Peter makes good, and stories of other dogs

With some misgivings, therefore, Bob approached his father on this subject. He decided he would wait until he was sure his dad was in a happy mood. After the noonday meal, when they were both comfortably full, and Judge had had his nap, was the most likely time. Then, cautiously, Bob broached the matter of his wounded pride. Having no mother to smooth the way for him, Bob was at the mercy of his father’s candor. Judge, realizing this fact, became interested in learning about the case.

He inquired as to how many families were acquainted with the story, and how much had really been said about the personal appearance of his offspring. This was a delicate subject, as there was a strong resemblance between father and son. Just how far into the family records had Pixie delved? Of course, no one in this neighborhood knew of the family skeleton. That was safe. Bob was very brief about his part in the encounter. He mentioned nothing about his terrible bow-wows, which had so frightened the pert Pom that she had turned pale under her heavy coat.

Judge, rubbing his chin with his ponderous paw, said, “I will take up the case, but I will defer a decision until more evidence can be procured. Meantime I will investigate.”

In the interval each of the dogs that knew about the affair related it to every other dog they met. It was discussed not only in the best families, but the garbage man’s dog heard of it, and he told it to the laundress’s yellow mongrel, who met the milkman’s shepherd collie. As the latter traveled around town, and was an excellent reporter, the news spread and the story grew and grew, until the owners of the dogs were also involved. When at last it came to their ears, they were puzzled to know what it was all about.

Judge, hearing about how the news of this little affair had grown until it was called a scandal, decided he must act quickly to settle the wagging of those busybodies’ tongues. He would hold a session and call the whole neighborhood of dogs into court. The police dog was to summon them. Each one that had a share in this matter, regardless of what was his standing in society, must appear before him to be punished.

It was an outrage that a dog of Judge’s high standing should be so maligned, for at last the story had grown until it was unsavory, and a great injustice had been done to the father of such a promising son. Summoning the German police dog, Judge made a list of those who were responsible for the wide spread of the story. Among these were Ruby, the pug, Petite, the white French poodle, and those to whom they had told the interesting bit of news.

In their set was an English bulldog named Bill, who was a distant relative on the terrier side of the Airedale family. Bill felt that it would be disloyal not to support the Airedales in their contention, especially as the matter had been laid before him by Ruby, who gave her own version of it, adding as much local color as she could.

Bill, in turn, told a friend, a Boston bull, and so it went. Among their select set, everyone who repeated the tale added something to it. It was left to dear little Petite, the fluffy French poodle, who always wore white, to defend the little Pom. With tears in her eyes, Petite told all her friends how that “impossible Airedale pup had insulted her dear friend, Pixie.” She wept on the shoulder of a stately Russian wolfhound, named Princess, who had been “over” only a short time, and who was bewildered by Petite’s show of emotion. For some time indeed Princess was unable to understand what it all meant.

Expressing her indignation in a dignified and charming way at the effrontery of the Airedale, the Princess promised to call on the little Pom and extend her sympathy. She passed the sad news on to a water spaniel, who just then emerged from the drinking fountain basin, where he had been taking a bath. Although he shook the water from his wet coat all over her, which at another time would have been good cause for a show of temper, even from a lady dog of noble birth, she passed it by unnoticed, so eager was she to enlist all her friends in Pixie’s cause.

On up the street these two went to where lived two squatty little dachshunds, whose ancestors, like Pixie’s, were real warriors. It was said of them that they attacked badgers, an action requiring great courage. They too had a friendly feeling for Pixie; and then the Princess was so sweet in her manner and so eager to clear her little friend’s name of any suspicion, they could not resist her, even though they saw that the chances of the Airedale were growing slim, and that it was scarcely fair for all of his friends to turn against him.

It was through these little, sociable dachshunds that the story spread to the other element of society in dogdom. The garbage man’s dog, Gyp, who always accompanied his master on his collection trips, was a good watchdog. He was watching the empty cans while his master stopped to chat with the laundress. He had his hands full with the dogs who pestered him for a chance at the tidbits left in the cans. Finally, Gyp, being of a practical turn of mind, began bartering with the dogs for an exchange, just as boys do. The dachshunds had something desirable in this story they had heard, and promised they would give the details as an after-dinner speech, if they could come to terms, which they did.

While they were delivering the purchase price of their lunch, the laundress’s yellow mongrel listened in. Gyp was emphatically against the Airedale. Once Gyp had fallen into the hands of the law, and had almost been taken to the dog pound, so he was bitter against law, and everyone connected with it. This, of course, included the Judge.

Such was not the feeling of the little yellow mongrel, who was of no particular breed. He was just plain dog, and did not mind it one bit if he was. His mistress gave the Judge two days of her time every week, and he knew the Airedale quite well. The Judge’s folks had been kind to him, giving him many meaty bones after dinner. Sometimes the boys played with him, too, in the back yard, where it was nice and private. The fence was so high no one could see them. For all of this, he was most grateful, and intended to stand by the Judge. He was not going to say anything about it to anyone, except the milkman’s dog, and he must promise not to repeat the story. Anyway, he lived away on the other side of town, where they would probably not be interested.

This is how this contention, which, in its beginning was just a misunderstanding between two inoffensive dogs, grew until friendly relations were strained to the breaking point.

Having arranged for a hearing on a certain evening, when all the dogs were again in the park, Judge impaneled a jury. Then, upon examining the jury, he found that not one of the members was fit to serve, as all had gossiped about the case. There were not “twelve good dogs and true” to be found in the town.

Because of this state of affairs, some other plan must be followed. Judge decided that he would punish all of the worst offenders. The principals, which meant Pixie and Bob, he would talk to privately. Pixie no doubt by this time was very sorry and ready to apologize to Bob.

The gossips he would attend to first. Since they were so eager to tell stories about other dogs, he would require each of them to come, one at a time, and tell him a true story of some brave or clever happening of which they had heard. Perhaps there were family traditions that were worth repeating, as in the case of Pixie and the dachshunds. It would be a good way to train their minds, and to teach them to look for the good and to ignore the bad in all dogs. Besides, it would keep them busy. As their outings were limited to about two hours each day, it would be possible for them to hear no more than one long, or, possibly, several short stories each time.

The police dog, being next in importance to the Judge, was required to begin this series of punishment. The Judge, after the class in story-telling had paid the penalty and the law was satisfied, was to tell a very interesting story himself—one containing much human interest and moral advice.

Although he was somewhat vain and pompous, the Judge was at heart a good dog. He desired to raise the standard of morals in dogdom, and knew that the only way to do that was to fill the empty heads of the dogs with something besides gossip. A research story-telling campaign he hoped would prove the first step toward reform.

A program was arranged. Each one was, in his or her turn, to tell whatever story he or she knew on a given subject; or they could relate anything of interest that had occurred in their own families. Detective stories would be in the German police dog’s line. Also stories of German country dogs. One very interesting story he knew about a large Dane that could understand nothing but German.

All the dogs were so interested, and so eager to begin, that they ran around in circles. The court session having adjourned, the police dog escorted them out of the park, and requested that all of them be on time promptly the next evening. A happier group of dogs passed out of the park entrance to go their different ways. No haughty airs were assumed by the blue-bloods. All were interested in one theme, a common interest—the paying of a court fine, which makes all kin.

So used were the dogs in the beautiful homes on that exclusive street to having everything done for them that they had become mere puppets, and it required considerable effort for them to do any real thinking. Most of them were foreign born and several had peculiar habits, different from those of their American cousins. Although their ancestors originally came from Europe, the latter had become true Americans in every sense of the word, and were losing their love of ease and indolence.

Although the owners of these blue-blooded dogs had them registered and pedigreed, and all that, what did they really know of their families? It was by mere accident that Pixie heard that bit of history about her great-great-grandmother. Her mistress never spoke of the little Pom’s past, except to mention about the dog show in London and Pixie’s having associated with the nobility. Now that Pixie knew about her people, she was proud that she had such plucky forbears.

The rest of the dogs, after hearing how Pixie felt about it, were anxious to know something about their own family histories. This story-telling campaign was going to afford them just the excuse they wanted to get the desired information. Surely some members of their breed had won honors for themselves somewhere or somehow. Just how or where were they to hear of these things? Now the chance was to be given, for every dog was to help every other dog with his story. If the shepherd dog knew of a good story about a bull dog, he was to tell it; but it must be such a story as the bull would be pleased to know. Then, if the bull dog knew anything that would add to the happiness of the shepherd, he in turn would make it known.

Satisfied with this arrangement, the dogs went diligently to work unearthing stories.

It was early, and the Judge was on his bench under a tree at the far corner of the park. It was a quiet place where the children, who were playing in the sand piles or swinging, would not disturb them. The Judge, not needing an attendant, was allowed to roam at will. The others would have to wait to be brought, except, of course, the middle-class dogs, who would presently come romping in.

Had the respective owners of the dogs on the beautiful street been aware of what was taking place, in all probability they would have tried to buy the Judge off; but this one was not that kind of a judge. His belonging to their set would not have influenced him in the least. Back in his own family history were some sterling qualities, chief of which was honesty, that had descended to this offspring, and these, as well as other admirable traits, were manifest in all of his dealings.

The dogs were assembled at last, even Pixie, who was seen trotting along beside the Airedale pup. The police dog was keeping order and seating the class. When the gavel, which was his left paw, fell, everything was ready.