BILLIE SUNDAE BEGINS THE STORY OF HER LIFE
“Well,” said Billie, “my name used to be Tina when I was a puppy, and
the first thing I can remember is a kick that landed me in the middle
of the floor.
“I must have had many kicks before, and I had many after, but I
remember that one because I was too small and short-legged to climb
back into bed. I had to spend the night on the floor, and as it was
winter the occurrence was stamped on my puppy brain.
“I slept with some Italian children who belonged to a man called
Antonio and his wife, Angelina. They lived in a tiny house in the
Bronx neighborhood in New York. They were rather kind people in their
way, except when they flew in a rage. Then the woman would chase me
with her broom and the man would kick me. I am rather a stupid little
dog, and timid too, and I used to get in their way.
“The children mauled me, but I liked them, for whenever they tumbled
down to sleep anywhere, whether it was on the floor or on their queer,
rickety bed heaped high with old clothes and torn blankets, I was
allowed to snuggle up to them and keep warm.
“Antonio, the father of the family, used to get his living by digging
drains in the new roads they were making about New York, and when he
came home at night, he would feel my sides, and if I seemed very
hollow, he would say to his wife, ‘A bit of bread for the creature,’
and if I seemed fat, he would say, ‘She needs nothing. Give the food
to the little ones.’
“You can imagine that this treatment made me get my own living. I had
to spend a great deal of time every day in running from one back yard
to another, to see if I could pick up scraps from the old boxes and
barrels in which the Italians in the neighborhood used to put their
rubbish, for they did not have nice shiny trash cans, like rich
people.
“Other dogs got their living in the same way I did, and as I am no
fighter, I had to work pretty hard to get enough to eat.
“The way I managed was to rise very early in the morning, before the
other dogs were let loose. Nearly all the poor people in the
neighborhood had gardens or milk farms, or chickens, or pigeons, and
they kept dogs to frighten thieves away. These poor animals were
chained all night long to miserable kennels and they made a great
noise barking and howling, but the more noise they made, the better
pleased were their owners.
“When I heard them on cold winter nights, I used to cuddle down all
the closer in bed beside the children, and thank my lucky stars that I
was not fastened outside.
“My Italians tried to keep chickens, but they always died. The woman
was too ignorant to know that if you wish to have healthy, wholesome
fowls, that will lay well, you must feed them good food and keep them
clean. I used to bark at her when she stood looking at her sick
chickens, but she did not understand my language. ‘Woman,’ I was
trying to say, ‘pretend that your chickens are children. Your little
ones are fat and healthy because you feed them well, keep them out of
doors, and have them fairly clean.’
“As time went on my Italians became poorer. Antonio was out of work
for a time, and lounged about the house and became very sulky.
Sometimes he would go to a near-by café for a drink, and I usually
followed him, for some of the men when they saw me skulking about and
looking hungry, would be sure to throw me bits of cheese or salt fish,
or ends of sandwiches with salty stuff inside that made me run to the
Bronx River to get a drink.
“One unhappy day, when I had had enough to eat and was crouching close
to the hot-water pipes in a corner, a rough-looking man who acted very
sleepy and was talking very queerly asked Antonio how much he would
take for me.
“He said one dollar.
“‘She’s only a cur,’ said the other man. ‘I’ll give you fifty cents.’
“To my great dismay, my master held out his hand for the money, a rope
was tied round my neck, and I was led away in an opposite direction
from my home.
“In vain I pulled back and squealed. The man only laughed and dragged
me along more quickly.
“He could not walk very straight, but after a while we arrived in
front of a nice, neat-looking house, and a kind-faced woman opened the
door for us.
“She was a dressmaker, and she had the sleeve of a woman’s dress in
her hand. She gave me a quick, pleasant look, but she became very sad
when she saw the mud on her husband’s clothes where he had splashed
through puddles of dirty water.
“It seems she had long wanted a dog to bear her company while her
husband was away from home. So she was very pleased to see me, and
threw an old coat in a corner of the kitchen for me to lie on, and
gave me a beef bone to gnaw.
“I was delighted to get a good meal, and a quiet bed, for as I told
you the children used to kick me a good deal in their sleep. However,
I was not happy in this new place.
“I was surprised at myself. This was a much nicer house than the
Italian’s, but I didn’t care for that. I wanted my own home.
“There was a sleek, gray cat with dark eyes in the house, and the next
day I had a talk with her.
“‘You are uneasy,’ she said, ‘because this isn’t your very own home.
Dogs are very faithful. You miss the children and that man and his
wife, though by the look of you they were not very good to you.’
“Of course I had not said anything to this cat against my family. I
knew they were not perfect, but something told me it would not be
right to discuss my own family with strangers.
“‘Your coat is very grimy and dirty,’ she said. ‘You look as if you
had not been washed for a long time. Have you?’
“I hesitated, for to tell the truth I remembered no washings except
the ones my poor little spotted mother had given me with her tongue
when I was a puppy. Only the rain and the snow had cleansed me since
then. At last I said, ‘Water was scarce with us. It had to be carried
from a pump.’
“‘Missis is very clean,’ she said; ‘she will likely give you a bath
first thing.’
“Missis did wash me that very day. First she spread a lot of
newspapers on the kitchen floor. Then she set a tub on them and filled
it half full of warm water. I was ordered to step into the tub, which
I did very gingerly, and then the dressmaker sopped me all over with
a cloth covered with carbolic acid soapsuds.
“I must confess that although I liked the idea of being clean and
getting rid of some of my fleas, the bath was a sad ordeal. I thought
I should scream when the dressmaker wrapped an end of the towel round
her finger and poked it inside my ears. Persons should be very careful
how they wash dogs’ ears. However, she was pretty gentle, and I merely
groaned and did not howl or yell, as I wished to do. Finally she
poured lukewarm rinsing water over me, and my bath was done. She
wrapped me in a blanket and put me under the kitchen stove. I felt
terribly for a while. My wet hair was torture to me, but presently I
began to get warm, my hair dried, and I became quite happy.
“Was it possible that I, a little neglected dog, was lying clean and
dry under a nice hot stove, and with a comfortable feeling inside me,
and not my usual ache for good food?
“I licked one of my paws sticking out from under the blanket, a paw
that looked so strangely white and clean, and I said to myself, ‘I
must always stay with this good woman.’
“Alas! the very next day such a sick, dreadful feeling came over me,
that I told the cat I must run away.
“‘You are a simpleton,’ she said crossly. ‘You don’t know when you are
well off. Could anything be nicer than this quiet house—the master
gone all day and so stupid and staggering when he comes home that he
gives no trouble?’
“I said nothing, and she went on, ‘And mistress sewing so quietly and
giving us regular meals. Then if you wish to take a walk we have a
nice back yard with a fence all round it, and no other yard near us
and if you wish to go further than that, we have that fine large field
where they dump the ashes from the next town. I tell you, the place is
ideal.’
“‘I know all that,’ I said, ‘but I wasn’t brought up here, and I want
the neighbors’ dogs and the children, and I’ve never been used to cat
society.’
“‘You listen to a word of advice from me,’ she said, ‘and don’t take
too much stock in people or animals. They move away, but nice, quiet
yards and dump heaps go on forever.’
“‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got to run for it. I’m just wild
inside.’
“‘Well, make sure of one good meal before you leave,’ she said
scornfully. ‘Mistress is cooking liver and bacon and liver is very
good for dogs.’
“‘Thank you for all your kindness to me,’ I said. ‘I suppose you think
I am a very stupid dog.’
“‘I’ve not done much for you,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind showing a few
favors to a friend, if it doesn’t put me out.’
“I stared at her. I had several times obliged her by barking at
strange cats and this had cost me quite an effort, for I was
dreadfully afraid they would turn and spit at me, or scratch my eyes
out. However, I said nothing. You can’t reason with cats. They’re very
pig-headed.
“Presently she asked me how I felt about cheating our good, kind
mistress out of fifty cents, ‘for that is what you told me master paid
for you,’ she said.
“‘I feel badly about that,’ I replied. ‘Indeed, I may say that it
grieves me.’
“‘I’ll tell you where you can get fifty cents,’ she said cunningly.
“‘Where?’ I asked eagerly.
“‘Why, last night when master went out to the road to get a paper,
he fumbled in his pocket for a penny and brought out a handful of
change. One piece dropped on the ground. I can show you where it
lies.’
“‘Why didn’t you pick it up?’ I asked.
“‘Why bother with money, when it’s no good to you?’ she said. ‘It’s
dirty stuff, anyway, and covered with germs.’
“‘I’m not afraid of it,’ I said joyfully, and I ran and got the
fifty-cent piece and laid it at mistress’ feet. She took it and looked
at me, then she patted me and hugged me, a thing she had not done
before.
“‘Doggie, you are a comfort to me,’ she said. ‘I hope you will stay
with me always.’
“I stood on my hind legs. I pawed the air and squealed. I tried to
tell her that I would like to stay, but that I could not resist the
thing inside me that was pulling like a string toward my old home.
“I ran away that night—ran sadly and with shame. I was about two
miles from my old home, and it was no trouble at all for me to find it.
“When I got there, I scratched at the door and the Italian woman
opened it and gave a squeal when she saw me. The children had not gone
to sleep, and I gave a leap past her and into the bed with them.
“Oh, how glad they were to see me! I jumped and squealed and licked
them, and they petted me and hugged me, and the mother stood over us
laughing to see her children well pleased.
“Wasn’t I delighted that I had come home! I settled down among them
for a good night’s sleep, and I thought, ‘Now we are going to be happy
ever after’—but dogs never know what is going to happen to them.
“Just when I was having a lovely dream about my friend the cat, in
which she was changed into a nice, sensible dog, I felt a fierce grip
on my neck, and, giving a scream, I jumped up.
“The Italian man stood over me, his face as black as a thundercloud.
He had got work by this time—work outside, for Italians hate to be
employed inside a building. He was a train hand now and he got good
wages, but he was not willing to keep me.
“One hand dragged me out of bed, and the other shook a fist at me.
‘You, you animal,’ he said, ‘I’m going to take you away. If you come
back, I shoot,’ and he took hold of the old gun standing in a corner
of the room and shook it at me. ‘You saw me shoot a cat one day,’ he
went on. ‘Well, I kill you if you come back. Hear that?’ Then he
kicked me out of doors.
“I did not run away. I sat on a heap of ashes at a little distance,
staring at the house. There I remained all night. I was confused and
unhappy and stupid. I did not know what to do. I knew I could never
live with the children again, but something just chained me to the
spot.
“I sat there all the next morning. The children were afraid to play
with me, for their father was sleeping inside the house, but they
threw me some crusts. I was very thirsty, but I did not dare to go
near the house, and something kept me from losing sight of it, so I
did not run to the river to get a drink.
“At dusk the man came out of the house and, catching sight of me, he
yelled for me to go to him. I went inch by inch, and crawling on my
stomach. He took a string out of his pocket, tied it round my neck,
and set off walking toward the railway.
“I gave one last look over my shoulder at the cottage, and the
children. They were crying, poor little souls, and their mother had
her arms round them.
“The man made me trot pretty fast after him. He did not know and would
not have cared if he had known that my thirst was getting more and
more painful, and that I was almost choked to death with fear. For we
were approaching the railway tracks and all my life long I had been
frightened to death of noises, especially train noises.
“Suddenly a suspicion struck me that he might be going to throw me
under the wheels of a train. Half mad with fear, I gave a violent leap
away from him, dragging the cord from his hand, and then I ran, ran
like a creature bereft of its senses, for my flying feet took me right
toward the trains, instead of away from them.
“I was aware of a rush and a roar, and then something gave me a pound
on the back, then a blow on my head. I rolled over and over, and for a
time I knew nothing.
“When I recovered, the Italian was bending over me, his face quite
frightened and sympathetic.
“‘Poor dog!’ he said; then when I tried to get up, he lifted me and
put me under his arm. I found he was climbing on a train.
“Another man was grinning at him. ‘We gave your dog a fine clip as we
came in,’ he said. ‘He got a roll and a turnover fast enough.’
“The Italian said nothing. He was not a bad man. He was just
thoughtless. I knew he was sorry for me and his children, but times
were hard and the price of food was high, and he thought they could
not afford to keep me. He knew the children often gave me bits of
their bread, and he knew, too, that sometimes when the hunger rat was
gnawing too sharply I would even steal.
“I found out that he was a fireman on a freight train which had a big
engine, not like the neat electric ones on the passenger trains.
“He put me down on some lumps of coal, and I sat and stared stupidly
at him.
“Presently the train started, and, though I was still terrified, I
found it was not as bad to be on the thing as to watch it going by.
“I had only a short trip on it. In about five minutes we stopped at a
station, and to my immense surprise he picked me up, threw his coat
over me, and sprang to the platform.
“I felt myself jammed against something hard, then the coat was pulled
off me, and I was alone. He had deserted me.
“I looked about me. I was on a high platform, railway tracks on both
sides of me; and beyond me were other platforms and more railway
tracks. This was the One Hundred and Eightieth Railway Station in the
Bronx, I found out afterward. The Italian had put me close to the door
of a waiting-room, and you may be sure that I was in no haste to leave
my shelter. It was just a tiny corner, but I flattened myself in it,
for even if I had wished to leave it, my limbs were too tired and sore
to carry me.
“Trains came dashing by every few minutes, first on one side, then on
the other. It seemed to me that I would go crazy with the noise and
confusion, and I was sure that each train would strike me. That was
very stupid in me. There were the tracks, why should the trains leave
them? But my head was still dizzy from the blow I had received, and my
dog mind was bewildered. I was crazy for the time. Then back of all
fright and body pain was the dreadful ache of homesickness. I had no
place to go. No one can tell the terror of a lost dog, especially when
that dog is timid. I had been torn from my home—a poor home, but
still a dear one to me, and I was out in a world of confusion and
fright and hurry. If I stepped from my corner, some of those rushing
people might hurl me to the railway track in front of one of the
cruel-looking engines, which would grind me to pieces. Oh, if some one
would only come to my aid, and I stared and stared at the nice faces
whirling by. My eyes felt as big as the engine headlights. Why could
not some one read my story in them?
“It is astonishing how few people can tell when a dog is lost. They
don’t even know when it is unhappy. Yet dogs have expression in their
faces. So many kind men and women gave me a glance. Some even said,
‘Good doggie.’ One nice old lady in glasses remarked, ‘The emblem of
faithfulness is a dog. See that one sitting there, waiting for his
master’s return.’
“Unthinking old lady! My master would never return, and where, oh,
where was I to get some water, for by this time my tongue was so dry
that it felt swollen and my throat was as parched as a brick.
“Hour after hour I sat there, and the dreadful railway rush of New
York went on. You know nothing about that rush here in this
comparatively quiet city of Toronto. The station hands and ticket
sellers were all downstairs, for I was on the elevated part of the
station. Finally two young men stopped in front of me, and one of them
said, ‘What a dismayed-looking dog! I wonder if we could do anything
for it?’
“‘Come on,’ said the other. ‘Here’s the White Plains train.’
“The first young man went away, looking over his shoulder. He wasn’t
interested enough to stay.”