aid part fox-terrier and
part bull-terrier; but he always put me down a cur. I don't think she
liked having him call me a cur; still, I have heard her say that she
preferred curs, for they have more character than well-bred dogs. Her
father said that she liked ugly dogs for the same reason that a nobleman
at the court of a certain king did--namely, that no one else would.
I am an old dog now, and am writing, or rather getting a friend to
write, the story of my life. I have seen my mistress laughing and crying
over a little book that she says is a story of a horse's life, and
sometimes she puts the book down close to my nose to let me see the
pictures.
I love my dear mistress; I can say no more than that; I love her better
than any one else in the world; and I think it will please her if I
write the story of a dog's life. She loves dumb animals, and it always
grieves her to see them treated cruelly.
I have heard her say that if all the boys and girls in the world were to
rise up and say that there should be no more cruelty to animals, they
could put a stop to it. Perhaps it will help a little if I tell a story.
I am fond of boys and girls, and though I have seen many cruel men and
women, I have seen few cruel children. I think the more stories there
are written about dumb animals, the better it will be for us.
In telling my story, I think I had better begin at the first and come
right on to the end. I was born in a stable on the outskirts of a small
town in Maine called Fairport. The first thing I remember was lying
close to my mother and being very snug and warm. The next thing I
remember was being always hungry. I had a number of brothers and
sisters--six in all--and my mother never had enough milk for us. She was
always half starved herself, so she could not feed us properly.
I am very unwilling to say much about my early life, I have lived so
long in a family where there is never a harsh word spoken, and where no
one thinks of ill-treating anybody or anything, that it seems almost
wrong even to think or speak of such a matter as hurting a poor dumb
beast.
The man that owned my mother was a milkman. He kept one horse and three
cows, and he had a shaky old cart that he used to put his milk cans in.
I don't think there can be a worse man in the world than that milkman.
It makes me shudder now to think of him. His name was Jenkins, and I am
glad to think that he is getting punished now for his cruelty to poor
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