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قراءة كتاب Buff: A Collie, and Other Dog-Stories

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‏اللغة: English
Buff: A Collie, and Other Dog-Stories

Buff: A Collie, and Other Dog-Stories

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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BUFF: A COLLIE
AND OTHER DOG-STORIES

GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers
New York

COPYRIGHT, 1921,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


FOREWORD

A swirl of gold-and-white and gray and black,—
Rackety, vibrant, glad with life’s hot zest,—
Sunnybank collies, gaily surging pack,—
These are my chums; the chums that love me best.
Not chums alone, but courtiers, zealots, too,—
Clean-white of soul, too wise for fraud or sham;
Yet senseless in their worship ever new.
These are the friendly folk whose god I am.
A blatant, foolish, stumbling, purblind god,—
A pinchbeck idol, clogged with feet of clay!
Yet, eager at my lightest word or nod,
They crave but leave to follow and obey.
We humans are so slow to understand!
Swift in our wrath, deaf to the justice-plea,
Meting out punishment with lavish hand!
What, but a dog, would serve such gods as we?
Heaven gave them souls, I’m sure; but dulled the brain,
Lest they should sadden at so brief a span
Of heedless, honest life as they sustain;
Or doubt the godhead of their master, Man.
Today a pup; to-morrow at life’s prime;
Then old and fragile;—dead at fourteen years.
At best a meagre little inch of time.
Oblivion then, sans mourners, memories, tears!
Service that asks no price; forgiveness free
For injury or for injustice hard.
Stanch friendship, wanting neither thanks nor fee
Save privilege to worship and to guard:—
That is their creed. They know no shrewder way
To travel through their hour of lifetime here.
Would Man but deign to serve his God as they,
Millennium must dawn within the year.

CONTENTS


BUFF: A COLLIE


CHAPTER ONE: THE FIGHTING STRAIN

SHE was a mixture of the unmixable. Not one expert in eighty could have guessed at her breed or breeds.

Her coat was like a chow’s, except that it was black and white and tan—as is no chow’s between here and the Chinese Wall. Her deep chest was as wide as a bulldog’s; her queer little eyes slanted like a collie’s; her foreface was like a Great Dane’s, with its barrel muzzle and dewlaps. She was as big as a mastiff.

She was Nina, and she belonged to a well-to-do farmer named Shawe, a man who went in for registered cattle, and, as a side line, for prize collies.

To clear up, in a handful of words, the mystery of Nina’s breeding, her dam was Shawe’s long-pedigreed and registered and prize-winning tricolour collie, Shawemere Queen. Her sire was Upstreet Butcherboy, the fiercest and gamest and strongest and most murderous pit-terrier ever loosed upon a doomed opponent.

Shawe had decided not to breed Shawemere Queen that season. Shawemere Queen had decided differently. Wherefore, she had broken from her enclosure by the simple method of gnawing for three hours at the rotting wood that held a rusty lock-staple.

This had chanced to befall on a night when Tug McManus had deputed the evening exercising of Upstreet Butcherboy to a new handy-man. The handy-man did not know Butcherboy’s

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