He did this till he was tired, and then he brought the
ball and laid it at Miss Laura's feet.
We both had been taught a number of tricks. We could sneeze and cough,
and be dead dogs, and say our prayers, and stand on our heads, and mount
a ladder and say the alphabet,--this was the hardest of all, and it took
Miss Laura a long time to teach us. We never began till a book was laid
before us. Then we stared at it, and Miss Laura said, "Begin, Joe and
Billy--say A."
For A, we gave a little squeal. B was louder. C was louder still. We
barked for some letters, and growled for others. We always turned a
summersault for S. When we got to Z, we gave the book a push and had a
frolic around the room.
When any one came in, and Miss Laura had us show off any of our tricks,
the remark always was, "What clever dogs. They are not like other dogs."
That was a mistake. Billy and I were not any brighter than many a
miserable cur that skulked about the streets of Fairport. It was
kindness and patience that did it all. When I was with Jenkins he
thought I was a very stupid dog. He would have laughed at the idea of
any one teaching me anything.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93