I possess a doggie--not a dog, observe, but a doggie. If he had been a
dog I would not have presumed to intrude him on your notice. A dog is
all very well in his way--one of the noblest of animals, I admit, and
pre-eminently fitted to be the companion of man, for he has an
affectionate nature, which man demands, and a forgiving disposition,
which man needs--but a dog, with all his noble qualities, is not to be
compared to a doggie.
My doggie is unquestionably the most charming, and, in every way,
delightful doggie that ever was born. My sister has a baby, about which
she raves in somewhat similar terms, but of course that is ridiculous,
for her baby differs in no particular from ordinary babies, except,
perhaps, in the matter of violent weeping, of which it is fond; whereas
my doggie is unique, a perfectly beautiful and singular specimen of--of
well, I won't say what, because my friends usually laugh at me when I
say it, and I don't like to be laughed at.
Freely admit that you don't at once perceive the finer qualities, either
mental or physical, of my doggie, partly owing to the circumstance that
he is shapeless and hairy. The former quality is not prepossessing,
while the latter tends to veil the amiable expression of his countenance
and the lustre of his speaking eyes. But as you come to know him he
grows upon you; your feelings are touched, your affections stirred, and
your love is finally evoked. As he resembles a door-mat, or rather a
scrap of very ragged door-mat, and has an amiable spirit, I have called
him "Dumps." I should not be surprised if you did not perceive any
connection here. You are not the first who has failed to see it; I
never saw it myself.
When I first met Dumps he was scurrying towards me along a sequestered
country lane. It was in the Dog Days. Dust lay thick on the road; the
creature's legs were remarkably short though active, and his hair being
long he swept up the dust in clouds as he ran. He was yelping, and I
observed that one or two stones appeared to be racing with, or after,
him. The voice of an angry man also seemed to chase him, but the owner
of the voice was at the moment concealed by a turn in the lane, which
was bordered by high stone-walls.
Hydrophobia, of course, flashed into my mind. I grasped my stick and
drew close to the wall. The hairy whirlwind, if I may so call it, came
wildly on, but instead of passing me, or snapping at my legs as I had
expected, it stopped and crawled towards me in a piteous; supplicating
manner that at once disarmed me. If the creature had lain still, I
should have been unable to distinguish its head from its tail; but as
one end of him whined, and the other wagged, I had no difficulty.
Stooping down with caution, I patted the end that whined, whereupon the
end that wagged became violently demonstrative. Just then the owner of
the voice came round the corner. He was a big, rough fellow, in ragged
garments, and armed with a thick stick, which he seemed about to fling
at the little dog, when I checked him with a shout--
"You'd better not, my man, unless you want your own head broken!"
You see I am a pretty well-sized man myself, and, as I felt confidence
in my strength, my stick, and the goodness of my cause, I was bold.
"What d'you mean by ill-treating the little dog?" I demanded sternly,
as I stepped up to the man.
"A cove may do as he likes with his own, mayn't he?" answered the man,
with a sulky scowl.
"A `cove' may do nothing of the sort," said I indignantly, for cruelty
to dumb animals always has the effect of inclining me to fight, though I
am naturally of a peaceable disposition. "There is an Act of
Parliament," I continued, "which goes by the honoured name of Martin,
and if you venture to infringe that Act I'll have you taken up and
prosecuted."
While I was speaking I observed a peculiar leer on the man's face, which
I could not account for. He appeared, however, to have been affected by
my threats, for he ceased to scowl, and assumed a deferential air as he
replied, "Vell, sir, it do seem raither 'ard that a cove should be
blowed up for kindness."
"Kindness!" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Ay, kindness, sir. That there hanimal loves me, it do, like a brother,
an the love is mootooal. Ve've lived together now--off an' on--for the
matter o' six months. Vell, I gits employment in a factory about
fifteen miles from here, in which no dogs is allowed. In coorse, I
can't throw up my sitivation, sir, can I? Neither can my doggie give up
his master wot he's so fond of, so I'm obleeged to leave 'im in charge
of a friend, with stric' orders to keep 'im locked up till I'm fairly
gone. Vell, off I goes, but he manages to escape, an' runs arter me.
Now, wot can a feller do but drive 'im 'ome with sticks an' stones,
though it do go to my 'eart to do it? but if he goes to the factory he's
sure to be shot, or scragged, or drownded, or somethink; so you see,
sir, it's out o' pure kindness I'm a peltin' of 'im."
Confess that I felt somewhat doubtful of the truth of this story; but,
in order to prevent any expression of my face betraying me, I stooped
and patted the dog while the man spoke. It received my attentions with
evident delight. A thought suddenly flashed on me:--
"Will you sell your little dog?" I asked.
"Vy, sir," he replied, with some hesitation, "I don't quite like to do
that. He's such a pure breed, and--and he's so fond o' me."
"But have you not told me that you are obliged to part with him?"
I thought the man looked puzzled for a moment, but only for a moment.
Turning to me with a bland smile, he said, "Ah, sir I that's just where
it is. I am obleeged to part with him, but I ain't obleeged to sell
him. If I on'y part with 'im, my friend keeps 'im for me, and we may
meet again, but if I sell 'im, he's gone for ever! Don't you see?
Hows'ever, if you wants 'im wery bad, I'll do it on one consideration."
"And that is?"
"That you'll be good to 'im."