Dandy: A Story of a Dog - Page 2

which was both deep and loud, after it had been repeated a
dozen times at intervals of five seconds, any person who happened to be
in or near the kitchen was glad to give him his biscuit for the sake of
peace and quietness. If no one gave it him, he would then take it out
himself and eat it.

Now it came to pass that during the last year of the war dog-biscuits,
like many other articles of food for man and beast, grew scarce, and
were finally not to be had at all. At all events, that was what
happened in Dandy's town of Penzance. He missed his biscuits greatly
and often reminded us of it by barking; then, lest we should think he
was barking about something else, he would go and sniff and paw at the
empty box. He perhaps thought it was pure forgetfulness on the part of
those of the house who went every morning to do the marketing and had
fallen into the habit of returning without any dog-biscuits in the
basket. One day during that last winter of scarcity and anxiety I went
to the kitchen and found the floor strewn all over with the fragments
of Dandy's biscuit-box. Dandy himself had done it; he had dragged the
box from its place out into the middle of the floor, and then
deliberately set himself to bite and tear it into small pieces and
scatter them about. He was caught at it just as he was finishing the
job, and the kindly person who surprised him in the act suggested that
the reason of his breaking up the box in that way that he got something
of the biscuit flavour by biting the pieces. My own theory was that as
the box was there to hold biscuits and now held none, he had come to
regard it as useless--as having lost its function, so to speak--also
that its presence there was an insult to his intelligence, a constant
temptation to make a fool of himself by visiting it half a dozen times
a day only to find it empty as usual. Better, then, to get rid of it
altogether, and no doubt when he did it he put a little temper into the
business!

Dandy, from the time I first knew him, was strictly teetotal, but in
former and distant days he had been rather fond of his glass. If a
person held up a glass of beer before him, I was told, he wagged his
tail in joyful anticipation, and a little beer was always given him at
mealtime. Then he had an experience, which, after a little hesitation,
I have thought it best to relate, as it is perhaps the most curious
incident in Dandy's somewhat uneventful life.

One day Dandy, who after the manner of his kind, had attached himself
to the person who was always willing to take him out for a stroll,
followed his friend to a neighbouring public-house, where the said
friend had to discuss some business matter with the landlord. They went
into the taproom, and Dandy,