POOR BOWSER
Follow a crooked trail and you will find a scamp at the end.
_Bowser the Hound._
Poor Bowser! He stood shivering and shaking on the ice of the strange
river to which Old Man Coyote had led him, and he knew not which way to
turn. Not only was he shivering and shaking from his cold bath, but he
was bruised by his fall from the top of the steep bank, and he was so
tired by his long run after Old Man Coyote that he could hardly stand.
Old Man Coyote had stayed only long enough to see that Bowser had
managed to get out of the water, then had turned back towards the Old
Pasture, the Green Meadows and the Green Forest near Farmer Brown's. You
see, Old Man Coyote knew the way back. He would take his time about
getting there, for it really made no particular difference to him when
he reached home. He felt sure he would be able to find something to eat
on the way.
But with Bowser it was very different. Poor Bowser didn't know where he
was. It would have been bad enough under any circumstances to have been
lost, but to be lost and at the same time tired almost to death, bruised
and lame, wet and chilled through, was almost too much to bear. He
hadn't the least idea which way to turn. He couldn't climb up the bank
to find his own trail and follow it back home if he wanted to. You see,
that bank was very steep for some distance in each direction, and so it
was impossible for Bowser to climb it.
For a few minutes he stood shivering, shaking and whimpering, not
knowing which way to turn. Then he started down the river on the ice,
for he knew he would freeze if he continued to stand still. He limped
badly because one leg had been hurt in his fall. After a while he came
to a place where he could get up on the bank. It was in the midst of
deep woods and a very, very lonely place. Hard crusted snow covered the
ground, but it was better than walking on the ice and for this Bowser
was thankful.
Which way should he turn? Where should he go? Night was coming on; he
was wet, cold and hungry, and as utterly lost as ever a dog was. Poor
Bowser! For a minute or two he sat down and howled from sheer
lonesomeness and discouragement. How he did wish he had left Old Man
Coyote alone! How he did long for his snug, warm, little house in Farmer
Brown's dooryard, and for the good meal he knew was awaiting him there.
Now that the excitement of the hunt was over, he realized how very, very
hungry he was, and he began to wonder where he would be able to get
anything to eat. Do you wonder that he howled?
Old Man Coyote, trotting along on his way home, heard that howl and
understood it. Again he grinned that wicked grin of his, and stopped to
listen. "I don't think he'll hunt me again in a hurry," he muttered,
then trotted on. Poor Bowser! Hunting for anything but his home was
farthest from his thoughts.