I am a plain dog that barks his mind and believes in calling a bone
a bone, not one of your sentimental sort that allows the tail--that
uncontrollable seat of the emotions--to govern the head. I voted
Coalition, of course. As a veteran--three chevrons and the Croix de
Guerre--I could hardly refuse to support the man who above all others
helped us war dogs to beat the Bosch. But to say that I am satisfied
with the way things are going on--that's a mouse of a very different
colour, as the phrase goes. A terrier person who claims to own the
PRIME MINISTER and has been very busy demanding what he calls our
invaluable suffrages buttonholed me the other day outside the tripe
shop and commenced to tell me all the wonderful things that we dogs
would get if we only elected a strong Coalition Government--better
biscuits, larger kennels, equal rabbits for all and I don't know what
else. But when I asked him plainly, "Are you in favour of keeping out
the dachshunds?" the fellow hedged and said the question was not so
important as some people seemed to think, and that financial interests
had to be considered.
And that's how the War Dogs' Party came to be formed, for when
they heard how the land lay some of the influential dogs in our
neighbourhood called a meeting in Jorrocks' Mews and elected me
chairman. We decided that membership should not be confined to dogs
who had actually seen service at the Front, but that any dog who had
faced the trials of the War in the spirit of true patriotism should be
eligible. A slight difficulty was encountered in the case of the Irish
terrier who owns the butcher's shop and notoriously has never been
on bone rations, some of the young hotheads claiming that he was not
eligible. But Snap is a very popular dog, and when he is not brooding
over his national grievances is a merry fellow and always ready to
share a bone with a pal. So I ruled that on account of the historic
wrongs of Ireland we would overlook Snap's defiance of the Public
Bones Order and allow him to be one of us.
One of the first things you learn in the trenches is the use of tact
in coping with delicate situations. Well, we drew up a very strong
platform and were on the point of carrying it unanimously when our
secretary, a clever fellow but temperamental, like all poodles,
spotted the big yellow cat from No. 14 slinking down the street on
some poisonous errand or other, and the meeting adjourned in what I
can only describe as a disorderly manner. Of course we are treating
the Declaration of Peace Aims, as we called it, as carried, though the
secretary insists on adding a fifteenth point, which he says is of
vital importance, relating to the Declawing of Yellow Cats.
The first plank in our platform is BRITAIN FOR BRITISH DOGS, which
sounds very well, don't you think? Sassafras, the Aberdeen terrier
from No. 3, a solid fellow but unimaginative, wanted it to be ONCE A
U-DOG ALWAYS A U-DOG, but I ruled that that couldn't be right because
once there had been a U-dog next door to us, but now there wasn't. Of
course they all wanted to hear about it, but we war dogs are supposed
to be as modest as we are brave, so I simply said that he was _spurlos
versenkt_. But it isn't only German dogs we draw the line at. Take the
Pekinese. I've always said if we didn't combat the Yellow Peril we'd
regret it, and now the pests are everywhere. My master's woman has one
which she calls Pitti Sing. Did you ever hear of such a name for a
dog? But then it isn't a dog in the real sense of the word. Only last
Friday the little beast flew at me--all over an absurd chicken bone
which was really meant for me but had been put on to its plate by
mistake--and deliberately filled my mouth full of nasty fluffy fur.
Of course the woman had to come in at that moment and, instead of
chastising the little monster, she grabbed it up and hugged it,
saying, "Diddums nasty great dog bite um poor ickle Pitti Singums?"
and a lot more silly rot equally at variance with the facts. I wagged
my tail at her to show it wasn't my fault, but she just wouldn't see
reason and told master that I must have a good whipping. Of course
master and I both know that one isn't whipped for a little thing like
that, so we retired into the study, and while master pretended to
whip me I pretended to howl. I was just beginning to howl in a very
lifelike way when the woman rushed in and called master a cruel brute,
and said she didn't mean him to hurt me really.
Women are funny creatures and I'm glad I don't own one. Snap, the
butcher's dog, even went so far as to suggest that we should adopt
anti-feminism as a plank in our platform, but the Irish Wolfhound who
comes from Cavendish Square said that his mistress was driving an
ambulance in France and that, in her absence, anyone who had anything
to say against women would have to see him first. Of course it's very
difficult to argue with that kind of dog, and, though Snap seemed
inclined to press the point, I ruled the proposal out of order. The
value of resource is one of the things you learn in the Army.
I think Snap was rather relieved really, because after the meeting he
asked me to go and help him dig up a nearly new mutton bone that he
had buried under a laurel bush in the Square.
Well, to return to our platform, what we say about these foreign dogs
is "Keep them all out." Of course there are some Allied dogs, like
Poodles and Plumpuddings and Boston terriers, that have earned the
right to be considered one of ourselves, but when it comes to having
Mexican Hairless and Schipperkes and heaven knows what else coming
into the country and taking the biscuits out of our mouths--well, we
say it isn't good enough. Not that we're insular, mind you, but to
hear some of these mangy foreigners talking about the Brotherhood of
Dogs! But I must tell you how Bolshevism raised its ugly head in
our midst. It was while we were discussing the second plank in our
platform, which is "DOGS, NOT DOORMATS."
But there, Master is calling me to take him for a walk, so it must
wait till next week. ALGOL.
(_To be continued._)
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Official (to applicant for post as policewoman)_. "AND
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IN THE EVENT OF A STREET ACCIDENT?"
_Applicant_. "OH, I SHOULD--ER--CALL A POLICEMAN."]
* * * * *
"German civil officials in Nancy must salute American officers.
Failure to obey the order means arrest."--_Globe_.
We hear that the same regulation applies to all German civil officials
in Lyons, Toulouse and Bordeaux.
* * * * *