The Coleman children went to school every day. The maid went with them
across the street, and called for them when they were to return. This
left Pete and the cat at home together. They were not getting on very
well. Fluff was haughty and disdainful, and she was entirely too free
with her claws, which Pete soon learned she hid from sight in those
soft, insinuating paws of hers.
After a while Peter became more and more venturesome. Peering through
the back fence to see what was going on across the way, he saw the
home of the aristocratic Boston bull that Fluff feared. Pete would
stand with his nose through the fence, watching and learning just how
a grown-up dog did act, and he wondered if he would ever grow up to do
those wonderful things.
One day he saw that majestic creature catching flies. Sitting in front
of his kennel, the Boston bull would wait until a fly would light on
his nose. Then, after giving his head a shake to shoo it off, he would
snap it up. This was interesting to Pete. He decided to try it.
He went off and lay down. He waited a while, pretending to be asleep,
but keeping one eye open. At last he heard a buzzing sound. Some kind
of flying creature was near. It was aiming for a seat on his nose. Now,
a shake, a snap--he had it! How thrilling! He would try it again, but
it would not be necessary to keep even one eye open. He closed both.
Buzz-z-z-z! Another fly was coming. Still as a mouse Pete lay waiting.
Then all at once Pete let out a piercing yelp. The fly had proven to be
a bee. Pete was stung! After the first shock was over, he thought of
something else his father had told him. He had said always to keep one
eye on every venture. Pete resolved not to get stung again.
The days sometimes seemed very long to Pete. The cat couldn’t or
wouldn’t play. She liked sunning herself in a lazy fashion on the
window sill. He must find some other means of diversion.
When the laundress was hanging up the clothes to dry, he would help by
taking the clothespins in his mouth and handing them to her. Sometimes
some hidden trait in his make-up prompted him to take toll of the
clothespins when the laundress was not looking. No doubt this was an
echo from some of those inferior relations on one or the other side of
his ancestral house. Still, it was a natural tendency, as all dogs like
to chew clothespins. It sharpens their teeth.
Pete was getting braver and braver every day, and was learning more
and more about his new home. By keeping his eyes open and watching the
behavior of other dogs, he was developing into an intelligent pup. He
and Ralph were real pals, and what the dog was not able to find out for
himself, the boy would teach him, and Pete’s devotion to his teacher
was marvelous.
When the children started for school, Pete would follow at their heels
until the curb was reached. In the afternoon he would watch until the
maid returned with them. Then one morning they had to go alone. When
they hesitated at the street crossing, Pete ran out in the middle of
the street and barked in front of all the oncoming cars, thus holding
up the traffic until Ralph and Mabel were safely across. In the
afternoon he watched for them and repeated the performance.
One morning, when he had seen the children safely across, he discovered
that Mabel had lost her book. Dodging in front of a big truck, he
seized the book in his mouth and ducked just in time to keep from
getting struck. Then he raced after the children to deliver the book to
its little owner.
The pup grew in grace and charm, as well as wisdom. His fuzzy covering
was gone, and with it had vanished many of his puppy ways. He had grown
into a fine looking dog. One could scarcely recognize the little woolly
pup in this beautiful brown, shading into tan, animal. He had a natty
white vest and one white forefoot. His tail curled over his back like a
plume; but his greatest charm was his eyes. They were brown and amber
now, and they almost twinkled with intelligence when he was spoken to.
Ralph was very proud of him, and entered him in all the dog shows,
although Pete never won any medals, because of his lack of pedigree.
Had a prize been given for real worth and good character, he would have
carried off the blue ribbon, for Pete was well raised and had good
training.
Some pedigreed animals, and some pedigreed people are snobbish and
rude. Such was the case with the Boston bull on the other side of the
fence, and with some others in this exclusive neighborhood. This was
brought forcibly to Pete’s attention one morning. After he had piloted
the children across the street, on returning to his own curb, he heard
loud barking around the corner. Curious to know what was the cause of
it all, he ran in the direction of the noise.
Imagine his surprise and indignation at what he saw! Up a tree, just
beyond the reach of their upturned noses, was Fluff, Mabel’s cat,
driven there by three of the aristocrats, and held at bay by their, to
her, bloodcurdling yelps. The Boston bull seemed to be in charge. His
confederates were a prize-winning Airedale, with a pedigree reaching
back through countless generations, and a German police dog, whose
ancestors had been trained to torment French prisoners, away back
during the Franco-Prussian war. With murderous motives these three had
Fluff surrounded when Pete appeared on the scene.
Without stopping to consider that he was apparently outmatched, Pete
sprang at their heels, snapping and biting first one and then another,
until he had their attention drawn from the cat. Then he started to
run, with the three in pursuit. This was what he wanted. By keeping
several jumps ahead of them, he got to his own door just as someone was
coming out, and he bounded inside. Meantime Fluff had not let any grass
grow under her feet; she had arrived at the back door first. Once
inside, she did a very unusual thing. Approaching Pete, she rubbed her
sides against his legs, purring her thanks; and she never forget this
act of gallantry which he had performed for her. There may have been
no blue blood in this dog, but this episode proved that there were no
yellow streaks.
[Illustration: Fluff and the Three Aristocrats]
Ralph was growing into a big boy, and was engaged in the activities and
sports that the average boy of his age enjoys. He was a member of the
Boy Scouts, and of the “Sand Lot Ball Team”; but his love for Peter was
as great as ever. He always wanted his dog with him in his sports, and
Pete, appreciating this, proved himself a boon companion.
Any game that Pete did not sanction by a smile and a wag of his tail
was not entered into with much zest. When a game with a competing team
was scheduled to come off, it was talked over with Pete somewhat in
this fashion:
“Well, old pal, what do you think about it? Are we going to win? You
know Bud Sanders, Pete--he’s one of their best pitchers; but of course
our team can show something just as good. If you say so, we will beat
them.”
Then Pete would stretch out, yawn, and make a noise that Ralph always
knew meant either yes or no; it all depended on the expression of the
dog’s countenance when he made it. If the prediction were favorable for
their team, boy and dog would start for the diamond, full of enthusiasm.
Pete would enter into the spirit of the game along with the boys,
and would watch the ball with quivering excitement, when Ralph sent
it flying and made a home run. Before Jack could bring it back, Pete
seemed to know just where that ball dropped to earth, and would beat
the boys to it, bringing it to the pitcher and dropping it at his feet.
Sometimes an argument would start on the field of combat, and Ralph
would be surrounded by a loud-mouthed, fist-shaking squad. Pete would
edge his way through and take a position near his master, wag his tail
slowly, and listen intently, as if asking what it was all about, and
weighing the pros and cons. Ralph would reach down, pat him on the head
and ask, “Which way was it, old pal?”
Not always were the other boys willing to take Pete’s decision, and the
matter might be left to the referee; but always Pete stood valiantly by
his master in every matter.
By this time the bull dog next door had learned to have more respect
for Peter. A boy about Ralph’s age had come to live with his master and
mistress. He was a nice boy, and he and Ralph were very good friends.
Both were good scouts and, as they were together a great deal, the
dogs, after a few encounters, learned to endure, if not to like, one
another.
They accompanied the boys on hikes and, one day, when the boys and
their two dogs were going gaily through the woods, kicking up the dry
leaves, Pete, the younger and more active dog, ran on ahead and out of
sight of the boys. Soon they heard a great barking. Hurrying along,
they found Pete pawing and stamping in an attempt to put out a fire
that was just starting from a cigarette, which had been carelessly
thrown among the dry leaves.
The boys finished extinguishing the fire, and then turned their
attention to Pete, whose feet were burned. They knew the burns must
be extremely painful. Feeling very sorry for the dog, and full of
enthusiastic admiration for his splendid courage, they made a litter
for him, such as they would have made for one of their own scout
comrades. The boys carried Pete home, and the bull dog kept close to
his master’s heels, so as not to be left entirely out.
Peter’s mother, Susie, would have been very proud if she had known her
son was the means of saving the countryside from a destructive fire.
Shep, no doubt, would have said, “I knew Pete would amount to
something.”
Reaching home, the boys treated Pete’s sore feet with a healing salve
and made him comfortable.
[Illustration: Peter Tries to Put Out a Fire]
It is uncertain whether or not dogs can communicate with each other,
but, by some means, the news got abroad that Pete was laid up, and
every dog in the neighborhood came to call. It was suspected that
the bull had something to do with it, as he seemed to be master of
ceremonies. His admiration for Pete seemed suddenly to have increased.
After each dog had sniffed at Pete’s sore paws, they raced off.