Swell master. Jewelled fingers of ladies poking at me, first
thing I remember. First painful experience--being sent to vet. to have
ears cut."
"What's a vet.?" I said.
"A veterinary--animal doctor. Vet. didn't cut ears enough. Master sent
me back. Cut ears again. Summer time, and flies bad. Ears got sore and
festered, flies very attentive. Coachman set little boy to brush flies
off, but he'd run out in yard and leave me. Flies awful. Thought they'd
eat me up, or else I'd shake out brains trying to get rid of them.
Mother should have stayed home and licked my ears, but was cruising
about neighborhood. Finally coachman put me in dark place, powdered
ears, and they got well."
"Why didn't they cut your tail, too?" I said, looking at his long, slim
tail, which was like a sewer rat's.
"'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback; a bull-terrier's ears are clipped to
keep them from getting torn while fighting."
"You're not a fighting dog," I said.
"Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things easy."
"I should think you did," I said, scornfully. "You never put yourself
out for any one, I notice; but, speaking of cropping ears, what do you
think of it?"
"Well," he said, with a sly glance at my head, "it isn't a pleasant
operation; but one might as well be out of the world as out of the
fashion.
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