Have plenty of animals, I say, and treat them
kindly, but if there's a vicious one among them, put it out of the way,
for it is a constant danger to man and beast. It's queer how ugly some
people are about their dogs. They'll keep them no matter how they worry
other people, and even when they're snatching the bread out of their
neighbors' mouths. But I say that is not the fault of the four-legged
dog. A human dog is the worst of all. There's a band of sheep-killing
dogs here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't, keep out of
mischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The owners go to bed at
night, and the dogs pretend to go, too; but when the house is quiet and
the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor, defenseless
creatures that can't defend themselves. Their taste for sheep's blood is
like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to get
their fun, as the men will travel for theirs. They've got it in them,
and you can't get it out.

"Mr. Windham cured his dog," said Mrs. Wood.

Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. "So he did, so he did. I must tell
Laura about that. Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer I kept
telling him that his collie was worrying my Shropshires. He wouldn't
believe me, but I knew I was right, and one night when Harry was home,
he lay in wait for the dog and lassoed him. I tied him up and sent for
Windham. You should have seen his face, and the dog's face. He said two
words, 'You scoundrel!' and the dog cowered at his feet as if he had
been shot. He was a fine dog, but he'd got corrupted by evil companions.
Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the pasture. He
asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then he
wanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered what on
earth he was going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog's
collar, and holding the other in his hand, set out for the pasture. He
asked us to go with him, and when he got there, he told Harry he'd like
to see him catch Bolton. There wasn't any need to catch him, he'd come
to us like a dog. Harry whistled, and when Bolton came up, Windham
fastened the rope's end to his horns, and let him go. The ram was
frightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let them out of the
pasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such a
racing and chasing over that field as I never saw before. Harry leaned
up against th