They were often let out in the pasture or orchard, and when
they were there, I could always single out Daddy from among them,
because he was the smartest. Though he had been brought up in such a
miserable way, he soon learned to take very good care of himself at
Dingley Farm, and it was amusing to see him when a storm was coming on,
running about in a state of great excitement carrying little bundles of
straw in his mouth to make himself a bed. He was a white pig, and was
always kept very clean. Mr. Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigs
dirty. They like to be clean as well as other animals, and if they were
kept so, human beings would not get so many diseases from eating their
flesh.
The cow, poor unhappy creature, never, as long as she lived on Dingley
Farm, lost a strange, melancholy look from her eyes. I have heard it
said that animals forget past unhappiness, and perhaps some of them do.
I know that I have never forgotten my one miserable year with Jenkins,
and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog in consequence of it, and not
playful like some dogs who have never known what it is to be really
unhappy.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294