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Page 5
"Yes, she sure is one fine pup!"
The purchaser never waited to hear the end of the sentence,
before turning to some other puppy. The pronoun, "she," had
killed forever his dawning fancy for the little beauty.
The four males of the litter were soon sold; for there is a brisk
and a steady market for good collie pups. One of the two other
females died. Lass's remaining sister began to "shape up" with
show-possibilities, and was bought by the owner of another
kennel. Thus, by the time she was five months old, Lass was left
alone in the puppy-run.
She mourned her playmates. It was cold, at night, with no other
cuddly little fur-ball to snuggle down to. It was stupid, with no
one to help her work off her five-months spirits in a romp. And
Lass missed the dozens of visitors that of old had come to the
run.
The kennel-men felt not the slightest interest in her. Lass meant
nothing to them, except the work of feeding her and of keeping an
extra run in order. She was a liability, a nuisance.
Lass used to watch with pitiful eagerness for the attendants'
duty-visits to the run. She would gallop joyously up to them,
begging for a word or a caress, trying to tempt them into a romp,
bringing them peaceofferings in the shape of treasured bones she
had buried for her own future use. But all this gained her
nothing.
A careless word at best--a grunt or a shove at worst were her
only rewards. For the most part, the men with the feed-trough or
the water-pail ignored her bounding and wrigglingly eager welcome
as completely as though she were a part of the kennel
furnishings. Her short daily "exercise scamper" in the open was
her nearest approach to a good time.
Then came a day when again a visitor stopped in front of Lass's
run. He was not much of a visitor, being a pallid and rather
shabbily dressed lad of twelve, with a brand-new chain and collar
in his hand.
"You see," he was confiding to the bored kennel-man who had been
detailed by the foreman to take him around the kennels, "when I
got the check from Uncle Dick this morning, I made up my mind,
first thing, to buy a dog with it, even if it took every cent.
But then I got to thinking I'd need something to fasten him with,
so he wouldn't run away before he learned to like me and want to
stay with me. So when I got the check cashed at the store, I got
this collar and chain."
"Are you a friend of the boss?" asked the kennel-man.
"The boss?" echoed the boy. "You mean the man who owns this
place? No, sir. But when I've walked past, on the road, I've seen
his 'Collies for Sale' sign, lots of times. Once I saw some of
them being exercised. They were the wonderfulest dogs I ever saw.
So the minute I got the money for the check, I came here. I told
the man in the front yard I wanted to buy a dog. He's the one who
turned me over to you. I wish--OH!" he broke off in rapture,
coming to a halt in front of Lass's run. "Look! Isn't he a
dandy?"
Lass had trotted hospitably forward to greet the guest. Now she
was standing on her hind legs, her front paws alternately
supporting her fragile weight on the wire of the fence and waving
welcomingly toward the boy. Unknowingly, she was bidding for a
master. And her wistful friendliness struck a note of response in
the little fellow's heart. For he, too, was lonesome, much of the
time, as is the fate of a sickly only child in an overbusy home.
And he had the true craving of the lonely for dog comradeship.
He thrust his none-too-clean hand through the wire mesh and
patted the puppy's silky head. Lass wiggled ecstatically under
the unfamiliar caress. All at once, in the boy's eyes, she became
quite the most wonderful animal and the very most desirable pet
on earth.
"He's great!" sighed the youngster in admiration; adding na�vely:
"Is he Champion Rothsay Chief--the one whose picture was in The
Bulletin last Sunday?"
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