I read:
SIR--I give you the dog because of what you got me out of. He is
the best I know, for I made him myself, and he is as good as a
man. Please do not give him too much to eat, and please do not
give him back to me, for I'm not going to take him, if you will
keep him. So please do not try to give him back any more. I have
kept his name back, so you can call him anything and he will
answer. but please do not give him back. He can kill a man as
easy as anything, but please do not give him too much meat. He
knows more than a man.
Vixen sympathetically joined her shrill little yap to the
bull-terrier's despairing cry, and I was annoyed, for I knew that
a man who cares for dogs is one thing, but a man who loves one
dog is quite another. Dogs are at the best no more than verminous
vagrants, self-scratchers, foul feeders, and unclean by the law
of Moses and Mohammed; but a dog with whom one lives alone for at
least six months in the year; a free thing, tied to you so
strictly by love that without you he will not stir or exercise; a
patient, temperate, humorous, wise soul, who knows your moods
before you know them yourself, is not a dog under any ruling.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88