"And you're a great beauty, Bit-o'-Fun," I said; "but aren't your legs
rather long for your body?"
"Oh, no!" replied Bit-o'-Fun; "there isn't a morsel too much daylight
under me."
"And wouldn't you like to have a nice long coat like mine?"
"Well, no," said Bit-o'-Fun--"that is, yes, you know; but it wouldn't
suit so well in running, you see. Look at my head, how it is formed to
cleave the wind. Look at my tail, again; that is what I steer with."
"Oh! you're perfection itself, I know," said I. "Pray how many prizes
have you taken?"
"Well," answered the greyhound, "I've had over fifty pound-pieces of
beef-steak and from twenty to thirty half-pound."
"Do they give you beef-steak for prizes, then?" I asked.
"Oh dear no," replied she; "but it's like this: whenever I take a first
prize my master gives me a one-pound piece of steak; if it's only a
second prize I only get half a pound, and I always get a kiss besides."
"But supposing," I asked, "you took no prize?"
"A thing which never happened," said Bit-o'-Fun, rather proudly.
"But supposing?" I insisted.
"Oh, well," she answered, "instead of being kissed and _steaked_, I
should be kicked and _Spratt-caked_, or sent to bed without my supper."
"And do you enjoy yourself at a show?" said I.
"Well, yes," said the greyhound; "all doggies don't, though, but I do.
And master gives me such jolly food beforehand, and grooms me every
morning, and washes me--but that isn't nice, makes one shiver so--and
then I have always such a nice bed to lie upon. Then I'm sent to the
show town in a beautiful box, and men meet me at the station with a
carriage. These men are sometimes very rough though, and talk angrily,
and carry big whips, and smell horribly of bad beer and, worse, tobacco.
One struck me once over the head. Now, if I had been doing anything I
wouldn't have minded; but I wasn't: only I served him out."
"What did you do?" said I.
"Why, just waited till I got a chance, then bit him through the leg. My
master just came up at the same moment, or it might have been a dear
bite to me."
"And what is a dog-show like?" I asked.
"Oh!" said Bit-o'-Fun, "when you enter the show-hall, there you see
hundreds and hundreds of doggies all chained up on benches. And the
noise they make, those that are new to it, is something awful. At first
I used to suffer dreadfully with headaches, but I'm used to it now. But
it is great fun to see and converse with so many pretty and intelligent
dogs, I can tell you. It is this conversation that makes all the row,
for perhaps you want to talk with a doggie quite at the other end of the
hall, and so you have to roar until you are hoarse. What do we speak
about? Well, about our masters, and our points, and our food and
exploits, and we abuse the judges, and wonder whether all the funny
people we see have souls the same as we have, and so on. I have often
thought what fun it would be if one of us were to break his chain some
night, and let all the other doggies loose. Oh, wouldn't we have a ball
just!
"Well, we are taken out in batches to be judged, and are led round and
round in a ring, while two or three ugly men, with hooks in their hands
and ribbons in their buttonholes, shake their heads and examine us.
That is the time I look my proudest. I cock my ears, straighten my
tail, walk like a princess, and bow like a duchess, for I know that the
eyes of all the world are on me, and, more than that, my master's eyes.
And then when they hang the beautiful ticket around my neck, oh, ain't I
glad just! But still I can't help feeling for the poor doggies who
don't get any prize, they look so woe-begone and downhearted.
"But managers might do lots to make us more comfortable, by feeding us
more regularly, and giving us better food and more water. Oh, I've
often had my tongue hanging out, and feeling like a bit of sand-paper
for want of a draught of pure water at a country show. And I've been at
shows where they never gave us food, and no shelter from the scorching
sun or the thunder-shower. Again, they ought to lead us all out
occasionally, if only for five minutes, just to stretch our poor cramped
legs. But they don't, and it is very cruel. Sometimes, too, the people
tease us. I don't mind a pretty child patting me on the head, nor I
don't object to a sweet young lady bending over me and letting her long
silky curls fall over my shoulder; but there are gawky young men, who
come round and prod us with their sticks; and silly old ladies, who
prick us with their parasols, and say, `Get up, sir, and show yourself.'
You've heard of my friend `Tell,' the champion Saint Bernard, I dare
say. No? Oh, I forgot; of course you wouldn't. But, at any rate, one
day a fat, podgy lady, vulgarly bedecked in satin and gold, goes up to
Tell and points her splendid white parasol right at his chest. `Get
up,' says she, `and show yourself.' Now Tell hasn't the best of tempers
at any time. So he did get up, and quickly, too, and showed his teeth
and bit; and if his chain hadn't been as short as his temper it would
have been a sad thing for Mrs Podgy. As it was, he collared the
parasol, and proceeded at once to turn it into toothpicks and rags, and
what is more, too, he kept the pieces. So you see the life even of a
show-dog has its drawbacks."
"How exceedingly interesting!" said I; "wouldn't I like to be a
champion! Do you think now, Bit-o'-Fun, I would have any chance?"
"Well, you see," said Bit-o'-Fun, smiling in her pleasant way, "there
isn't a class at present for Castle Hill collies."
"What?" said I. "I thought you said a while ago I was a high-bred
mongrel?"
"Yes, yes," said Bit-o'-Fun; "mongrel, or Castle Hill collie; it's all
the same, you know."
"You're very learned, Bit-o'-Fun," I continued. "Now tell me this, what
do they mean by judging by points?"
"Well, you see," replied Bit-o'-Fun, with a comical twinkle in her eye,
"the judge goes round, and he says, `We'll give this dog ten points for
his head,' and sticks in ten pins; and so many for his tail, and sticks
in so many pins in his tail, and his coat and legs, and so on, and does
the same with the other dogs, and the dog who has most pins in him wins
the prize. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I replied; "you put it as plain as a book. But it is queer, and
I wouldn't like the pins; I'm sure I should bite."
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared "Bill," the butcher's bull-and-terrier. I knew it
was he before I looked round, for he is a nasty vulgar thing, and
sometimes he bites me. "Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed again. "Good-morning,
Bit-o'-Fun. Whatever have you been telling that little fool of a
Fiddler?"
They always call me Fiddler, after my dear master.
"About the shows," said Bit-o'-Fun.
"Why, you never mean to tell me, Fiddler, that you think of going to a
show! Ha! ha! ha!"
"And suppose I did," I replied, a little riled, and I felt my hair
beginning to stand up all along my back, "I dare say I would have as
much chance as an ugly patch-eyed thing like you."
"Look here, Fiddler," said Bill, showing all his teeth--and he has an
awful lot of them--"talk a little more respectfully when you address
your betters. I've a very good mind to--"
"To what, Master Bill?" said "Don Pedro," a beautiful large
white-and-black Newfoundland, coming suddenly on the ground.
"No one is talking to you, Don," said Bill.
"But _I'm_ talking to you, Bill," said Don Pedro; "and if I hear you say
you'll dare to touch poor little Fiddler, I'll carry you off and drown
you in the nearest pond, that's all."
Bill ran off with his tail between his feet before Don Pedro had done
speaking. Now isn't Don Pedro a dear, good fellow?
"Well, I'm not a champion dog, you see, though I modestly advance;
I _might_ have taken a prize or two if I'd ever had a chance;
But shows, I fear, were never meant for the like of poor me,--
Besides, my master isn't rich, and couldn't pay the fee;
Yet I love my master none the less, and serve him faithfully.
"Poor master's got no eyes, you know, and I lead him through the
street;
And he plays upon the fiddle, and oh! he plays so sweet.
That I wonder and I ponder, while my eyes with salt tears glisten.
How so many people pass him by, and never stop to listen:
How that nasty big blue man, with his nasty big blue coat.
Moves master on so roughly that I long to bite his throat!
"There are certain quiet side-streets where master oft I take,
Where he's sure to get a penny, and I a bit of cake;
But at times the nights are rainy, and seem so very long,
That I envy pets in carriages, though I know that that is wrong;
And master's growing very old, and his blood is getting thin,
And he often shivers with the cold before I lead him in.
"Poor master loves me very much, and I love master too;
But if anything came over me, whatever _could_ he do?
I think of things like these, you know, when in my bed at night,
Even in my dreams those nasty thoughts oft make me cry with fright!
Yet, though my lot seems very hard, and my pleasures are but few
I do not grieve, for well I know a dog's life soon wears through;
And I've been told by some there are better worlds than this,
That, even for little doggies, there's a future state of bliss:
That faithfulness and love are things that cannot die,
And sorrow _here_ means joy _there_--
in the realms beyond the sky."