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Page 22
Thus Jan was never subjected to the cruel kind of ordeals from which so
many petted dogs suffer. He was not treated as a delicate infant in arms
for a day or so, and then ignored for a week. His internal economy was
never poisoned or upset by means of absurd gifts of sweetmeats. His
meals reached him with the unfailing regularity of clockwork, and were
so carefully designed that, whilst his growth never was retarded for
lack of frequent nutriment, the finish of a meal always left him with
some little appetite. And he never saw food save at his mealtimes.
But, be it said, Betty did not forget that in Jan's case weaning had
been a very abrupt process. During his first few days at Nuthill he had
as many as nine meals in the twenty-four hours, and for a week or more
after that he had eight. Six daily meals was his allowance for several
weeks, and in the later stage of four a day he was kept for months.
After the first two days he never had two consecutive meals of the same
composition. That fact affected his appetite and, in consequence, his
bodily development, very materially. In fact, when Jan had been only a
few days at Nuthill, and but thirty-four days in the world, he turned
the big kitchen scale at 13 lb. 7-1/2 oz. In point of size and weight
his thirty-fourth day found him pretty much on a level with a fully
grown fox-terrier; though he was, of course, still quite unshapen, and
somewhat insecure upon his thick, gristly legs.
"He's going to be a slashing big hound, Betty," said the Master, after
weighing Jan. "And I think he's going to do you credit in every way. You
stick religiously to the feeding chart and the phosphates, and we shall
presently have Jan lording it over his own father--eh, Finn, boy!"
The wolfhound had been gravely watching the weighing operation, and now
nuzzled the Master's hand, his invariable method of answering
unimportant inquiries of this sort. Then he walked forward and
good-humoredly sniffed round the puppy's head; whereupon Jan impudently
bit at his wolfhound father's gray beard, and had to be rolled over on
his back under one of Finn's massive fore feet. There followed upon this
a few minutes of romping that was most amusing to watch. Little Jan
would rush forward at Finn, growling ferociously. Finn would spread out
his fore legs widely, and lower his great frame till his muzzle almost
reached the ground, while his tail waved high astern. Just as the
bellicose pup reached his muzzle, Finn would spring forward or sideways,
often clean over Jan, alighting at some little distance, and wheeling
round upon the still growling pup with a grin that said, plainly:
"Missed me again! You're not half quick enough, young man!"
And then, by way of encouraging the youngster, Finn would lower himself
to the ground, head well out, and, covering his eyes and muzzle with his
two fore legs, would allow Jan to plunge like a little battering-ram
upon the top of his head, furiously digging into the wolfhound's wiry
coat in futile pursuit of flesh-hold for his teeth, and still exhausting
fifty per cent. of his energies in maintaining a warlike growl.
Hardly a day passed now that did not bring the introduction of some new
interest for the black-and-gray pup. Novel experiences crowded upon him
at such a rate that he was always in some way absorbed. Meals were
frequent, and, of course, a matter of unfailing interest. Sleep also was
frequent, as it is with all healthy young things. Given, as he was,
plentiful liberty and abundance of fresh air and sunshine, Jan exhausted
himself about once an hour, and took a nap, from which he would awake
within five, ten, fifteen, or thirty minutes, as the case might be, once
more charged to the throat with high spirits, energy, and puppyish
abandon.
More by luck than good management, it happened in his seventh week that
he killed a mouse in the stable. For some time he mounted guard over his
kill, solemnly parading round and about it, emitting from time to time
blood-curdling growls and snarls intended to warn the dead mouse of the
frightful penalties it would incur as the result of any attempt to come
to life again.
Then, the stable door having been left ajar, Jan valorously gripped the
small corpse between his jaws and went swaggering off toward the house
with it, questing kudos. In the garden he met Finn, who with careless
good humor strolled toward him, offering a game. Jan tried his best to
growl and to turn up his nose at the same time, indicating serious
preoccupation with matters more weighty than play. But finding that his
hold upon the mouse was gravely endangered by this process, he gave up
the attempt, and swaggered on toward the front entrance, followed
quizzingly by the wolfhound. Finding nobody in the porch, Jan fell over
the step, dropped his mouse, growled fiercely, and then with a plunge
regained his prize, and so, past the place where the caps and coats
hung, over the mats into the hall.
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