against something hard and cried dreadfully. We licked her face as hard as we could to comfort her, because that is what Mother always did to us when we were hurt, but it didn’t seem to do her much good. Then William came running up and cuffed us pretty hard and picked Baby up. I don’t think he should have punished us, but maybe he didn’t understand. After that we didn’t do it any more.

Another thing we soon learned was to let Ju-ju alone. One day, soon after we were allowed to go where we liked, Freya and I came across Ju-ju in the kitchen yard. She was fast asleep and we thought it would be great fun to jump at her and bark. So we did it and she woke up awfully quick and scratched me on the nose and chased Freya half-way to the stable. Cats can’t take a joke.

CHAPTER III
PUPPY TROUBLES

We learned a good deal about what was good to eat and what wasn’t, too. Once Delia left a tin pan filled with some whitish stuff on the back steps and I ate quite a lot of it before she came out and found what I was doing. When she did she cried “Cook! Cook! One of the Puppies has eaten the starch!” Of course I went right away, as I didn’t want to have any trouble about it, and pretty soon I felt very funny inside and crawled into a stall where it was quiet and dark. But William found me after a while and made me swallow something that didn’t taste at all nice and pretty soon I felt better. I didn’t think it was very kind of Delia to tell William what I had done, but maybe it was all for the best, because until he made me swallow the nasty medicine I was pretty sure I was going to die. Starch and soap taste all right but they aren’t good for puppies. I found that out.

It seems that we all have to learn a lot of things by what Mother calls “sad experience.” Like bees. Bees look very much like flies but they’re different. Once Freya and I saw some bees going in and out of a tiny hole in the ground back of the stable. They were very large bees and growled. We wondered why they went into the hole and so we scratched at it to find out. While we were doing it quite a lot of bees came out and Freya gave a yelp and began to paw at her nose. She looked so funny that I laughed at her and asked why she did it. Then I gave a yelp and forgot all about Freya. Those bees were very angry and sat down on us wherever our hair was thin, and every time they sat down they scratched. We didn’t stay there long, I can tell you! We ran as fast as we could run, but the bees flew right along with us and chased us way down to the duck-pond. By that time I had five scratches and Freya had four and they hurt a good deal and swelled up. We licked the scratches and whined and after a while we rolled over in the mud at the edge of the pond and that made them feel better. But they didn’t stop hurting for a long time. After that if a bee came buzz-buzzing around us we always made believe we didn’t see it. But we got up very quietly and moved away.

Then there are balls. Some balls are nice to play with and chew on. They are made of rubber. William had one and he used to throw it, and Freya and I, and sometimes Mother and Father, too, would scamper after it and see who could get it and bring it back to him. If Freya got it I always took it away from her, because I am bigger and stronger than she is. Besides, she’s only a girl dog! Once Freya found the ball in the harness room, where it had dropped off a shelf, and so she took it out under a tree and chewed on it until there was a hole in it. Then she wanted to see what was in the hole and so she tore the ball all to pieces. There wasn’t a thing in it. She ate some of the pieces and that afternoon the Doctor came and stayed quite a long time and Freya was very sick. William got another ball, but Freya would never go near it.

At the side of the house toward the orchard there was a lawn where the Family played a game they called croquet. They had mallets and a lot of different coloured wooden balls and they made the balls roll by hitting them with the mallets. Once Freya and I were there and we chased the balls. The Master laughed at us and said we mustn’t do it. But he didn’t really care, and the Baby, who was there with Nurse, clapped her hands and thought it was fine fun. So did we. We would run at the balls and bark at them and try to pick them up in our mouths. But we couldn’t because they were too big. The Master and Mistress laughed and laughed at us. Then I saw a ball rolling along very fast and I made believe it was a rat and ran for it as hard as I could go. But when I tried to bite it it wouldn’t stop but kept right on rolling. And so I rolled too. I rolled several times and when I found my feet I hurried off with a terrible pain in my head. Rubber balls and wooden balls are very different, like flies and bees.

About that time we had our first collars. Mine was black and Freya’s was brown. William said that was so people could tell us apart. I thought it was very silly of him because we didn’t look at all alike. I was bigger and, if I do say it myself, much finer looking. But that is what he said. The collars had little round brass tags on them and on the tags were numbers. They were quite like the collars that Father and Mother wore, only a great deal smaller, and we were very proud of them. William put a strap from Freya’s collar to mine and then snapped a leash on to the strap and said “Come on.” I trotted right along, but Freya sat down and wouldn’t budge an inch. So, of course, I had to pull her all the way to the house. It was very hard work for me, and Freya didn’t like it much, either. She howled all the way up the drive and William just laughed at her. I was quite ashamed of her for acting so. The Master and Mistress and the Baby came out to see us and I tried to put a good face on it by laughing too, but Freya just howled and howled! Girl dogs are very silly sometimes! Then the Master said:

“Take the leash off, William, and see what they’ll do.”

So he did and I ran up to the Mistress and Freya tried to run toward the stable. I wasn’t going to have that, so I dragged Freya after me and the Baby was between us and the strap upset her into the flower bed. I was sorry about it, but I thought we had better not stay there any longer, so I turned and ran as hard as I could, pulling Freya after me, toward the orchard. The orchard is quite a large place and one needn’t be caught there unless one wants to. But Freya, of course, had to spoil it all. When we came to a tree she went on the other side of it and the strap held us there. I told her to come around my side, but she just whimpered and tugged at the strap and paid no attention to what I said. Of course I wasn’t going to give in to her whim, so I pulled and pulled and would have pulled her around the right way at last if William hadn’t come up just then and caught us. We got a cuffing, which was all Freya’s fault for being so obstinate.

CHAPTER IV
WHEN I ATE MY COLLAR

After that William put the strap on us every day for a while and we got used to it. It was all right as soon as Freya understood that she was to go the way I wanted to go. But it took her some time to do it. Freya is very stupid at times. About a week after I got my collar it was the cause of much pain to me. The Baby took it off one day and laid it on the ground. After she had gone I went back and found it. There is something about leather that I like. I didn’t mean to do any harm to the collar, but it tasted very good and so I closed my eyes and chewed and chewed and chewed. Freya came and watched me and asked me to give her some.

“You’ve got a collar of your own,” I growled. “Go away.”

“All right,” she said. “But you’ll catch it. Just you wait!”

She went off to bark at Ju-Ju, who was asleep on a window-sill, and I thought of what she had said. I looked at the collar. It was a very sad looking collar. There wasn’t much left except the brass tag. Freya was right; I would catch it if any one saw it. So I took what was left of it and dug a hole in a flower-bed and buried it. Not ten minutes after that the Mistress came out and called me. I made believe I didn’t hear her, but it did no good, for she kept on calling me and so I had to go to her. When I got near her I rolled over on my back and whined.

“Why,” she said, “you funny dog! I’m not angry with you, even if you didn’t come as soon as you should have. You’re a nice puppums and—why, where’s your collar?”

I didn’t say anything, of course. Instead I pounced on a twig and shook it and ran around with it in my mouth. I thought perhaps she would forget about the collar. But she didn’t even smile.

“Naughty Fritz!” she said. “What have you done with your collar?”

Freya came up and looked at me in a way which said: “There! Now you are in for it! And I’m glad, because you were selfish and wouldn’t give me any.” And then she trotted over to the Mistress with her tail curled up very proudly as much as to say: “See what a good dog I am! I haven’t lost my collar!”

“You wait till I catch you,” I growled.

Then the Baby came out and the Mistress said: “Look, Baby, at what a naughty, bad dog Fritz has been. He’s lost his nice new collar.”

Baby laughed and gurgled. “Collar!” she said.

“Yes, dear, and see how ashamed he looks. Naughty dog!”

“Mild’ed tooked it off,” said the Baby.

“You took it off? Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, dear,” said the Mistress. “What did you do with it?”

“Tooked it off!” said the Baby, and clapped her hands.

By that time William had come up, with a rake in his hands, and the Mistress told him about it. William scratched his head, which is what he always does when he tries to think very hard.

“Where were you when you took it off, dear?” asked the Mistress.

The Baby toddled across to the lawn and we all followed her. I pretended to be very much surprised when we found that the collar wasn’t there.

“Are you sure this is the place, dear?” asked the Mistress.

The Baby nodded hard. “Mild’ed tooked off collar!” she cried and looked very proud of herself. I hunted all around, but couldn’t find anything but a small stone. So I took that to the Mistress, but she just tossed it away. Freya chased it. William scratched his head some more.

“If she took it off him, mum,” he said, “it’s gone by now. Sure, he chews up everything he finds, he’s that de-struct-ive, mum.”

I didn’t know what “de-struct-ive” meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it.

“Oh, I hope not,” said the Mistress, looking at me very hard. I turned my head away and made believe I didn’t hear. Freya wagged her tail and trotted off to the flower bed. I watched her and growled.

“Well, perhaps we’ll find it,” said the Mistress. “You’d better look around, William.”

“Yes, mum,” said William. Then he cried “Hi, there! Stop that!” and ran over to the flower bed where Freya was digging. By the time he got to her she had the collar in her mouth and was holding it out to him, wagging her tail.

“Here it is, mum,” called William. “And all chewed up, mum, just like I said, mum!”

I didn’t wait to hear any more, but very quietly slipped away from them and ran for the stable. But William found me. He dragged me out by the scruff of my neck from behind a pile of flower-pots and showed me the collar. Then he—but I don’t like to think of what he did. It was very painful. After he had gone I cried myself to sleep behind the flower-pots and slept quite a while. And when I woke up again I didn’t come out until I was sure that William had gone to his dinner. I was very hungry, too, but I was afraid to go near the house. So I went off to the meadow and dug up a bone I had buried a long while before. I heard them calling me to come to dinner, but I didn’t go. I hoped they would be sorry they had treated me as they had. After a while, though, they stopped calling me. So I chewed on my bone, which was very good but a little too dry. Still, when you’re very hungry most any bone tastes good. After that I felt much better and set off to find Freya. I met my father in the stable yard and asked him where she was, and he said she was in the kitchen.

“Delia is giving her gingerbread because she found your collar. If you go up there perhaps they’ll give you some, too.”

“I guess I don’t want any,” I said.

“You don’t deserve any,” said Father. “After this you will know better than to eat your collar.”

I went on toward the house and lay down behind a bush and waited. After awhile Freya came out looking very pleased with herself. She had a piece of cake in her mouth and went over to the orchard to bury it because she had had so much already she couldn’t eat it. I followed her, keeping away from the house, and went up to her very quietly while she was digging a hole. When she saw me she dropped the cake and tried to run, but I got her....

Afterwards I ate the cake.

Of course Freya told Mother that I had hurt her. She’s such a tattle-tale! When I went back to the stable Mother wanted to punish me, but Father said: “No, Freya deserved what she got. She should not have told on Fritz.” So Mother said we were both very bad children and we must go to the Kennel and stay there until we could behave. So we went. After a while Freya crawled over to me and licked my ear and said she was sorry. I just growled. So then she licked the other ear and said she was sorry again, and I forgave her and we made it up and went off together to the pond to hunt frogs.

A day or two later William came with another collar and wanted to put it on me, but I ran as fast as I could and hid behind the flower-pots again. I don’t know why I always went there when I wanted to hide, because William always found me right away, just as he did this time. I whined a little when he pulled me out, but he patted me and rubbed my neck and said he wasn’t going to hurt me.

“Look at the fine new collar I have for you,” he said. “Hold still now till I get it on.”

So I held still, as still as I could for trembling, and he put it around my neck and buckled it.

“There, now,” he said. “Aren’t you the proud puppy? Sure, it looks fine on you. Run along now and show it to your father and mother. But don’t you be eating it up, mind!”

Just as though I would! Why, I’ve hated the taste of collars ever since!

CHAPTER V
HOW I DUG FOR A BADGER

Next door to us was a dog named Jack. There was a wide field between our house and Jack’s and so he lived quite a way from us. But he used to come over to our place pretty often and after we got big we went over to see him. Jack and Father were great friends and used to go hunting together. Jack was a pointer and the first time I saw him I asked Mother what sort of an animal he was, because as he was so different from us I didn’t think of his being a dog too. He had very long legs and was white with brown spots, one on each side of his head and one on each side of his body and a little one where his tail began. He was dreadfully big, ten times as big as Father, and I was afraid of him at first. But I need not have been, for he was a very nice, kind dog.

[He was what the Family called a “bird dog.”] When his Master went out with a gun to hunt partridges or grouse Jack would go ahead and scent the birds in the grass or bushes, and then he would stand very still, with his tail pointing straight out behind him and his nose pointing straight out in front of him, and his Master would know that there were partridges ahead and say “Hie on!” Then Jack would creep on very quietly and all of a sudden the birds would fly up in the air and his Master’s gun would go bang-bang! and then there would be partridges for dinner. I thought it was very clever of Jack and wondered why Father didn’t hunt birds too. I asked Mother about it once and she said:

[He was what the Family called a “bird dog”]

“Every dog to his trade, my dear. Jack is a pointer and pointers were made to hunt birds. Your father is a dachshund and dachshunds were made to hunt badgers and rabbits and animals that live underground. Jack is a very fine dog, but he couldn’t dig out a badger or a fox or even a rabbit.”

“Oh,” I said, “could Father do that?”

“Of course, and so can I; and so can you when you grow up. That’s why you are made as you are. Badgers and foxes live in holes that they make far under the ground. The holes are small and they turn and twist, and that’s why your body is made so long and your legs so short; so that you can follow a fox or a badger into his hole.”

“What is a badger?” I asked.

“A badger,” said Mother, “is a very savage animal, much larger than your father. He lives underground and comes out at night to hunt. He has short legs and very long claws and a long nose. He catches smaller animals and eats them and sometimes he steals the farmer’s chickens. He has a very loose skin, just like yours, that is covered with fine grey hairs. Folks make brushes out of the hairs. The brush the Master lathers his face with in the morning when he shaves is made of badger hair and the brush that William used the other day to paint the old wagon with is made of it too.”

“I wish I could catch a badger,” I said. Mother smiled.

“The first time you found one at the end of his tunnel you might wish differently,” she said. “Badgers fight hard, with tooth and claw, my dear.”

“Are they more savage than foxes?” I asked.

“Yes, but no braver. A fox has only his teeth to fight with but he makes good use of them.”

“I wouldn’t be afraid,” I boasted. “Are there any badgers or foxes about here?”

“Foxes, yes, but no badgers that I have ever heard of.”

“There are rabbits, though,” I said. “Some day I shall catch me a rabbit.”

“I hope not, my dear. Rabbits are harmless and they can’t fight underground. We have no quarrel with rabbits, we dachshunds.”

“Then,” I said, “I’ll have to find a fox.”

“It will be a good while before you are big enough to bring a fox out of his hole,” said Mother. “Some day, though, you shall try it, perhaps. You have good digging paws, Fritz.”

“They—they’re awfully big,” I said.

“As they should be, my dear. They’re made for digging. Each one is a little shovel, or, rather, a hoe. When you go into a hole that isn’t big enough you begin to dig. And that is why your front legs are made so crooked. If they were straight you would throw the dirt right under you. As they are, with your feet turning out, they throw the dirt on each side of you, out of your way.”

“I’m glad you told me that,” I said, “because I’ve always wondered about my legs and feet and been a little ashamed of them. They seemed so funny and crooked and big. Now I see that they are just as they should be.” I looked at my feet quite proudly. “I guess,” I said, “I’ll go and dig a hole somewhere.”

“Very well,” said Mother, stretching herself out to go to sleep, “but keep away from the flower beds, Fritz.”

So I found a field-mouse hole at the root of an apple tree in the orchard and dug and dug and had got down so far that only my tail was sticking out when Freya came along.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She might have seen for herself that I was digging a hole, but she is always asking silly questions like that.

“I’m digging for a badger,” I said. “Want to help?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Freya. “Is there really a badger down there?”

“Never you mind,” I said. “You don’t suppose I’d be digging a hole as deep as this one if there wasn’t something there, do you?” So I crawled out and Freya got in and went to work. I looked on a minute and then I said:

“You don’t dig very well, do you? I suppose your feet aren’t big enough.”

“They’re as big as yours,” said Freya, stopping to rest.

“Then you don’t know how to use them,” I said. “Digging is an art, and not every dachshund knows how.”

“Humph!” said Freya. “Let me see you do it, then.”

So I got back in the hole and dug as hard as ever I could, and the dirt just flew out, I tell you! “There,” I said at last, much out of breath, “that’s the way to do it!”

But when I looked around, would you believe it, that silly dog had gone! And there was William hurrying up with a stick in his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he cried, real crossly. “Trying to dig up that apple tree? Get out o’ that, you pesky critter!”

So I got out in a big hurry and ran off around the house and down to the stable and crept behind the flower-pots. For once William didn’t find me and, as I was very tired, I went to sleep and dreamed that I had crawled down a long, long hole in the ground and that in front of me was a horrible grey badger with long teeth and glaring yellow eyes and great sharp claws. And when I tried to turn around and run out I couldn’t because the hole was too small, and when I tried to back out I couldn’t because the dirt had fallen in around me. And the badger said: “Hah, you’re the smart young dog who said he wanted to catch a badger, aren’t you?” And I said: “N-no, sir, that—that was my brother.” “You’re fibbing,” said the badger, “and for that I shall eat you all up. Raow!” Then he crept toward me and just as he reached out one great big paw with dozens and dozens of ugly, sharp claws I woke up with a howl, shivering and shaking! And, oh, my, wasn’t I glad to see those flower-pots and know that I was in the stable and not in a long, deep hole with a badger coming at me! I ran out and found Mother and cuddled up very close to her and told her my dream. She just smiled and licked my eyes and pretty soon I went to sleep again in the sunlight.

CHAPTER VI
THE FROG WHO WAS A TOAD

When I thought about it afterwards it seemed strange that I should not be allowed to dig holes when digging holes was what I was for. But every time I did it some one, William or the Master or the Mistress, came up and said “No, no, Fritz! Naughty dog! Mustn’t dig up the ground.” It was most discouraging. (Discouraging is a long word, and if you don’t know what it means I shan’t tell you. Any one as old as you are ought to know.) Freya never got in trouble that way. She didn’t seem to care much for doing the things I did, like digging for badgers in the orchard or for foxes on the front lawn. (I know now that I should not have expected to find a fox under the lawn, but then one place seemed as good as another.) Freya liked to stay around the back door and look hungry and coax Delia or Cook to give her things to eat. When she wasn’t doing that she was most always asleep somewhere. She got very fat and lazy and it was all I could do to get her to go hunting with me. She wasn’t much good at hunting, anyway. She always got tired just when the fun began.

We used to go down to the pond and the brook and hunt frogs. Frogs aren’t good to eat, but it is a lot of fun chasing them. You creep up on them very quietly along the edge of the pond and try to get them before they can jump back into the water. Most always you miss them, because their eyes are in the wrong place, being on the top of their head, and they can see behind them. But sometimes you catch one. When you do you play with it awhile and let it go. Freya, though, never would play with them. She said they were ugly-looking and she didn’t like the smell of them. Girl-dogs are like that, though, sort of finicky and fussy about little things.

You wouldn’t think that such a silly, no-account animal as a frog could get a decent dog into trouble, would you? It can, though, and it did. And I was the dog. I’ll tell you about it because it may be a warning to you some time when you are hunting frogs.

One afternoon when it was very hot weather and we had all kept very quiet in the shade most of the day I got tired of keeping still and told Freya to get up and we’d hunt frogs. She didn’t want to at all, being, as I’ve said, fat and lazy, but I nipped her ear and made her. So we trotted down the road and across the meadow, and when we were still a long way from the pond I saw a frog. I told Freya to be quiet and then I stole ahead very softly and there he was in the grass just sitting and looking at me out of two big goggly eyes. He was quite different from any frog I’d ever seen before, being fatter and uglier and having more warts.

Freya whispered, “Oh, isn’t he horrid? Don’t touch him, Fritz!” But I wasn’t going to let any frog make faces at me and so I jumped for him and caught him. He tried to get away but I took him in my mouth and shook him just in play, of course, and then—Oh dear, the most awful thing happened! The inside of my mouth got on fire and I dropped that frog and ran as hard as ever I could run to the pond and stuck my head right into the water!

But water didn’t do much good. My mouth and my tongue were hot and stingy and smarty and felt just as though they were burning up. I drank water and shook my head and pawed my mouth and howled just as loud as I could. Freya ran around and asked what the matter was and got awfully excited. I was too busy trying to stop the pain to tell her what was wrong. Besides, when I wasn’t gulping water or pawing at my mouth I was howling! Father and Mother heard me and came running down to the pond. But I couldn’t tell them what the matter was and so Freya showed them the frog. I was still sitting up to my neck in the pond and howling frightfully when they came back.

“Stop making that noise,” said Father, “and keep your mouth in the water.”

So I did it and whimpered instead of howled and my mouth began to feel better. But my tongue was swollen all up and when I tried to talk I just made funny noises. After a while I crawled out of the pond and shook myself, feeling sort of ashamed because I had made such a fuss. But Mother licked my face, and Freya, who had been lying nearby whining, came running up and leaped about and barked. Even Father seemed sorry for me. Then he took us back to the frog, which was still sitting where I had left him, and said:

“Have a good look at him, children.”

So we looked at the frog and the frog blinked at us and seemed to be laughing. I growled and backed away from him.

“The next time you take a frog in your mouth,” said Father, “be sure it is a frog and not a toad. Toads are very unhealthy for dogs and that thing there is a toad. When you took him up he put poison in your mouth. It was a good thing you were near the pond, for water is the only thing I know of that will help. I heard of a dog once who was poisoned by a frog and there was no water around and so he ran for home. The poison made froth in his mouth and Two-Legged Folks thought he was mad and a policeman tried to shoot him. Luckily for him the policeman aimed wrong and the dog got away. Now do you think you will know a toad the next time you see one?”

I said I was sure of it and then we went home and I crawled behind the flower-pots and stayed there a long time. I didn’t want any supper that day. You wouldn’t have wanted any, either, if your mouth had felt the way mine did. I think it is quite wrong to have things look so much alike as frogs and toads do; and flies and bees, too. How is a puppy to know?

When it was almost dark I crept out from behind the flower-pots and went to get a drink of water. Ju-Ju was outside, playing with a beetle, and when she saw me she grinned. She must have found out somehow about that toad. I hate cats.

CHAPTER VII
THE CROSS DUCK

The next day my mouth and tongue were quite well once more, but it was more than a week before I got brave enough to hunt frogs again. In fact, I have never cared for frog-hunting very much since, and I only did it after that just to show Freya that I wasn’t afraid to. But I couldn’t get her to go with me. She’s rather a coward, Freya is. Just look at the time I scared the duck! The way she acted then made me quite ashamed of her!

That was months before I made the mistake about the toad and I was younger and sillier. I told you that there were ducks on our place. Well, they lived in a house next door to where the chickens were, and in the day time they all waddled out as soon as William opened the gate for them and went down to the pond. They are stupid things, ducks. They don’t do anything all day long but waddle around and wag their tails and eat and swim and say “quack!” I don’t know what “quack” means and I don’t believe they do, for they always say it just the same way and no matter what happens. If they see William with their dinner they say “quack” and if they see a chicken-hawk sailing about they say “quack” and if I so much as look at them—from a distance—they say “quack” just the same. I don’t believe “quack” means a thing. They just want you to think it does.

Well, one day I was trotting around by myself looking for something to do when I caught sight of a duck sitting in the grass on the side of the brook quite a ways beyond the pond. She didn’t see me because she had her head hidden under her wing in the silly way ducks have. It had been a very dull day so far and I wanted some fun. So I thought it would be a good joke to creep up on Mrs. Duck and give her a good scare and see if she would say anything more than just “Quack!”

Well, I did. I crept up very, very softly and when I was about two feet away I said “Bow-wow!” as loudly as I could. Mrs. Duck gave a start, pulled her head out and said “Quack!” much louder than I had said “Bow-wow!” And then, before I knew what she was up to, she spread her wings very wide and jumped right at me!

It—well, it sort of surprised me, because I didn’t know ducks did that. Besides, with her wings all spread open like that and her mouth very wide open, too, she looked almost as big as ten ducks! So—so I sort of backed away, not because I was afraid of her but just because I was so surprised. Besides, I’d had my fun and was ready to go away, anyhow. But she didn’t seem to understand that it was all just a joke and she came right at me, saying “Quack! Quack! Quack!” quite crossly. So I kept on backing away, and the faster I backed the faster she came for me and the louder she “quacked!”

I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I got between Mrs. Duck and the brook. I didn’t know it, of course, or I should have backed another way. Another thing I didn’t know—and I wished I had known it—was that she had a nest full of eggs there and was hatching out some little ducks. If I had known that I would not have gone near her. But I didn’t know it until afterwards. So I kept on backing and she kept on “quacking” and making dabs at me with her yellow bill and flapping her wings and [all of a sudden I backed right over the side of the bank into the brook!]

[All of a sudden I backed right over the side of the bank into the brook!]

There was not much water in the brook and I sat right down in a lot of soft, sticky mud. Of course I tried to get out, but the more I tried the faster I stuck in that nasty mud. And all the time that horrid, quarrelsome duck stood on the bank and said “Quack!” and scolded me. I was afraid she might come in after me, and that is why I tried so very hard to get out. But she didn’t. She just stood there and said a lot of mean things to me while the mud got stickier and stickier. And then I howled. Any one would have howled. I didn’t howl because I was afraid. I howled because I couldn’t get my feet out of the mud. No dog likes to be stuck in horrid black mud. Pretty soon Freya came and looked over the edge of the bank at me. But she didn’t come very near where Mrs. Duck stood.

“Why,” she said, “what are you doing down there, Fritz? William will be very angry with you for getting so dirty. You’d better come right out and take a bath in the pond before you go home.”

“I can’t get out!” I howled. “I’m stuck in this mud. Help me!”

But Freya looked at the duck, who was still “quacking” at a great rate, and shook her head.

“I—I’m afraid of her,” said Freya.

“Afraid of a duck!” I said. “Well, I’d be ashamed to own it!” But I kept a watch on the duck because I was afraid she might understand what I said. She didn’t though. “Bark at her and scare her away,” I told Freya. “She—she won’t hurt you. Ducks are great cowards.”

But Freya shook her head again. “I—I don’t like her looks,” she said. “Couldn’t you—couldn’t you pull yourself out if you tried very hard?”

“No, I couldn’t,” I snapped. “If I could I wouldn’t be here now. If you can’t help me out of here you’d better run home and tell Mother. You’re an awful scare-baby!”

So Freya walked two or three steps toward the duck and said “Bow-wow!” just as if she was frightened to death, which she was, and the duck paid no attention to her at all. Then Freya went a little nearer and barked again. That time Mrs. Duck heard her and turned around and made straight for her. Freya gave one awful yelp, tucked her tail between her legs and flew. And the duck went after her, flapping her wings and “quacking!” And somehow just then I managed to get a front paw on a stone at the side of the brook and dragged myself out. And when I got to the top of the bank Freya was half-way across the meadow, still yelping, and Mrs. Duck was waddling back again.

I didn’t stay there long, I can tell you. Not that I was afraid of that stupid old duck, but I wanted to get the mud off me before it dried on. So I hurried back to the pond. But when I got there it was full of other ducks and they looked at me so queerly that I thought I’d better not go into the pond after all. So I sneaked back to the stable, thinking I’d get behind the flower-pots before any one could see me. But just as I came to the door who should come out but William!

“Well!” he said, just like that; “Well!” I made a dash for the corner where the flower-pots were and got there, but he hauled me right out by my neck and held me at arm’s length and looked at me. “I never see a dirtier pup,” he said. “Where have you been?” Of course I didn’t tell him and he said: “Well, wherever you’ve been I know where you’re going. You’re going into the tub!”

What followed was awful. William filled the tub in the stable half-full of cold water and put me in it. I thought at first I would drown, but he held me up with one hand and lathered me all over with harness soap with the other. And then he took a horrid, stiff brush and scrubbed me until it hurt. The soap got in my eyes and smarted and it got into my mouth and tasted badly, and all the time William scolded.

I had to cry a little. You’d have cried too. I’ve heard you cry when Nurse got soap in your eyes, and you needn’t pretend you haven’t. Besides, it was all very unfair. I didn’t want to fall in the mud and get dirty. It was all that duck’s fault. But William just blamed it all on me without trying to find out how it really happened, and I had to suffer. Once I caught sight of Freya peeking around the corner of the door and I said to myself: “Just you wait till I get out of here, if I ever do, and see what will happen to you, Miss!”

But when, after a long, long time, William thought he could not get any more dirt off me and so put me out on the floor, and when I had shaken myself half a dozen times, felt so good that I forgot all about the way Freya had behaved and ran circles and barked until I was almost dry. Then I found a nice warm spot against the side of the stable and went to sleep.

But even if I did forgive Freya that time you can see that she behaved very badly and is not at all brave. Still, I suppose that being a girl dog has a lot to do with it. You mustn’t expect a girl-dog to be as brave as a boy-dog.

That was my first real bath. I’ve had many since then and I’ve grown to put up with them just as one must put up with castor-oil and pills. But I’m sure I shall never get fond of them. I don’t mind wading in the pond or even swimming a little, but baths are quite different. Besides, I am not a water-dog, like a spaniel or a retriever, and folks ought to think of that. They don’t, though. About once a month I have to go through with it, and the mere sight of a cake of soap quite takes my appetite away for hours. I once heard the Mistress tell the man who comes for the laundry that she wanted something “dry-cleaned.” I wonder why dogs can’t be dry-cleaned too!

CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD LADY WHO DIDN’T LIKE DOGS

Are you scared of thunder storms? I am, too. Well, not exactly scared, maybe, but I—I don’t like them very well. I don’t mind the lightning so much, but the thunder is very noisy and it affects my nerves. I am quite a nervous dog. All highly-bred dogs are nervous, you know. And when you can trace your family back for dozens of years, the way I can, you have every right to dislike thunder. Perhaps you didn’t know I had such a long pedigree? Mother told us all about it once. We are descended from Hansel von Konigsberg, who was the Champion of all Germany for many years and quite the finest dachshund that ever lived. He won all sorts of prizes wherever he was shown and was a very fine, proud dog. Every one in Germany knows about Hansel von Konigsberg. Mother says it is a fine thing to be descended from such a dog and that I should always try to live up to it. Well, that isn’t telling about the time I got under the bed in the guest-room when there was a thunder storm, is it?

There were visitors at the house, and one was an elderly lady who wore a black silk dress and had her eye-glasses on a little stick. When she saw us puppies she held the glasses up to her eyes and looked at us just as though we were something quite strange. “Dear me,” she said, “what ugly little things. What are they?” The Master laughed and told her we were dachshund puppies. “You mean they’re dogs?” she asked. “Why, they look like alligators! Don’t let them come near me, please. I never could stand dogs, anyway, and these are quite—quite disgusting!”

Neither Freya or I knew then what an alligator was, but we didn’t like the sound of it. Besides, she had said we were ugly and disgusting. So I looked at Freya and Freya looked at me and we made a rush for the Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs and jumped all over her. Of course we made believe we were awfully pleased to see her, but we weren’t. She gave a screech and dropped her eye-glasses. They were on a black ribbon, though, and so they didn’t break. But I got the ribbon in my teeth and laid back and pulled and growled, and Freya took hold of the old lady’s skirt and shook it. And all the time the old lady said “Shoo! Shoo, you nasty little brutes! Oh, somebody take them away!”

So the Master caught me and made believe spank me and the Mistress caught Freya and told her she was a naughty dog, and we both ran off, making believe we were very sorry and scared, and the old lady hurried into the house.

Afterward Freya and I laid down under the lilac hedge and talked it over. We decided that we didn’t like the old lady and that we’d wait there until she came out again to see the garden and then we’d make another dash for her and scare her again. But she didn’t come back and it was pretty hot and so we both fell fast asleep there.

When we woke up it was quite late in the afternoon and the sky was cloudy and there was a rumbly noise that sounded like thunder. Freya whined and said she was afraid. I told her not to be a silly; that thunder never hurt any one. She said the lightning might, though, and she was going to the stable and crawl under the hay. She wanted me to go with her, but of course it would not have done to let Freya think I was frightened too, and so I said, No, I was going to stay where I was. Freya ran to the stable and just when she got to it there was a most awful crash of thunder and I forgot how brave I was and looked for a place to hide.

Well, William had taken the screen-door off that morning, to mend a place Freya and I had torn in the wire, and the other door happened to be open. So I looked around very carefully and then ran into the big room. Just then there was more thunder and a flash of lightning and I hid under the couch. But I knew that wouldn’t do because some one would surely find me there and put me out. So I listened and didn’t hear any one and went upstairs very quietly. And when I got to the top of the stairs there was a door open and I went in and crept under the bed. It was nice and dark there and I couldn’t see the lightning. But every time it thundered I trembled and whined and had a pretty bad time of it. I could hear the rain drumming on the tin roof outside, and it seemed to me that the storm lasted for hours. But after a while it stopped and the thunder got farther and farther away and at last it died out in little growls and grumbles and I rolled over on my side and went to sleep, quite worn out.

When I awoke I heard some one moving around in the room and just to be friendly I thumped my tail on the floor. Then some one came near the bed and looked under. It was too dark to see who the person was, but I thumped harder than before, and, will you believe it, it was that Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs! She gave a most horrible scream and just flew through the door into the hall. Why, she almost scared me out of a year’s growth! She cried “Help! Help! There’s some one under my bed!” and I heard the Master shout from his room and come running. And the first thing I knew the room was full of folks and the old lady was telling how she had heard a noise and had looked down and seen two “fierce yellow eyes glaring at her.” Delia shouted “’Tis a burglar, mum! We’ll all be murdered, sir!” But the Master told her to be quiet.

“I dare say it is only the cat,” he said, and then he knelt down and looked under the bed and I thumped my tail harder than ever and the Master sat right down on the floor and laughed and laughed! Then the Mistress said:

“What is it, George? Do stop that silly laughing! Is it Ju-ju?”

So the Master reached in and pulled me out by the scruff of my neck and held me up. “Here’s your burglar,” he said. And then they all laughed; all except the Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs. She was very angry about it.

“I am glad you all think it so funny,” she said with a sniff. “For my part I fail to see the humour. And what is more I refuse to remain in a house where I am to be pestered by dogs and scared out of my wits every minute. I’m thankful my trunk is not fully unpacked.”

But she didn’t go, after all, for which Freya and I were sorry. And even though we stayed around the house a lot in the hope that she would come out so we could run at her and jump on her, she didn’t once set her foot off the piazza, and all we could do was get close to the screen and growl at her. The Mistress said: “It’s too bad you don’t like dogs, Miss Mumford, they’re such company for one, and living alone as you do a dog would be a great comfort to you. Just see the little dears begging to be let in. Wasn’t it funny how they took to you at once the day you came? They seem quite fond of you.”

And the Mistress glanced at me and then smiled at the thing she was sewing on. And Freya and I looked at each other and laughed. And the Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs said “Humph!” Just like that.

CHAPTER IX
THE LITTLE BOY FROM THE CITY

More company came after that. It was in the Fall, when the leaves were turning to beautiful colours and falling off the trees and when the mornings and nights were quite cool and the best place to take a nap was in the stable doorway where the sun shone warmly on the floor. Freya and I were about six months old then and were getting to be pretty big for puppies. We weren’t as big as Father or Mother, but when we romped with either of them Freya and I together could do just about as we pleased with them. Lots of times Mother used to run away from us because we were so strong that we could roll her over on her back and bite her and shake her until she yelped.

Others had grown up, too. All the fluffy little yellow chicks that Freya and I used to watch through the chicken yard wires were quite big, almost as big as their parents. And all the little ducklings had grown up into ducks and could say “Quack!” just like their mothers and fathers. In the garden the flowers had gone, all but a few, and it was a great relief to me. I was always very fond of flowers and liked to pick them and eat them, but William didn’t like me to and would get after me whenever he caught me at it. I got a lot of cuffings on account of my love for flowers. I couldn’t understand why it was they were so selfish with them when they had so many. It seemed to me that one or two more or less would not have made any difference. But Two-Legged Folks are peculiar in many ways. They aren’t nearly so sensible as dogs.

Even the Baby was getting bigger and older. She could talk quite nicely by Fall, although you had to listen very closely to understand all she said. You see, she talked very quickly and ran her words together. It was the Baby who told me about the company coming. It was one morning on the piazza. The screens had been taken off then and the Baby and I were in the hammock together. Freya didn’t like the hammock. She said it made her feel funny inside when it swung. I did, though. It was full of nice soft cushions and I was very proud when I found one day that I could jump up on it all by myself and didn’t have to be lifted up or pulled up any more. Well, the Baby and I were there together, swinging, and she was pulling my ears the way she liked to do, and chatting all the time. I wasn’t paying very much attention to what she was saying because I was a little bit sleepy. It always makes me sleepy to have my ears pulled. Well, pretty soon the Baby said:

“Booful little boy’s coming to play wiv Mild’ed. All way f’om City. Coming to-day, I dess.”

I pricked up my ears then. At least, I pricked up one of them, the one that wasn’t being pulled. I had never seen a little boy very near, but I had heard Mother speak of them and from what she had said I didn’t think I should like them. So I didn’t look very pleased at what the Baby said. Perhaps she saw it, for she went on:

“Is very nice little boy. Is coming all way f’om City to play wiv Mild’ed. Little boy’s name is A’fed.”

I thought Afed was a very silly name for any one, even a boy. I found out afterwards that his name was Alfred, but I didn’t like it much better. I hoped he would be nicer than his name. The Baby talked on about him for a long time and I pretended to listen. Finally I got tired hearing about him and jumped down and went away. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to like A’fred, and when I told Freya she made up her mind she wasn’t going to like him either. We decided that we would bite his legs when he came.

William drove to the railway station to meet Alfred and his mother, and Freya went along. William was very partial to Freya and used to take her with him quite often. He took me once and said he would never do it again because I barked at everything I saw and fell out of the carriage. I didn’t mean to fall out, though, and it hurt a good deal. Anyhow, he took Freya with him that day and I found a warm place on a flower bed beside the house and waited for them to come back. William didn’t like to have us lie on the flower beds, even after the flowers were through blooming, but I knew he wouldn’t see me and I meant to go away when I heard the carriage coming up the drive.

But it was so warm there and the earth smelled so nice that I fell asleep. When I woke up the first thing I did was to howl and the next thing to run. Because William had come back without my hearing him and had crept over to me, and what had wakened me up was the carriage whip! I thought it was rather a mean thing to surprise me like that. When I had stopped hurting and running I looked back and there was the little boy with Freya in his arms going into the house. And, would you believe it, Freya was actually licking his face! Isn’t that like a girl-dog, to break her promise the very first thing? Just pat Freya and she thinks you are perfectly lovely and follows you all around. For my part, I’d have more self-respect and pride. Folks can’t make friends with me by just patting my head and saying “Nice doggie!” No, sir!

I was quite disgusted with Freya and I told her so later.

Alfred’s mother was a very sweet looking lady and I knew right away I should like her. I did, too. Not two hours afterwards she came out to see us and fed us peppermint drops. I am very fond of peppermint drops because they make your tongue feel sort of cold and tingley, and I liked the lady at once. Oh, not just because of the candy, of course, but because she was nice to look at and understood dogs and loved them. We can tell right off whether a person likes us. Alfred came out with his mother, and the Baby followed Alfred. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight and paid almost no attention to me. Alfred was really rather nice looking, for a boy, with golden hair, dark eyes and a sun-burned face. He was older than the Baby. When he saw me he cried:

“Oh, there’s another of them! Come here, puppy! What’s your name?”

Of course I paid no heed to him. I meant to show Freya that I had more sense than to grovel to folks just because they whistled to me and paid me a little attention! When he saw that I didn’t mean to come to him he started after me, and I showed my teeth and growled. He stopped then and made a face at me. “You’re not as nice as the other one,” he said. Then he picked up a pebble and threw it at me and I growled again. “What’s this one’s name, Mildred?” he asked the Baby.

“He name F’itz. Him booful dogums!”

Alfred laughed. “Fits! That’s a funny name, isn’t it? Does he have them often?”

“She means Fritz, dear,” said his mother. “Here, Fritz, come and see me.”

So I went, but I wouldn’t let Alfred touch me, and he didn’t like it a bit. He fed candy to Freya and she fairly licked his shoes! Girl-dogs have no pride. It so disgusted me that I turned right around and went down to the stable and crawled behind the flower-pots.

Even Father and Mother seemed to like Alfred, and they and Freya played with him and the Baby a lot. I didn’t. I stayed away. It was pretty lonesome, though. Now and then Alfred would try to make friends with me. He begged cake from Cook and tried to get me to take it, but I wouldn’t. I’m fond of cake, too. I spent a good deal of time behind the flower-pots those days. You see I was afraid that some time when I was fearfully hungry Alfred would offer me cake and I’d take it. And I didn’t want to, for I had made up my mind not to be friends with him. One morning he and the Baby came out of the house when we were having breakfast at the back door and called to us. Of course Father and Mother and Freya trotted right over to them, but I stayed and made believe I had found something more to eat in the dish. When Freya saw that she came back, but I growled at her and she went off again.

“Come, F’itz!” called the Baby. “Come F’itz, booful dogums!”

And Alfred called me too, but I wouldn’t go, and finally Alfred said: “Oh, come on. We don’t want him anyway!”

So they went off toward the orchard to hunt squirrels. Of course I felt pretty lonesome and wanted to go with them very much. Hunting squirrels is awfully exciting, even though we never catch any. I licked the breakfast dish quite clean and then went to the corner of the house and peeked around. They were all over in the orchard and Father was barking at a great rate, making believe he had found a fox’s nest or something, and Freya was trotting behind Alfred and trying to lick his hand. The Baby was toddling along, laughing, and Mother was barking at a bird. It looked very jolly and I crept along after them, keeping out of sight.

They didn’t find any squirrels. I never saw but one in the orchard and he wasn’t much to look at, having almost no hair on his tail. But we always pretended the trees were full of them. After they had been all around the orchard they climbed the wall on the other side, which they were not allowed to do, and went into the thicket over there where the ground is all soft and squishy. I could have told them that they would soon find themselves in trouble, and I came very near barking and warning them, but I didn’t. It was no affair of mine.

After a bit I heard Alfred shout and then Mother barked and the Baby began to cry and I knew just what had happened. I went back to the house and sat on the lawn and waited, and pretty soon they came back looking very sorrowful. The Baby had fallen down in the swamp and she was covered with black mud from head to toes. Alfred was leading her with one hand and trying to wipe off the mud with the other, and Freya, who never knows when she isn’t wanted, was getting in the way and barking and acting perfectly stupid. Father and Mother stayed behind, trying to look as if nothing much had happened. When they all passed me I just looked at them without a word and I can tell you they felt silly! The Mistress saw them from a window and came hurrying out to meet them, and Alfred’s mother came out, too.

“Oh, Mildred, what have you done?” cried the Mistress. “Just see that nice clean dress I put on you not half an hour ago!”

“She—she fell down in the mud over there,” said Alfred. “We—we were hunting Indians.”

Did you ever hear anything so foolish? Just as though there were any Indians around there! Even if there had been Freya and I would soon have scared them away. Well, the Mistress led the Baby into the house and Alfred’s mother said: “Alfred, come with me, please,” and Alfred said “Yes’m,” in a voice that seemed to come from his shoes. Father and Mother went down to the stable in a hurry and Freya came over and sat down beside me.

“A nice thing you did,” I said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Freya with a whine.

“You should have watched out for the Baby,” I said sternly. “You’ll catch it when the Mistress finds you.”

So Freya suddenly remembered that she had left a bone behind the stable and trotted off after it, looking back now and then at the front door. Presently Alfred came out all alone. He had one arm over his eyes, but he couldn’t fool me. I knew he was crying. I guess his mother had whipped him, or maybe just scolded him, for letting the Baby fall in the mud. He didn’t see me and he went around the house and sat down on the back door-step and sniffled. I followed him. If you don’t like a person you enjoy seeing them cry. At least, you ought to, I think. But Alfred kept on crying kind of softly, just as though his heart was broken, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to go away and leave him there, but—but somehow I couldn’t do that either.

So after a bit I crept over to him and got up on the step beside him and licked his face. He peeked out and saw it was me and was so surprised that he forgot to cry for a minute. Then he put his arm around me and I licked his face some more and—and, oh, well, after that we liked each other a lot.

Mother said afterwards that it was just jealousy that had kept me away, and I guess it was. Alfred stayed a whole week after that and [we had some fine times together]. When he went back to the City I missed him a great deal. The place seemed very lonely. I think I missed him almost as much as the Baby did, and the Baby cried all one day. I tried my best to comfort her and I licked her nose and her cheeks and her ears, but it didn’t do much good. She kept right on saying that she wanted her “booful A’fed.” The Mistress told her that she would see him again very soon because they were all going to the City to stay a long, long time. But that didn’t help me any, because I was quite sure they wouldn’t take me.

And they didn’t. They all went off, bag and baggage, about a week later, and only William and Cook and Delia were left. Mother and I were very sad and lonesome at first. I don’t think Father minded so much, because he and William were great chums, and as for Freya, why, as long as she had enough to eat and some one to say “Good dog” to her, she didn’t care what happened. But Mother and I missed the Baby a whole lot, and the Mistress too, and the Master not so much because he was busy a good deal of the time and we saw less of him.

And then one day we woke up and the world was all white, and Mother said it had snowed in the night. And William picked up some of the white stuff and made a ball of it and threw it at Delia at the back door. And Delia squealed and ran inside. William said: “Well, well, winter’s here at last!”

I think I have told you enough for now. You have almost fallen asleep two or three times. Besides, it is time for my nap. I always like a short nap before dinner. And really I have talked an awful lot. I hope you liked my story.

PART TWO
WHEN I GREW UP

CHAPTER I
HOW WE WENT HUNTING

Bow!

So you want to hear some more of my story, do you? Very well. It’s a very good day to sit here by the fire and tell stories, because it is raining hard and there isn’t much a dog can do in the City on a rainy day. For my part I think cities are rather stupid places, anyway. Of course, on bright days, there’s the Park and the Avenue, and I like those very much. But it’s a bother always having to be on a leash. When I see a dog on the other side of the street whom I am quite sure I should like to know, all I can do is just say “Hello!” In the country I could trot over to him and make friends and, like as not, we’d go off on a nice long hunt in the woods. There’s lots to see in the City, but it is awfully noisy and crowded and at first it made me quite nervous. I’m getting used to it now. I do think it’s a mistake to have so little yard about the house, though, especially when it is paved with stone and brick. Even the stable floor is stone and I’m sure there are some fine fat rats under it if I could only get at them. Why, I haven’t had but one good dig since I got here! And that was that day in the Park when the big Policeman came running over, waving a funny short stick at us, and said he would have us both taken to jail if I didn’t stop digging.

Yes, I do miss the digging. The other day I made believe I smelled a fox in the corner of the back hall and was scratching away at the boards and having a real good time when Cook came and drove me away. I forgave her, though, for she gave me a chicken leg to eat. I do have good things to eat here; better than I used to in the country; more different kinds of things, anyway. And a dog likes variety as well as you Two-Legged Folks do. I don’t want you to think I am at all unhappy here, for I am not. If only there was a garden bed to dig in now and then I wouldn’t ask for more. And, anyhow, what a dog wants most is love and kindness, and I get lots of that. I guess I don’t care about the flower bed. Excuse me just a moment while I lick your face.

Well, I left off where the Family had gone to the City, didn’t I? We dogs had a good deal of fun in that snow. It was the first snow I had ever seen and I had a fine time running around in it and biting it. Freya said it made her paws cold and she sat in the stable door and just looked at it and shivered until I chased her out and rolled her over in it. After that she didn’t mind it a bit. William made snowballs and threw them for us to chase. It was great fun for they went into the snow, quite out of sight, and we had to burrow down and dig them out. And then when we tried to take them in our teeth to bring them back to William they would fall to pieces!

After that there was no more snow for quite a long time and we hunted a good deal. Jack used to come over and he and Father, and sometimes the rest of us, would go trotting off into the woods and stay for hours. Sometimes Jack would see a pheasant or a grouse and get awfully excited and run and run after it and get so tired that when he came back he would have to throw himself down and rest. Usually, though, we never saw much except chipmunks and squirrels; but one day Jack found a rabbit in a clump of bushes and we all had a merry time chasing him. Of course the rest of us, with our short legs, couldn’t keep up with Jack and he and the rabbit were soon way ahead of us. And when we came up to him he was sitting by a hole in the ground where the rabbit had gone.

Freya and I began to dig at a great rate and just made the dirt fly. Mother wanted to stop us, but Father said “No, let them have their fun.” Freya kept getting in my way, so I had to nip her on the leg and chase her away. Pretty soon all you could see of me was just the tip of my tail sticking out of the hole. And just then I heard a lot of barking and when I had backed out all the others were tearing across the field after that rabbit! He had crept out of a hole on the other side of the little hill where he lived and run off again. I felt rather silly. The others came back pretty soon without the rabbit. Mother said that rabbits lived in houses with a great many doors, and when you went in one door they came out another. I don’t think that’s a fair way to play, do you? Afterwards, though, I was glad we hadn’t caught the rabbit, for he was such a tiny, pretty little thing that it would have been a shame to hurt him.

The weather got colder and colder and there was more snow. We didn’t mind the cold, though, for our coats had been growing thicker and warmer since summer, and our house was nice and cosy. One day Mother took Freya and me down to the pond and when we got there it looked very queer. I asked what had happened to the water and she said it had frozen into ice, and while I was looking at it she gave me a push and I had to run down the bank and when I got to the bottom and came to the pond my feet went up in the air and I went over on my back and I slid way out on the ice. Mother and Freya stood there and laughed at me, and when I tried to get on my feet they just slipped from under me and I was scared and whined. But Mother told me not to be a baby and pretty soon I got back to the shore and then I pushed Freya down the bank and she slid, too, and made a worse fuss about it than I had. Then Mother showed us how we could walk quite nicely by taking very short steps and soon we were all three chasing each other about and falling down and rolling over and having a grand time.

One morning we awoke to find the snow above the bottom of the Kennel windows, and there was William out there with a red muffler around his neck digging a path to us with a wooden shovel. The snow that time was so deep that we could only go where William had made paths. But Father showed us how to have a lot of fun by digging tunnels and Freya and I dug one all the way from the Kennel to the stable door. The funny thing was that in the tunnels, under all that cold snow, it was warmer than it was outside!

When William went to the village for the mail and other things now he went in a sleigh, and one afternoon he took all us dogs with him and we had the finest sort of a time. We barked at everything we saw, and once Freya fell out of the sleigh into a snowbank and went out of sight! (I pushed her off the seat, but William didn’t know it.) In the village a lady who kept the little store where William bought his newspaper came out and petted us and fed us peanuts. Peanuts are very nice. The part you eat is inside a shell and you have to crack the shell open first. Sometimes you eat some of the shell too, without meaning to, but it doesn’t hurt you. The lady thought it was very funny to see us eat the peanuts and she laughed a lot and said we were clever dogs.

“Sure, ma’am, they’ll eat anything at all,” said William, and the lady laughed some more and said:

“I know one thing they won’t eat.”

“What’s that?” asked William.

So she went back into the little store and came out with something that looked like a lemon but wasn’t. “Let me see them eat that,” she said to William.

“A pickled lime, is it?” said William. “They’re that fond of ’em, ma’am, I can’t keep enough of ’em on hand, but they’re bad for dogs, ma’am.”

The lady laughed again. “That’s a fib,” she said. “You know they wouldn’t touch it.”

“Won’t they then,” said William. “Just watch ’em, ma’am.” So he took the pickled lime and looked at us, trying to make up his mind which of us to give it to. I hoped he wouldn’t give it to me, but he did. “Eat it, Fritzie,” he said coaxingly. “Good dog.”

Well, William was a friend of mine and I wanted to help him out of his fix, and so I took it and laid it down on the seat and ate it. It was quite the worst tasting thing I ever had. It was sort of sour and sort of salt and full of puckery juice. But I ate it, and when it was all gone I tried to make the lady think that I wanted more, and William was so pleased with me that afterwards he stopped at the butcher’s and brought out a piece of meat for each of us. I’m sure that meat saved me from being a very sick dog. Even as it was I felt quite unhappy for awhile and didn’t bark once all the way home.

A few days after that the Family came back and maybe I wasn’t glad to see them again. William brought them from the station in the big sleigh, and as soon as they were in the house William called to us dogs and we all went running in to see them. And the Master said how well we all looked and how Freya and I had grown, and the Baby sat down on the floor and we all jumped about her and licked her face and I ran off with one of her fur mittens and took it under the couch and chewed it a little. It was a very happy time. William told the Master how I had eaten the pickled lime for him in the village and the Master and Mistress laughed and laughed about it and said I was a fine dog, and after that for a long time the Master called me “the limehound”!

It was wonderful the way the Baby had grown in such a short time. I had to jump now when I wanted to lick her face! She was awfully glad to see us and cried a little when William took us back to the Kennel.

CHAPTER II
HOW WE SPENT CHRISTMAS

The next day the Master, the Mistress, the Baby, William and us dogs went for a walk together. William carried an axe and a piece of rope. I thought we were going hunting. The snow was quite deep and the Master and the Mistress wore funny flat things under their shoes which kept them from sinking through the snow. The Master carried the Baby in his arms until we had got to the woods, and she kept saying “Kismas twee! Kismas twee! Booful Kismas twee!” all the way. When we were at the edge of the woods the Master and William walked around and looked at the trees and at last the Master said “This one, William,” and William swung his axe and down came the tree. It was only a small one and I tried to tell them that there were very much larger ones further on, but no one paid any attention to me. When the tree was cut down William tied the rope to it and we went home, William dragging the tree after him over the snow. I thought it was a pretty poor sort of hunt.

It began to snow again before we were back at the house and William put us to bed early that evening. The next morning the snow had stopped and the sun was shining brightly. William let us out and we all tore up to the back door, very hungry indeed. And when Cook gave us our breakfast what do you suppose it was? What’s the nicest thing you can think of? Mince pie? Why, of course not; dogs don’t care for mince pie. No, nor candy—much. What we had that morning was liver and corn-bread, with lots of gravy! How was that for a feast? And Cook and Delia and William stood around and saw us eat it and laughed and seemed very gay and happy. And after that William took us into the house.

There was the Baby and the Master and the Mistress, and they all cried “Merry Christmas!” as we came tumbling in; only the Baby said “Maykismas!” instead, which was the best she could do. Between the windows in the big room was that tree we had brought home the day before, but you would never have known it for the same tree. I didn’t know whether to bark at it or wag my tail. So I growled. That tree was all covered with the most wonderful sparkly things! There were glass balls of red and yellow and green and white and blue, and long strings of shiny stuff that glittered in the sunlight, and strings of pop-corn—only I’d never seen any pop-corn just like it before, because it was pink!—and all sorts of little toys and coloured paper bags and, at the very tip-top of the tree, a little white angel with wings like a dragon-fly! And underneath the tree were many things wrapped in paper and tied with red ribbons.

“Just see Freya!” laughed the Mistress. Would you believe it, that dog had helped herself to one of the packages and had taken it under the table and was tearing the paper off it! I was terribly ashamed of her, I can tell you! But the Master and the Mistress didn’t seem to mind it. They only laughed. And the Master looked at what Freya had taken and said: “Smart dog! It had her name on it!” And the Baby clapped her hands and every one seemed to think that Freya had really done something very clever!

The Master reached under the tree then and picked up one of the packages and looked at it and said: “Now then, Young Fritz, here’s a present for you. Sit up and ask for it, you rascal!”

So I sat up on my hind legs and begged and he put it in my mouth and I took it off to a corner and smelled of it. It didn’t smell very nice, I thought. It made me think of something but I couldn’t remember what. So I tore the paper off it and—can you guess what I found? A pickled lime! Wasn’t that a mean joke? I backed away from it in a hurry and they all laughed at me and I crawled under the couch where Freya was chewing on a rubber ball with her eyes closed. I took it away from her, but the Mistress said “No, no, Fritzie! You mustn’t take Freya’s ball away. Here’s something nice for you.”

So I sat up and begged again and the Master gave me another present and when I’d got the paper and ribbon off it there was a rubber cat that squeaked every time I bit it! It looked a little like Ju-Ju, who was sitting on the window-sill with a new pink bow around her neck, and when I saw that I bit it harder.

Father got a new collar and a rabbit made of cloth, Mother got a Teddy bear and a tin bug that walked across the floor and went click-click-click, Freya got the ball and a cloth cat which was bigger than mine but didn’t taste so good and I got a wooden duck that flapped its wings and opened its mouth when you moved it. I didn’t think that the Family knew about the time the duck made me fall into the brook, but they must have. I suppose Ju-Ju told them. That cat talks too much, anyway.

And we all had sweet biscuits and candy which the Baby fed to us until the Mistress told her we had had enough. After that we were allowed to stay there and play a long time. [I chewed that rubber cat until it stopped squeaking and then tried the duck.] The paint tasted very good. Freya stole a bag of candy from the tree and ate half of it before I found out about it and took it away from her. Really, her manners were awful that day!

[I chewed that rubber cat until it stopped squeaking and then tried the duck]

I ate the rest of the candy so as to punish her for stealing it, but I didn’t really want it and after I had eaten it I began to feel sick. It was just as well, I think, that they let us out just then. I don’t know what the rest did, but I hurried right down to the stable and got behind the flower-pots and had quite a miserable time of it for a while. You see, besides the sweet biscuits and all that candy, I had eaten most of a rubber cat and one wing of a wooden duck. I think, though, that it was the yellow paint that made me sick.

I felt better in the afternoon and crawled out and went back to the house. The Baby had a new sled and she was coasting down a little hill behind the house. She would sit on the sled and take one of us dogs in her arms and then Nurse would give her a push and off she would go. I coasted twice but didn’t care much for it. I wasn’t feeling quite well yet. For dinner that day we had turkey, and it was fine; almost as good as liver and corn-bread. I was very glad that I felt well enough by that time to eat all that was given to me—and some of Freya’s. Then William took us down and put us to bed and that ended that Christmas Day. I had had a very good time, on the whole, but I was a little glad that Christmas didn’t come very often!

CHAPTER III
MORE LESSONS