dog is entered
as a Park animal.

[Illustration]

It is, of course, a kind of Ground-squirrel. The absurd name "dog"
having been given on account of its "bark." This call is a high-pitched
"yek-yek-yek-yeeh," uttered as an alarm cry while the creature sits up
on the mound by its den, and every time it "yeks" it jerks up its tail.
Old timers will tell you that the Prairie-dog's voice is tied to its
tail, and prove it by pointing out that one is never raised without the
other.

As we have seen, the Coyote looks on the dog-town much as a cow does on
a field of turnips or alfalfa--a very proper place, to seek for
wholesome, if commonplace, sustenance. But Coyotes are not the only
troubles in the life of Yek-yek.

Ancient books and interesting guides will regale the traveller with most
acceptable stories about the Prairie-dog, Rattlesnake, and the Burrowing
Owl, all living in the same den on a basis of brotherly love and
Christian charity; having effected, it would seem, a limited partnership
and a most satisfactory division of labour: the Prairie-dog is to dig
the hole, the Owl to mount sentry and give warning of all danger, and
the Rattler is to be ready to die at his post as defender of the
Prairie-dog's young. This is pleasing if true.

There can be no doubt that at times all three live in the same burrow,
and in dens that the hard-working rodent first made. But the simple fact
is that the Owl and the Snake merely use the holes abandoned (perhaps
under pressure) by the Prairie-dog; and if any two of the three
underground worthies happen to meet in the same hole, the fittest
survives. I suspect further that the young of each kind are fair game
and acceptable, dainty diet to each of the other two.

[Illustration]

Farmers consider Prairie-dogs a great nuisance; the damage they do to
crops is estimated at millions per annum. The best way to get rid of
them, practically the only way, is by putting poison down each and every
hole in the town, which medieval Italian mode has become the accepted
method in the West.

Poor helpless little Yek-yek, he has no friends; his enemies and his
list of burdens increase. The prey of everything that preys, he yet
seems incapable of any measure of retaliation. The only visible joy in
his life is his daily hasty meal of unsucculent grass, gathered between
cautious looks around for any new approaching trouble, and broken by so
many dodges down the narrow hole that his ears are worn