_The Wavecrest Hydro, Hastings._
_To the Editor of "Punch."_
Dear Sir,--I have on several previous occasions communicated to you some
instructive and illuminating examples of the extraordinary intelligence
of my dog Boanerges, but so far (doubtless owing to extreme pressure on
your space) you have not been able to publish them.
In view of the present grave national emergency, however, I feel
confident that you will be able to find space for the latest instance.
Boanerges is of the old bulldog breed; that is to say, he is not
precisely a bulldog, but inherits the breed from one of his
grandfathers. Superficially he presents more the appearance of a
wire-haired retriever pom, and it has been difficult to classify him at
Dog Shows. Indeed, I have claimed for him (though unsuccessfully up to
the present) a new class, viz., Pom-Poms. _The Canine Chronicle_ lent me
the weight of its editorial support, suggesting as an alternative name:
Dum-Dums, or Soft-Nosed Bullettes, but I fear me it was scarcely
dignified enough to carry weight with the authorities.
However, all that is by the way. His heart is in the right place. No
WILHELM shall land upon Hastings soil while Boanerges guards the beach.
To resume, it is my custom to take Boanerges with me on my weekly visit
to a local picture palace. He enjoys it; it stimulates his already keen
intelligence; and there is no charge made for dogs. He stands on my
knees with his fore-paws on the stall in front, and follows the films
with rapt attention. Occasionally he will express his approval or
disapproval by barking, but always in a thoroughly gentlemanly way. He
is critical, but not captious; laudatory, but not fulsome. He makes
allowances for the limitations of the camera. He usually cheers at what,
I believe, are technically known as "the chases," and his hearty bark of
approval is welcomed by the manager of the theatre and by the regular
patrons. Indeed, I firmly believe that Boanerges attracts extra
patronage to the Thursday matinees. He also enjoys lions and tigers, but
not crocodiles or snakes. As I have said, he is of the old bulldog
breed.
On Thursday last I took Boanerges with me as usual. It was a dull
programme at first, being chiefly devoted to imaginative drama in a Red
Indian reservation. Boanerges growled the old bulldog growl once or
twice, and I could see that he was disappointed with the performance.
Then came the film of topical events. A heading appeared on the screen:
"The Germans in Louvain." I could feel Boanerges stiffen all over his
wiry bristles.
The stark ruins were shown, with Prussian soldiers on arrogant
sentry-go. Somebody, no doubt a refugee, hissed out: "_A bas les
Bosches!_" Boanerges growled a deep menace.
Then came a picture of the main square of Louvain, with a group of
generals waiting for the march-past and the salute. The soldiers marched
towards us, victorious and triumphant, _at the goose-step_.
That was the breaking-point. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer.
All the bulldog strain pounded in his veins. With a roar of anger such
as I have never before heard from him, Boanerges leapt from my
restraining hands and made for the picture.
He dashed straight at the screen and through it! He devoured a whole
company of goose-stepping Prussians at, so to speak, one mouthful.