Julius and I always like to experiment with new articles of food. We
have no sympathy with the kind of fussiness that travels around the
world with its own lunch-box, disdaining everything strange or new. It
is to us part of the charm of changed surroundings to test the native
articles of diet.
[Illustration: He was hissing at Bruno.--PAGE 62.]
We had tried roast 'possum and stewed gopher; we now began to long for a
taste of alligator steak. We had heard that to be at all eatable the
steak must be taken from the fleshy part of the tail of a young animal
before the creature grows large enough to lose its shiny skin; so we
were quite delighted one day when we found that Bruno had cornered a
young one about four feet long. It was in a little glade about three
hundred yards from the house; and as soon as Julius found the cause of
Bruno's excitement, he hurried to the house for the axe, and soon put a
stop to the creature's demonstrations. He was hissing at Bruno like a
whole flock of geese, the while snapping at him with his teeth and
striking at him with his tail, which he had a most astonishing way of
flourishing around.
When the steak was cut the meat looked white and fine-grained, like the
more delicate kinds of fish. When cooked it was very inviting, being a
compromise between fish and the white meat of domestic fowls.
We enjoyed it very much and were loud in our praises of alligator steak,
but--we didn't want any more!
I cooked the rest of it for Bruno, and he ate one more meal of it; then
he struck. We have since heard that most people who try alligator steak
have the same experience. A first meal is thoroughly enjoyed, but one
not brought up on such a diet never gets beyond the second. It is a
useful article of food in southern camp-life, because it makes the
campers go back to bacon and beans with renewed relish. The same may be
said of roast 'possum and stewed gopher,--that is, for the human
campers.
Just before our house was ready for us, while we were still living in
the little shanty, I noticed one night when Julius came in that he was
empty-handed. He had been in the habit of bringing his tools home every
evening; so I asked,--
"What have you done with the saws and things?"
"I left them under the building," he answered, "wrapped in an old coat I
had there. They will be perfectly safe, and I am tired of carrying
them."
I was always glad when he had discovered an easier way of doing things;
so I made no objection to this, and went on preparing the evening meal,
for which we three were ready. Bruno had been over at the new house all
the afternoon; so I waited on him first, seeing that his water-basin was
full to the brim and heaping a plate with food for him. Then Julius and
I sat down with keenest enjoyment to such a meal as we would have
scorned in our old home, but which our open-air life in the pine-woods
made exceedingly welcome. Afterwards I cleared the table, and we sat
down to our usual evening of reading, interrupted with occasional
snatches of conversation.
Bruno lay at our feet--dozing when we were quiet, thumping the floor
with his tail whenever we spoke. Towards nine o'clock he got up, shook
himself, sighed deeply, then asked me in his usual manner to open the
door for him. This was the way he asked. He rested his head on my knee
until I looked up from my book. Then his tail began to wag, and he
glanced quickly from me to the door, then back at me again. I asked,--
"Boonie want to go?"
At this his tail wagged faster than ever, and he went to the door and
stood waiting. Julius got up and opened the door for him; standing for a
few moments after Bruno had disappeared in the darkness, looking at the
stars and listening to that sweet sound the pine-needles make when the
wind blows through them.
The night was rather cool, and it was not long before we both began to
feel sleepy. Bruno had not returned; so Julius went to the door,
whistling and calling to him.
But there was no answer.
We waited a little while; then Julius said:
"He will probably be here by the time we are ready to put out the lamp;
so let's to bed."
I felt troubled. It reminded me of the old days in Bruno's giddy youth
when he was off sheep-chasing. As I brushed out my hair, I was turning
over in my mind all those vague fears I had felt when I had formerly
dreamed of Florida as a country full of unknown dangers. At last I
spoke,--
"Julius, do you think a big alligator could have caught Bruno?"
"I don't know," answered Julius, slowly.
Then I knew that he was worried too.
When the lamp was out, Julius went to the door again and stood for some
minutes whistling, calling, and listening; but no sound came except the
pine murmurs and the mournful notes of a distant "Whip-Will's-Widow."
It was impossible for us to sleep. Having always had Bruno at our
bedside, we had never before felt uneasy, and had provided no way to
lock our shanty. There was just an old-fashioned string-latch with a
padlock outside; and here we were, deserted by our protector!
Again and again through the night Julius got up to call and listen.
Towards dawn we both slept heavily, worn out with anxious surmises. We
were awakened by a well-known whining and scratching at the door, and
when we both sprang up to open it, in walked Bruno, looking just as he
usually did in the morning,--lively, glad to see us awake, and ready for
his breakfast.
We gave him a welcome so warm it surprised and delighted him, while we
vainly questioned him for an explanation of his desertion of us for the
night. It was of no use. We could see that he had not been running, but
where _had_ he been? We gave it up.
Julius said his troubled night had left him without much appetite for
work; but the man who was helping him would be there, so he thought it
best to go over to the building, anyway.
He surprised me by returning almost immediately. His face was lighted up
and his eyes were dancing.
"I came back to tell you where Bruno slept last night," he exclaimed.
"You can't guess!"
"No," I answered; "I have already given it up."
"He went back to watch those tools I left over at the building. He dug
himself a nest right beside them, drawing the edge of my old coat around
for his pillow. The prints are all there as plain as can be!"
We were amazed and delighted at this performance; the reasoning seemed
so human. He had watched Julius arranging and leaving the tools, the
while making up his own mind that it was an unwise thing to do, and
evidently deciding to see to it later. His sitting with us till
bedtime, keeping in mind his mental appointment, and then going forth
without a word from any one to keep it, seemed to us to be a truly
wonderful thing, and so it seems to me yet.
From the first, we had made a constant companion of Bruno, talking to
him always as if he could speak our language; and we have since thought
that this must have been a sort of education for him, drawing out and
developing his own natural gifts of thought and reason. He often
surprised us by joining in the conversation. He would be lying dozing,
and we talking in our usual tones. If we mentioned Robbie or Charlie,
the two children who were his friends in his puppy days before he was
our dog, or spoke of Leo, or of going somewhere, he would spring up all
alert, running to the door or window, and then to us, whining and giving
short barks of inquiry or impatience.
Always, after that first time we had tried to give him away, he was
subject to terrible nightmares. In his sleep he would whimper and sigh
in a manner strangely like human sobbing. We thought at such times that
he was going through those trying days again, in his dreams. So we
always wakened him, petting and soothing him till he fully realized that
it was only a dream.
He had other ways which we thought noteworthy. Although he loved Julius
better than he did me, yet he always came to me with his requests. If
hungry or thirsty, he would come to me wagging his tail and licking his
lips.
Like "Polly," his general term for food was cracker. If I asked, "Boonie
want a cracker?" and if it was hunger, he would yawn in a pleased,
self-conscious manner, and run towards the place where he knew the food
was kept. If I had misunderstood his request, he continued gazing at me,
licking his lips and wagging his tail till I asked, "Boonie want a
drink?" Then he would yawn and run towards his water-cup, which I would
find to be empty.
Often, when he had made his wants known to me, I passed them on to
Julius, who would wait on him; but it made no difference: the next time
he came to me just the same. He seemed to have reasoned it out that I
was the loaf-giver, as the old Saxons had it, or else he felt that I was
quicker to enter into his feelings and understand his wishes.