That Pup
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the roof off the kennel. You see, Murchison had knocked the rearout of the kennel the day before, and so when the dog aimed forthe front he went straight through, and as Brownlee was built moreperpendicular than the dog, Brownlee didn't go quite through. He wentin something like doubling up a dollar bill to put it into a thimble.I don't suppose anyone would want to double up a dollar bill to put itinto a thimble, but neither did Brownlee want to be doubled up andput into the kennel. It was the dog's thought. So they had to take thekennel roof off.
When they got Brownlee out they laid him on the grass, and covered himup with a porch rug, and let him lie there a couple of hours to pant,for that seemed what he wanted to do just then. It was the longestperiod Brownlee ever spent awake without talking about dog.
Murchison and Massett and old Gregg and twenty-six informal guests stoodaround and gazed at Brownlee panting. Presently Brownlee was able togasp out a few words.
"Murchison," he gasped, "Murchison, if you just had that dog inFlorence--or wherever it is they race dogs--you'd have a fortune."
He panted awhile, and then gasped out:
"He's a great runner; a phenomenal runner!"
He had to pant more, and then he gasped with pride:
"But I wasn't three feet behind him all the way!"
II. GETTING RID OF FLUFF
So after that Murchison decided to get rid of Fluff. He told me that hehad never really-wanted a dog, anyway, but that when a dog is sent, allthe way from New York, anonymously, with $2.80 charges paid, it is hardto cast the dog out into the cold world without giving it a trial. SoMurchison tried the dog for a few more years, and at last he decidedhe would have to get rid of him. He came over and spoke to me about it,because I had just moved in next door.
"Do you like dogs?" he asked, and that was the first word ofconversation I ever had with Murchison. I told him frankly that I didnot like dogs, and that my wife did not like them, and Murchison seemedmore pleased than if I had offered him a thousand dollars.
"Now, I am glad of that," he said, "for Mrs. Murchison and I hate dogs.If you do not like dogs, I will get rid of Fluff. I made up my mindseveral years ago to get rid of Fluff, but when I heard you were goingto move into this house, I decided not to get rid of him until I knewwhether you liked dogs or not. I told Mrs. Murchison that if we got ridof Fluff before you came, and then found that you loved dogs and ownedone, you might take our getting rid of Fluff as a hint that your dog wasdistasteful to us, and it might hurt your feelings. And Mrs. Murchisonsaid that if you had a dog, your dog might feel lonely in a strangeplace and might like to have Fluff to play with until your dog got usedto the neighborhood. So we did not get rid of him; but if you do notlike dogs we will get rid of him right away."
I told Murchison that I saw he was the kind of a neighbor a man liked tohave, and that it was kind of him to offer to get rid of Fluff, but thathe mustn't do so just on our account.
I said that if he wanted to keep the dog, he had better do so.
"Now, that is kind of you," said Murchison, "but we would really ratherget rid of him. I decided several years ago that I would get rid of him,but Brownlee likes dogs, and took an interest in Fluff, and wanted tomake a bird dog of him, so we kept Fluff for his sake. But now Brownleeis tired of making a bird dog of him. He says Fluff is too strong tomake a good bird dog, and not strong enough to rent out as a horse, andhe is willing I should get rid of him. He says he is anxious for me toget rid of him as soon as I can."
When I saw Fluff I agreed with Brownlee. At the first glance I saw thatFluff was a failure as a dog, and that to make a good camel he neededa shorter neck and more hump, but he had the general appearance of anamateur camel. He looked as if some one who had never seen a dog, buthad heard of one, had started out to make a dog, and got to thinking ofa camel every once in a while, and had tried to show me Fluff that dayworked in parts of what he thought a camel was like with what he thoughta dog was like, and then--when the job was about done--had decided itwas a failure, and had just finished it up any way, sticking on themeanest and cheapest hair he could find, and getting most of it on wrongside to.
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But the cheap hair did not matter much. Murchison and Brownlee showed methe place where Fluff had worn most of it off the ridge pole of his backcrawling under the porch. He tried to show me Fluff that day, but it wasso dark under the porch that I could not tell which was Fluff and whichwas simply underneathness of porch. But from what Brownlee told methat day, I knew that Fluff had suffered a permanent dislocation of thespirits. He told me he had taken Fluff out to make a duck dog of him,and that all the duck Fluff was interested in was to duck when he saw agun, and that after he had heard a gun fired once or twice he had becomesad and dejected, and had acquired a permanently ingrowing tail, and anexpression of face like a coyote, but more mournful. He had acquired ahabit of carrying his head down and forward, as if he was about to layit on the headsman's block, and knew he deserved that and more, and thesooner it was over the better. He couldn't even scratch fleas correctly.Brownlee said that when he met a flea in the road he would not even goaround it, but would stoop down like a camel to let the flea get aboard.He was that kind of a dog. He was the most discouraged dog I ever knew.
The next day I was putting down the carpet in the back bedroom, when incame Murchison.
"I came over to speak to you about Fluff," he said. "I am afraid hemust have annoyed you last night. I suppose you heard him howl?"
"Yes, Murchison," I said, "I did hear him. I never knew a dog could howlso loud and long as that. He must have been very ill."
"Oh, no!" said Murchison cheerfully. "That is the way he always howls.That is one of the reasons I have decided to get rid of Fluff. But itis a great deal worse for us than it is for you. The air inlet of ourfurnace is at the side of the house just where Fluff puts his head whenhe howls, and the register in our room is right at the head of our bed.So his howl goes in at the inlet and down through the furnace and upthe furnace pipes, and is delivered right in our room, just as clear andstrong as if he was in the room. That is one reason I have fully decidedto get rid of Fluff. It would not be so bad if we had only one registerin our house, but we have ten, and when Fluff howls, his voice isdelivered by all ten registers, so it is just as if we had ten Fluffsin the house at one time. And ten howls like Fluff's are too much.Even Brownlee says so." I told Murchison that I agreed with Brownleeperfectly. Fluff had a bad howl. It sounded as if Cruel Fate, withspikes in his shoes, had stepped on Fluff's inmost soul, and then joggedup and down on the tenderest spot, and Fluff was trying to reproduce hisfeelings in vocal exercises. It sounded like a cheap phonograph givinga symphony in the key of woe minor, with a megaphone attachment and badplaces in the record. Judging by his voice, the machine needed a newneedle. But the megaphone attachment was all right.
Brownlee--who knows all about dogs--said that he knew what wasthe matter with Fluff. He said Fluff had a very high-grade musicaltemperament, and that he longed to be the Caruso of dogs. He said thathe could see that all through his bright and hopeful puppyhood he hadlooked forward to being a great singer, with a Wagner repertoire andtremolo stops in his song organ, and that he had early set his aim atperfection. He said Fluff was that kind of a dog, and that when he sawwhat his voice had turned out to be he was dissatisfied, and becamemorbid. He said that any dog that had a voice like Fluff's had a rightto be dissatisfied with it--he would be dissatisfied himself withthat voice. He said he did not wonder that Fluff slunk around all day,feeling he was no good on earth, and that he could understand that whennight came and everything was still, so that Fluff could judge of thepurity of his tonal quality better, he would pull out his voice, andtune it up and look it over and try it again, hoping it had improvedsince he tried it last. Brownlee said it never had improved, and thatwas what made Fluff's howl so mournful--it was full of tears. He saidFluff would go to G flat and B flat and D flat, and so on until hestruck a note he felt he was pretty good at, and then he would cling tothat note and weep it full
of tears.
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He asked Murchison if he hadn't noticed that the howl was sort of dampand salty from the tears, but Murchison said he hadn't noticed thedampness. He said it probably got dried out of the howl before itreadied him, coming through the furnace. Then Brownlee said that ifthere was only some way of regulating Fluff, so that he could be turnedon and off, Murchison would have a fortune in him: he could turn hishowl off when people wanted to be cheerful, and then, when a time ofgreat national woe occurred, Murchison could turn Fluff on and set himgoing. He said he never heard anything in his life that came so nearexpressing in sound a great national woe as Fluff's howl did. He saidFluff might lack finish in tonal quality, but that in woe quality he wasa master: he was stuffed so full of woe quality that it oozed out of hispores. He said he