Beautiful Joe [15]
each other different dishes, and to smell the nice,
hot food. Billy often wished that he could get up on the table. He said that he
would make things fly. When he was growing, he hardly ever got enough to eat. I
used to tell him that he would kill himself if he could eat all he wanted to.
As soon as meals were over, Billy and I scampered after Miss Laura to the
kitchen. We each had our own plate for food. Mary the cook often laughed at Miss
Laura, because she would not let her dogs "dish" together. Miss Laura said that
if she did, the larger one would get more than his share, and the little one
would starve.
It was quite a sight to see Billy eat. He spread his legs apart to steady
himself, and gobbled at his food like a duck. When he finished he always looked
up for more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and say: "No, Billy: better
longing than loathing. I believe that a great many little dogs are killed by
overfeeding."
I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish way in which some people stuffed
their pets with food, and either kill them by it or keep them in continual ill
health. A case occurred in our neighborhood while Billy was a puppy. Some
people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors from the Morrises, had a fine
bay mare and a little colt called Sam. They were very proud of this colt, and
Mr. Dobson had promised it to his son James. One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr. Morris
to come in and see the colt, and I went, too. I watched Mr. Morris while he
examined it. It was a pretty little creature, and I did not wonder that they
thought so much of it.
When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked him what he thought of it.
"I think," he said, "that it won't live long."
"Why, papa!" exclaimed Jack, who overheard the remark, "it is as fat as a seal."
"It would have a better chance for its life if it were lean and scrawny," said
Mr. Morris. "They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson so; but he wasn't
inclined to believe me."
Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a great deal about
animals, so I was inclined to think he was right. And sure enough, in a few
days, we heard that the colt was dead.
Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A number of the neighbors' boys went into see
him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking as if he wanted to
cry. Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though he said nothing for a
time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for sacrificing the colt's life.
Presently he said, "You won't need to have that colt stuffed now he's dead,
Dobson."
"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" asked the boy, peevishly.
"Because you stuffed him while he was alive," said Jack, saucily.
Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was after us, and
as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.
I must not forget to say that Billy was washed regularly once a week with nice-
smelling soaps and once a month with strong-smelling, disagreeable, carbolic
soap. He had his own towels and wash cloths, and after being rubbed and
scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put by the fire to dry. Miss Laura said
that a little dog that has been petted and kept in the house, and has become
tender, should never be washed and allowed to run about with a wet coat, unless
the weather was very warm, for he would be sure to take cold.
Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and we took our baths in the sea. Every
few days the boys took us down to the shore and we went swimming with them.
CHAPTER VI THE FOX TERRIER BILLY
WHEN I came to the Morrises, I knew nothing about the proper way of bringing up
a puppy. I once heard of a little boy whose sister beat him so much that he said
he was brought up by hand; so I think as Jenkins kicked me so much, I may say
that I was brought up by foot.
Shortly after my arrival in my new home, I had a chance of seeing how one should
bring up a little puppy.
One day I was sitting beside Miss Laura
hot food. Billy often wished that he could get up on the table. He said that he
would make things fly. When he was growing, he hardly ever got enough to eat. I
used to tell him that he would kill himself if he could eat all he wanted to.
As soon as meals were over, Billy and I scampered after Miss Laura to the
kitchen. We each had our own plate for food. Mary the cook often laughed at Miss
Laura, because she would not let her dogs "dish" together. Miss Laura said that
if she did, the larger one would get more than his share, and the little one
would starve.
It was quite a sight to see Billy eat. He spread his legs apart to steady
himself, and gobbled at his food like a duck. When he finished he always looked
up for more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and say: "No, Billy: better
longing than loathing. I believe that a great many little dogs are killed by
overfeeding."
I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish way in which some people stuffed
their pets with food, and either kill them by it or keep them in continual ill
health. A case occurred in our neighborhood while Billy was a puppy. Some
people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors from the Morrises, had a fine
bay mare and a little colt called Sam. They were very proud of this colt, and
Mr. Dobson had promised it to his son James. One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr. Morris
to come in and see the colt, and I went, too. I watched Mr. Morris while he
examined it. It was a pretty little creature, and I did not wonder that they
thought so much of it.
When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked him what he thought of it.
"I think," he said, "that it won't live long."
"Why, papa!" exclaimed Jack, who overheard the remark, "it is as fat as a seal."
"It would have a better chance for its life if it were lean and scrawny," said
Mr. Morris. "They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson so; but he wasn't
inclined to believe me."
Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a great deal about
animals, so I was inclined to think he was right. And sure enough, in a few
days, we heard that the colt was dead.
Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A number of the neighbors' boys went into see
him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking as if he wanted to
cry. Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though he said nothing for a
time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for sacrificing the colt's life.
Presently he said, "You won't need to have that colt stuffed now he's dead,
Dobson."
"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" asked the boy, peevishly.
"Because you stuffed him while he was alive," said Jack, saucily.
Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was after us, and
as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.
I must not forget to say that Billy was washed regularly once a week with nice-
smelling soaps and once a month with strong-smelling, disagreeable, carbolic
soap. He had his own towels and wash cloths, and after being rubbed and
scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put by the fire to dry. Miss Laura said
that a little dog that has been petted and kept in the house, and has become
tender, should never be washed and allowed to run about with a wet coat, unless
the weather was very warm, for he would be sure to take cold.
Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and we took our baths in the sea. Every
few days the boys took us down to the shore and we went swimming with them.
CHAPTER VI THE FOX TERRIER BILLY
WHEN I came to the Morrises, I knew nothing about the proper way of bringing up
a puppy. I once heard of a little boy whose sister beat him so much that he said
he was brought up by hand; so I think as Jenkins kicked me so much, I may say
that I was brought up by foot.
Shortly after my arrival in my new home, I had a chance of seeing how one should
bring up a little puppy.
One day I was sitting beside Miss Laura