Beautiful Joe - Marshall Saunders (the reading strategies book .TXT) 📗

them to Mrs. Montague.

 

The lady got up to take her leave. "And in regard to the dog," said Mrs.

Morris, following her to the door, "if you decide to allow Charlie to

have one, you had better let him come in and have a talk with my boys

about it. They seem to know all the dogs that are for sale in the town."

 

"Thank you; I shall be most happy to do so. He shall have his dog. When

can you have him?"

 

"To-morrow, the next day, any day at all. It makes no difference to me.

Let him spend an afternoon and evening with the boys, if you do not

object."

 

"It will give me much pleasure," and the little lady bowed and smiled,

and after stooping down to pat me, tripped down the steps, and got into

her carriage and drove away.

 

Mrs. Morris stood looking after her with a beaming face, and I began to

think that I should like Mrs. Montague, too, if I knew her long enough.

Two days later I was quite sure I should, for I had a proof that she

really liked me. When her little boy Charlie came to the house, he

brought something for me done up in white paper. Mrs. Morris opened it,

and there was a handsome, nickel-plated collar, with my name on

it--Beautiful Joe.' Wasn't I pleased! They took off the little shabby

leather strap that the boys had given me when I came, and fastened on my

new collar, and then Mrs. Morris held me up to a glass to look at

myself. I felt so happy. Up to this time I had felt a little ashamed of

my cropped ears and docked tail, but now that I had a fine new collar I

could hold up my head with any dog.

 

"Dear old Joe," said Mrs. Morris, pressing my head tightly between her

hands. "You did a good thing the other day in helping me to start that

little woman out of her selfish way of living."

 

I did not know about that, but I knew that I felt very grateful to Mrs.

Montague for my new collar, and ever afterward, when I met her in the

street, I stopped and looked at her. Sometimes she saw me and stopped

her carriage to speak to me; but I always wagged my tail, or rather my

body, for I had no tail to wag, whenever I saw her, whether she saw me

or not.

 

Her son got a beautiful Irish setter, called "Brisk." He had a silky

coat and soft brown eyes, and his young master seemed very fond of him.

 

 

 

 

 

       *       *       *       *       *

 

 

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 in the parlor, when the door

opened and Jack came in. One of his hands was laid over the other, and

he said to his sister, "Guess what I've got here."

 

"A bird," she said,

 

"No."

 

"A rat."

 

"No."

 

"A mouse."

 

"No--a pup."

 

"Oh, Jack," she said, reprovingly; for she thought he was telling a

story.

 

He opened his hands and there lay the tiniest morsel of a fox terrier

puppy that I ever saw. He was white, with black and tan markings. His

body was pure white, his tail black, with a dash of tan; his ears black,

and his face evenly marked with black and tan. We could not tell the

color of his eyes, as they were not open. Later on, they turned out to

be a pretty brown. His nose was pale pink, and when he got older, it

became jet black.

 

"Why, Jack!" exclaimed Miss Laura, "his eyes aren't open; why did you

take him from his mother?"

 

"She's dead," said Jack. "Poisoned--left her pups to run about the yard

for a little exercise. Some brute had thrown over a piece of poisoned

meat, and she ate it. Four of the pups died. This is the only one left.

Mr. Robinson says his man doesn't understand raising pups without their

mothers, and as he is going away, he wants us to have it, for we always

had such luck in nursing sick animals."

 

Mr. Robinson I knew was a friend of the Morrises, and a gentleman who

was fond of fancy stock, and imported a great deal of it from England.

If this puppy came from him, it was sure to be good one.

 

Miss Laura took the tiny creature, and went upstairs very thoughtfully.

I followed her, and watched her get a little basket and line it with

cotton wool. She put the puppy in it and looked at him. Though it was

midsummer, and the house seemed very warm to me, the little creature was

shivering, and making a low murmuring noise. She pulled the wool all

over him and put the window down, and set his basket in the sun,

 

Then she went to the kitchen and got some warm milk. She dipped her

finger in it, and offered it to the puppy, but he went nosing about it

in a stupid way, and wouldn't touch it "Too young," Miss Laura said. She

got a little piece of muslin put some bread in it, tied a string round

it, and dipped it in the milk. When she put this to the puppy's mouth,

he sucked it greedily. He acted as if he was starving, but Miss Laura

only let him have a little.

 

Every few hours for the rest of the day, she gave him some more milk,

and I heard the boys say that for many nights she got up once or twice

and heated milk over a lamp for him. One night the milk got cold before

he took it, and he swelled up and became so ill that Miss Laura had to

rouse her mother and get some hot water to plunge him in. That made him

well again, and no one seemed to think it was a great deal of trouble to

take for a creature that was nothing but a dog.

 

He fully repaid them for all his care, for he turned out to be one of

the prettiest and most lovable dogs that I ever saw. They called him

Billy, and the two events of his early life were the opening of his eyes

and the swallowing of his muslin rag. The rag did not seem to hurt him;

but Miss Laura said that, as he had got so strong and so greedy, he must

learn to eat like other dogs.

 

He was very amusing when he was a puppy. He was full of tricks, and he

crept about in a mischievous way when one did not know he was near. He

was a very small puppy and used to climb inside Miss Laura's Jersey

sleeve up to her shoulder when he was six weeks old. One day, when the

whole family was in the parlor, Mr. Morris suddenly flung aside his

newspaper, and began jumping up and down. Mrs. Morris was very much

alarmed, and cried out, "My dear William, what is the matter?"

 

"There's a rat up my leg," he said, shaking it violently. Just then

little Billy fell out on the floor and lay on his back looking up at Mr.

Morris with a surprised face. He had felt cold and thought it would be

warm inside Mr. Morris' trouser's leg.

 

However, Billy never did any real mischief, thanks to Miss Laura's

training. She began to punish him just as soon as he began to tear and

worry things. The first thing he attacked was Mr. Morris' felt hat. The

wind blew it down the hall one day, and Billy came along and began to

try it with his teeth. I dare say it felt good to them, for a puppy is

very like a baby and loves something to bite.

 

Miss Laura found him, and he rolled his eyes at her quite innocently,

not knowing that he was doing wrong. She took the hat away, and pointing

from it to him, said, "Bad Billy!" Then she gave him two or three slaps

with a bootlace. She never struck a little dog with her hand or a stick.

 

She said clubs were for big dogs and switches for little dogs, if one

had to use them. The best way was to scold them, for a good dog feels a

severe scolding as much as a whipping.

 

Billy was very much ashamed of himself. Nothing would induce him even to

look at a hat again. But he thought it was no harm to worry other

things. He attacked one thing after another, the rugs on the floor,

curtains, anything flying or fluttering, and Miss Laura patiently

scolded him for each one, till at last it dawned upon him that he must

not worry anything but a bone. Then he got to be a very good dog.

 

There was one thing that Miss Laura was very particular about, and that

was to have him fed regularly. We both got three meals a day. We were

never allowed to go into the dining room, and while the family was at

the table, we lay in the hall outside and watched what was going on.

 

Dogs take a great interest in what any one gets to eat. It was quite

exciting to see the Morrises passing 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 over feeding."

 

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