never anything new. Now in Germany you get variety.
You come across dogs the like of which you have never seen before: that
until you hear them bark you do not know are dogs. It is all so fresh,
so interesting. George stopped a dog in Sigmaringen and drew our
attention to it. It suggested a cross between a codfish and a poodle. I
would not like to be positive it was _not_ a cross between a codfish and
a poodle. Harris tried to photograph it, but it ran up a fence and
disappeared through some bushes.

I do not know what the German breeder's idea is; at present he retains
his secret. George suggests he is aiming at a griffin. There is much to
bear out this theory, and indeed in one or two cases I have come across
success on these lines would seem to have been almost achieved. Yet I
cannot bring myself to believe that such are anything more than mere
accidents. The German is practical, and I fail to see the object of a
griffin. If mere quaintness of design be desired, is there not already
the Dachshund! What more is needed? Besides, about a house, a griffin
would be so inconvenient: people would be continually treading on its
tail. My own idea is that what the Germans are trying for is a mermaid,
which they will then train to catch fish.

For your German does not encourage laziness in any living thing. He
likes to see his dogs work, and the German dog loves work; of that there
can be no doubt. The life of the English dog must be a misery to him.
Imagine a strong, active, and intelligent being, of exceptionally
energetic temperament, condemned to spend twenty-four hours a day in
absolute idleness! How would you like it yourself? No wonder he feels
misunderstood, yearns for the unattainable, and gets himself into trouble
generally.

Now the German dog, on the other hand, has plenty to occupy his mind. He
is busy and important. Watch him as he walks along harnessed to his milk
cart. No churchwarden at collection time could feel or look more pleased
with himself. He does not do any real work; the human being does the
pushing, he does the barking; that is his idea of division of labour.
What he says to himself is:

"The old man can't bark, but he can shove. Very well."

The interest and the pride he takes in the business is quite beautiful to
see. Another dog passing by makes, maybe, some jeering remark, casting
discredit upon the creaminess of the milk. He stops suddenly, quite
regardless of the