MY OWN DEAR HOME
Bright and early the next morning, I heard a sniffling at master’s
dressing-room door, followed by a knock.
Master opened the door, and there stood Mr. Bonstone and Gringo.
They both came toward me, and Mr. Bonstone fondled my head. “Fine Boy,”
he said, “you did some good foot-work.”
Then he began talking to master who was brushing his hair vigorously
with his military brushes. The two men were like brothers.
Gringo came close to my chair.
“Hello, old boy,” I said, then we stared at each other.
There was a most beautiful expression in his dark eyes. “Gringo,” I
said in a low voice, “you missed me.”
“I’ve not had a minute’s peace since you left,” he said. “I’ve suffered
more than you did.”
“Forget it,” I returned hastily.
“I can’t,” he said. “I was a brute. The morning after you disappeared,
I went over to Greenlands and got Reddy O’Mare. ‘Make yourself at
home,’ I said, and he’s been over to our place every day since, and I
don’t boss the youngsters so much. I have to a bit, seems as if it’s in
my blood.”
“You’re a great old dog,” I said admiringly, “but don’t think of the
past. We’re going to have lots of good times in the future.”
“So long,” he said abruptly. “My boss has to get to town.”
I watched him rocking out of the room. How the old dog had aged. I was
quite shocked.
My convalescence was rapid. Not many days later, I had my bandages off,
and was able to limp about the place.
The first day I was strong enough to get up to the orchard, I received
what the newspapers call an “ovation.” It was a lovely day, and not
too cold. The dogs formed a circle about me on the snow, and I had to
relate the story of my capture.
I looked round on their faces--our Pleasant River dogs, the Green Hill
dogs, Reddy O’Mare and many other neighbour dogs, and a sudden shyness
fell upon me.
Gringo was chairman, and to give me a chance to recover, he began to
tell how I was caught, and purposely related it in a wrong way.
“No, it wasn’t like that,” I interrupted, and the old dog, with a
smile, told me to go on, and finish the story properly.
I got excited, and talked for an hour. Then we had a jubilation. The
dogs all ran round and round, and frisked and barked, and watching
them, I shouted suddenly, “Hurrah for American dogs--we beat the
world!”
They all barked a chorus of approval, then we separated. Gringo and I
kept together, and had one of our old-time walks and talks.
“Let’s go over to your place,” I said. “I don’t believe it would be too
much for me.”
“Lean on me, if it hurts you to walk,” he said affectionately.
I pressed close to the dear old fellow, and as we sauntered along, we
gossiped.
“I can’t tell you,” I said, “what a pleasure it is to have Beanie here.”
“He had a great time down South,” said Gringo, “but he was glad to get
back to little old New York.”
“Strange to say, I’ve been on that big estate he visited,” I said,
“used to be an old plantation that belonged to one of the F. F. V.’s.”
“Who are they?” asked Gringo.
“First Families of Virginia--Ellen’s sister was a mammy on the place.”
“Ellen’s going to stay with you, I guess,” said Gringo.
“Is that so?” I said. “Why, she’s only supposed to be visiting.”
“I know, but I heard your master tell my boss that he is pleased to
have a Southern mammy for young George. She has ideas about flowers and
animals that your boss likes.”
“Won’t that be splendid,” I said. “Beanie is frightfully worried about
leaving Mrs. Granton.”
“He is a regular steady and true dog,” said Gringo. “When he came, he
didn’t know which to follow, old Ellen, or your mistress, so he settled
it, by tracking one of them for half a day, and the other for the next
half.”
I laughed at this, and Gringo went on. “The other day, I saw your boss
watching Ellen with joy on his face. It was in your greenhouse, and
young George had yanked a hyacinth from a pot. Ellen half cried, and
said the poor mother hyacinth had been in prison in the black earth,
and finally she worked her way out, and shook her curls at the sun, and
then George came along, and tore her all to bits. The youngster sniffed
too, and helped Ellen tie mother hyacinth up with a bit of string. Your
boss liked that. He hates to see his boy destroy life.”
“Good,” I said, “I hope she’ll stay. Do you suppose, Gringo, if those
two young scamps that stole me had had the same chance that George has,
they would be so bad?”
“’Course not,” said the old dog.
“Then why in heaven’s name,” I said, “don’t human beings give all the
boys and girls an equal chance?”
“Give it up,” said Gringo.
“I believe it’s selfishness,” I said, blinking my eyes in the bright
sunlight on the snow, for my sight had got weak in my prison.
“There’s Sir Walter,” said Gringo, “giving his hens a last run before
sundown. He keeps them in fine shape. See him nose them along. He’s a
wise dog.”
As he waited to speak to Sir Walter, Arnulf the police dog trotted by.
He did not stop--just gave us a rapid wag of his tail.
Walter Scott gazed after him. “It fatigues me to watch him,” he said.
“He’s never still.”
“No matter about that,” said Gringo, “he’s here to keep strangers off
the place, and he does it. They used to be always poking about, when
us other dogs ruled. We were too polite by a long way. We never drove
strangers away, unless they were rampageous.”
Sir Walter smiled, and said, “I daresay you are right. I saw him the
other day get in front of a woman who persisted in coming up through
the open gates. She thought he looked kind, and began to tear ivy from
the wall. Arnulf growled at her, but she went on. Then he took her
skirt between his teeth, and tore it. She was in a rage, and started
throwing some ivy in his face. He opened his mouth, and bellowed so
angrily, that she hurried away, looking over her shoulder--Pardon me, I
must keep my hens moving.”
“Come on,” said Gringo, “the sun will soon be going down.”
We went on, via the rock walk, and Gringo hung his head as we passed
the place where the two men had lassoed me.
“Boy,” he said hoarsely, “do you see that spot there, all pressed down?”
I stuck my head in the alders, and saw a matted place in the grass
quite free from snow.
“I always keep it clean,” he said. “I used to sit there when you were
gone and think what a good dog you are, and what an old crosspatch I
am.”
I began to laugh. I was so happy I couldn’t help it. “Don’t be too
humble,” I said, “we may have another falling out.”
Gringo was quite shocked, and stopped short.
“Why not,” I said gaily. “Fight, and forgive, and make up--fight, and
forgive, and make up. That’s life.”
“I don’t believe in fighting,” said Gringo soberly.
“Nor do I,” said I, “but if fights come, don’t dodge them. Dogs aren’t
perfect, nor are human beings.”
“My boss don’t fight his wife,” said Gringo.
“Nor does mine,” I retorted, “but sometimes they are just a little
sharp with each other. Then they kiss and make up. You and I have
kissed, and made up. I don’t want you to go mourning all your days,
because you once snapped at me. It was partly my fault. I got on your
dog nerves.”
Gringo grinned at me. Then he said, “You’re a comic dog--trouble runs
off you like water off a duck’s back--Good land! how I’ve missed you.
Come on, let’s trot a bit. It won’t hurt you.”
“Cows first,” I said when we struck Green Hill, and I limped into the
stable. I loved Mr. Bonstone’s Jerseys, and the big fragrant creatures,
chewing their cud, boo-hooed at me, for they knew I liked them, and
they had heard of my adventures.
I went from stall to stall and greeted them, then rejoined Gringo, who
was fussing about the stable door because I was so long.
“Come on up to see the horses,” he said. “I see my boss just going up
with an S. P. C. A. man he brought out from the city to-day.”
I limped gleefully after him. The Green Hill stables always reminded me
of the Leland Stanford stables in California, which are kept so quiet
for the horses, and where they have the same intelligent care as they
do here.
The S. P. C. A. gentleman was quite old, and he was standing beside Mr.
Bonstone, and staring about him with great interest.
The stable doors were wide open. Each horse or colt had a good-sized
box-stall to himself, and every one of them was turned head toward
the door, watching Thomas who was repairing a cement combination
drinking-fountain in the middle of the stable yard. It was for human
beings, horses, birds and dogs. Something had gone wrong in the
foundation, and Thomas was on his knees on the ground, with a pail of
cement beside him, and a hammer and chisel.
“Thomas,” said Mr. Bonstone, “talk a bit to the horses, will you?”
Thomas touched his cap, and was about to get up but Mr. Bonstone said,
“Keep on with your work, and call them about you as I have seen you do.”
Thomas, who is a very quiet, but a very intelligent, man of English
ancestry, said, “All right, sir,” and seizing the hammer, he threw it
to one side and called out, “Fernbrook Deputy, bring me the big hammer
from the tool-box.”
The old gentleman in the big fur coat turned his spectacles in the
direction of the stable.
Fernbrook, who is a powerful bay horse, was lifting up the bar of his
stall with his teeth. Afterward, he pounded the whole length of the
stable with his heavy hoofs, bent over a tool-box, took out a large
hammer, and dropped it beside Thomas.
Mr. Bonstone smiled proudly, and the old gentleman said, “Magnificent!”
“Dollie Whitehead, bring me my coat,” called Thomas, going on with his
pounding.
A dapper little white mare let herself out of her stall, went up to a
hook where an overcoat was hanging, and carried it out to the yard,
holding it high so it would not drag on the snow.
As she stood dangling it from her mouth, Thomas jumped up and said
rebukingly, “Why don’t you help her put it on me, Fernbrook?”
To the old gentleman’s surprise--Mr. Bonstone, Gringo and I had, of
course, seen these performances many times before--the two sagacious
animals held the coat by the back of the neck, while Thomas slipped his
arms in it.
“Major Golderay,” called Thomas, “I want you.”
A roan horse--a perfect beauty--came stepping daintily out.
“Also Duchess of Normandy,” said Thomas, “Lady Jane Grey, and Poor
Polly.”
The animals all came out, and formed a line-up before him.
“Lady Jane,” said Thomas, “where is your friend Joe?”
Lady Jane whinnied several times, and shook her head in the direction
of the barn.
“I know he’s bedding the cows,” said Thomas, “but you go tell him I
want him.”
Lady Jane galloped away, and presently returned with her teeth in the
shoulder of the woolen sweater worn by the grinning Joe, who bobbed his
head at his employer and guest.
The old gentleman began to speak. “This is almost equal to the thinking
horses of Elberfeld.”
“Can you state to me,” asked Mr. Bonstone, “any reason why an American
horse should not have as much brains as a German horse?”
“None whatever,” said the old gentleman. “Horses, like men, are created
equal. Tell me, stableman, what is your system?”
“Haven’t any, sir,” said Thomas. “I treat ’em as if they had horse
sense, and I find they’ve got it.”
“Cultivation, cultivation,” said the old gentleman several times, as he
nodded his head. Then he asked, “Can they count?”
“Duchess of Normandy,” said Thomas, “when is Dicky Bill coming from
town?”
“Dicky Bill is one of the stable boys,” explained Mr. Bonstone.
The Duchess was scratching ten times in the snow with her hoof.
“Hille ho, hille ho, hille ho,” sounded a sudden ringing voice.
We all turned, and there was Dicky Bill tearing up the asphalt path
from the electric car line.
He didn’t see us, and he rushed into the stable yard, and threw his arm
round the glossy neck of the Duchess--“Hello! old girl.”
“Just look at that boy’s colour,” whispered Gringo, “and six months
ago, he was a washed-out rag.”
Dicky Bill was pulling at his cap in confusion. He had just discovered
Mr. Bonstone.
“You’ve made the Duchess tell a lie,” said Thomas.
“I told her I was coming back at ten,” said Dicky Bill, “but I changed
my mind. There’s nothin’ doin’ in town.”
Mr. Bonstone put up his hand to his face, to conceal a smile. His plan
was to make country life so interesting, that town life seemed dull.
The old gentleman was speaking to Thomas. “You gave that mare some
sign, didn’t you?”
“If I did, I didn’t know it,” said Thomas. “They may get something I
don’t get myself, for they watch me closely. If I walk down by those
stalls, and say to myself, ‘That black mare is off her feed, I’ll give
her an extra ration of oats,’ she’ll whinny, and look toward the oat
bin.”
“My wife says,” remarked Mr. Bonstone, “that when she gives a special
feed of hemp to her hens, in order to catch one, they’ll all eat out of
her hand but the one she has her mind on.”
“Wonderful,” said the old gentleman, “looks as if we were the
brutes, and the animals the reasoning beings--I’ll have to catch my
train--Thank you, my man. I’m going to send you a book about the
Elberfeld horses.”
Gringo and I travelled slowly along after Mr. Bonstone and his friends
on their way to the house, but stopped on the way to speak to Czarina,
Yeggie, Weary Winnie and the Frenchmen who had had their early dinner,
and were coming up to the stables for the night.
As we were talking, the old gentleman and Mr. Bonstone retraced their
steps. They wanted to ask something further about the horses from
Thomas.
The gentleman paused to look at us. “What a jolly lot of dogs,” he
said--“they’re talking just as we are. I wonder what they’re saying.
Just look at those intelligent faces. They understand us, but we can’t
understand them.”
We dogs all gave each other knowing glances.
“’Pon my word,” growled Gringo, “it seems as if more human beings were
beginning to find out that we’re something more than lumps of flesh.”
“Gringo,” I said, “my leg is beginning to ache. I must get home, but
first I want to look in on your family.”
“Good night, dogs,” we said to the stable bunch, and we went on the way
to the Bonstones’ big living-room, where everybody gathered at this
time of day.
Old Mrs. Resterton sat in a corner by the fireplace, knitting and
talking to an old lady friend who had her chair close beside hers. A
nurse-maid was bringing in Cyria and the twins from a frolic on the
lawn, and Master Carty, who had just arrived from town straight as a
major, was helping his young nephew and nieces to take off their wraps.
Mrs. Bonstone had just got out of her coupé at the door. She had been
calling on a neighbour, and pretty soon she came in, smiling and
holding out her hands to the blaze. She greeted all her family in a
loving way, and did not forget to congratulate me on my restoration to
health.
“They’re all happy,” I said to Gringo, “now I must skip home.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Gringo. “We dogs have all sworn that you’re to
go nowhere without an escort.”
This amused me, and I tried to toss up my head and show off a bit, as
we ran out into the hall and down the avenue. I could not, and had to
go soberly.
“Will you come in, Gringo?” I said when I got home.
“Certainty,” he said. “I’ll stay to dinner with you.”
I wasn’t taken aback. My kind mistress never objects when I bring home
a dog friend. Some women are very fussy about entertaining.
We went into the library, where mistress was alone, looking over the
mail that lay on the big table. She had been out walking, and still had
on her warm coat and cloth hat. She never wore furs now.
“Good dogs,” she said absently, “come close to the fire,” and she went
on reading a letter.
Gringo and I lay down on my hearth-stone, and presently in came master
from town.
He kissed his wife--“How rosy you look,” he said.
She let the letter slip to the table.
“Do I?” she said slowly.
“Yes--this life in the country is a thousand times better for you than
the city.”
“Oh, Rudolph,” she said, “I met Stanna just now in her coupé. Really,
that woman is resplendent. She looked like a tropical flower in a glass
box. I wish I were half as handsome.”
“Half as handsome,” repeated master in a kind of innocent, wondering
way. “Do you really think you are not as good-looking as Stanna?”
“I don’t think it,” said mistress almost impatiently, “I know it.”
Master stared at her in amazement.
Mistress burst out laughing. “I really believe, you dear, foolish man,
that you think I eclipse Stanna.”
“I don’t think it, I know it,” he said decidedly.
“The boys in the street don’t stare after me as they do after Stanna,”
she said.
“That rejoices me,” he said gravely. “I shouldn’t care to have them
staring at you.”
Mistress broke into a delighted peal of laughter, and I think was about
to embrace him, but she wheeled round and held out her arms to young
George who was entering the room, followed by Ellen and Beanie.
Beanie, in spite of a warm dog sweater he had on, was shivering with
cold and held his breast-bone so close to the fire, that Gringo said
gravely, “I smell you scorching, Beans.”
He moved back a bit, and I said, “How you do feel the cold.”
“Too much F. F. V.,” said Gringo soberly.
“It does seem cold up here,” said Beanie, “after that southern winter
air.”
“Have you been to see Mrs. Waverlee?” asked Gringo.
“Yes, she’s fine,” said Beanie enthusiastically, “and I love Patsie.
Oh! dogs, we’re going to stay here. I’m crazy with pleasure. I didn’t
want to go back to New York.”
We both congratulated him, then Ellen called him to go upstairs, to
have his sweater off.
Master and mistress went back to the topic of the looks of ladies and
gentlemen.
“Claudia,” master was saying, “if you were to tell me that I wasn’t as
handsome as Norman, I would understand you.”
Mistress turned her back on him, and began to gather up her mail from
the table.
“No one would look at me twice, if Norman were in the room,” said
master. “He’s what I call a really handsome man.”
“Look at Mrs. Granton’s shoulders shaking,” muttered Gringo. “She
thinks that’s a joke on my boss.”
Mistress turned round--her face perfectly convulsed with amusement.
“Rudolph,” she said, “you old goose.”
“Gander,” corrected master. “Do the animal kingdom justice.”
“Gander then,” said mistress. “Norman Bonstone can’t be compared with
you. You are the handsomest man I ever saw.”
Master gave her a quizzical smile. “It looks as if we were both
satisfied, doesn’t it?” he said.
“I am a very happy woman,” she said with emphasis. “I used not to be. I
am now.”
“Isn’t much more to be added to that,” said Gringo, as the two went arm
in arm from the room. “It’s fine to have all the bosses happy. Makes
things easier for us dogs--but who comes here?”
“Our unhappy ghost,” I said as Amarilla sneaked into the room.
“How de do, dogsie,” said Gringo amiably. “Do you think I am handsome?”
Amarilla hesitated, and looked at me in her timid way.
“Weary Winnie and Reddy think I’m a beauty,” said Gringo encouragingly,
and with a hoarse laugh.
“I don’t think you’re exactly pretty,” began Amarilla shyly, then she
stopped.
Gringo rolled over and over on the hearth-rug, in his amusement. “Oh!
Amarilla! Oh!” he said chokingly.
“Feel any happier to-day, girlie?” I asked as she stretched herself out
on the fender stool.
“Yes,” she said cheerfully, “missie weighed me to-day and I’m back to
normal. Now you’re home, I’ve nothing to fret about.”
“Human beings happy, dogs happy,” said Gringo, “looks as if there was
a green old age getting ripe for us. Boy, I wish every animal in the
world had as good homes as we have.”
“Gringo,” I said enthusiastically, “that goes to my heart. Happiness
for everybody, say I.”
“Write it down,” said the good old dog. “You know dog hearts pretty
well. Say your say to the human beings. Maybe you’ll make it easier for
some of the unhappy dogs.”
I took his remark to heart. I had already written part of the story of
my life, and for the other dogs’ sake, I, Boy of Pleasant River, give
the rest of this little sketch to the world.
THE END
* * * * *
THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
_“K.”_ Illustrated.
K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him,
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She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their
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_THE MAN IN LOWER TEN._
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the
“Man in Lower Ten.” The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart’s success
are found in this book.
_WHEN A MAN MARRIES._
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.
A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his
aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family
income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic
upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most
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_THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE._ Illus. by Lester Ralph.
The summer occupants of “Sunnyside” find the dead body of Arnold
Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following
the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is
woven a plot of absorbing interest.
_THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS._
Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)
Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly
realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious
doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with
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slender means.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
_SEVENTEEN._ Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal
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_PENROD._ Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
This is a picture of a boy’s heart, full of the lovable, humorous,
tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a
finished, exquisite work.
_PENROD AND SAM._ Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
Like “Penrod” and “Seventeen,” this book contains some remarkable
phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile
prankishness that have ever been written.
_THE TURMOIL._ Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his
father’s plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a
fine girl turns Bibb’s life from failure to success.
_THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA._ Frontispiece.
A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country
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interest.
_THE FLIRT._ Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
The “Flirt,” the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl’s engagement,
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suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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THE NOVELS OF GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
_THE BEST MAN_
Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself
propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl.
_A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS_
On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely watertank
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_THE ENCHANTED BARN_
Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of
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_THE WITNESS_
The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in a
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_MARCIA SCHUYLER_
A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke
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_LO, MICHAEL!_
A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys.
_THE MAN OF THE DESERT_
An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of the
East pictured against the background of the Far West.
_PHOEBE DEANE_
A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with
which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it.
_DAWN OF THE MORNING_
A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A
companion volume to “Marcia Schuyler” and “Phoebe Deane.”
_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
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B. M. BOWER’S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.
_CHIP OF THE FLYING U._ Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della
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_THE HAPPY FAMILY._ A lively and amusing story, dealing with the
adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys.
_HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT._ Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange
a cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house.
_THE RANGE DWELLERS._ Spirited action, a range feud by two families,
and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story.
_THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS._ A vivid portrayal of the experience of an
Eastern author among the cowboys.
_THE LONESOME TRAIL._ A little branch of sage brush and the
recollection of a pair of large brown eyes upset “Weary” Davidson’s
plans.
_THE LONG SHADOW._ A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free
outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story.
_GOOD INDIAN._ A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch.
_FLYING U RANCH._ Another delightful story about Chip and his pals.
_THE FLYING U’S LAST STAND._ An amusing account of Chip and the other
boys opposing a party of school teachers.
_THE UPHILL CLIMB._ A story of a mountain ranch and of a man’s hard
fight on the uphill road to manliness.
_THE PHANTOM HERD._ The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico
by the “Flying U” boys.
_THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX._ The “Flying U” boys stage a fake bank
robbery for film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold.
_THE GRINGOS._ A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California.
_STARR OF THE DESERT._ A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and
adventure.
_THE LOOKOUT MAN._ A Northern California story full of action,
excitement and love.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
The author of this book is Margaret Marshall Saunders.
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typos have been corrected.
The dog breed name Dachshund is capitalized in this book, while other
breed names are not capitalized.
End of Project Gutenberg's "Boy" the Wandering Dog, by Marshall Saunders