Peter makes good, and stories of other dogs

The laundress’s dog was, as everyone said, just a yellow dog. But he was one of those creatures whose “yellow” was all on the outside—there were no yellow streaks under his skin. Being just plain dog has a significance all its own, as, in order to be any kind of a dog, one must have forefathers. It is highly probable that some of those ancestors were worth while in the case of this dog, and had handed down to their offspring some good traits.

Mandy, the colored laundress, had found him one morning, when she was on her way to work. He was a little fellow then, and he was cold and hungry. They lived in the state of Texas where the cotton grows. No doubt, the pup had started to follow some worker to the fields and became lost. When Mandy coaxed him to follow her, he did not hesitate, especially as her clothing was scented with breakfast bacon.

Together they had lived ever since, with Sam, Mandy’s husband. Now, Sam had ambitions above being always a cotton field hand. He had heard there were better chances for colored people in the north. Tales of wealth accumulated by chauffeurs and waiters with nice, fat tips, had filtered through to the cotton field workers, and they were leaving as fast as the price of a Ford car could be saved. Mandy helped by going out as many days as she could spare from her home and church duties, as she was a very devoted church worker.

Buff, as Mandy called him, on account of his pale yellow color, had fallen into a good home. With Sam’s ambitions and Mandy’s piety, things ran smoothly in this home.

Having purchased a car, they loaded into it everything it would hold, and started north. Buff’s quarters were close, but he managed to be comfortable. It was better any way than riding on the running board. The chickens were riding there, while, on the other side, the family goat was enthroned. Sam was a good provider and his family were never in want of something to eat.

Having at last become fairly settled in their new home, Mandy and Buff would go out to work several days each week. One of the houses where they worked was the Judge’s, so Buff was quite well known to the Airedales.

Buff’s story, while not dealing with his ancestors, was interesting. He knew many stories about clever dogs, with whom he was acquainted, and he had done some fine things himself; but, being a modest dog, and having always been looked down upon in the south, where he came from, he was known only as Sam’s and Mandy’s “yaller cur.” All of this was depressing and made him self-conscious and bashful.

The Judge, understanding how poor Buff felt, drew him out to talk about himself. Buff, too, had his ambitions, it appeared. Always he had desired to be a hunter. How he had longed to accompany Sam and his neighbors on their coon hunting trips! But Sam would not permit it. Buff was too small. It took husky dogs, like the hounds, with their big, floppy ears. Buff must remain at home.

Lying in front of the fire, he would stretch out, fall asleep and dream. His body would tremble; the muscles of his legs would twitch; he would prick up his ears, and go through all kinds of contortions. Then, jumping up, he would run out of the house, and bark in answer to the baying of the hounds, miles away. Back he would come and lie down, with a satisfied look at Mandy, as much as to say, “We got him!” This was as near as he ever came to having his ambition gratified.

The Judge requested Buff to tell about the time little Simon Peter, who lived next door to Sam and Mandy, fell in the water. So embarrassed was Buff at having to face all these eager eyes and lolling tongues, that he stood first on one foot, then on another. In his modesty, he made as little as possible of the part he had taken in the affair.

Simon Peter was a little pickaninny, who would lay his woolly head on the sleeping dog and take his afternoon nap. One day, Simon Peter’s mammy was washing, as she too was a laundress, but of the home-loving variety. The pickaninny loved wash day. He and Buff were left in the kitchen, where the laundry work was done, while his mammy hung out the clothes. It gave him an opportunity to get into lots of things which otherwise would be forbidden.

On this particular day, his mother had stopped to hold a bit of conversation with Sister White, who lived at the back of their lot. There were some matters concerning a church festival of which she must know the particulars.

In the house the little brown baby and the yellow dog were having a happy time. With a dilapidated looking Teddy bear in his arms, Simon Peter was investigating everything. Among other things which the laundress had been using, was a candy pail. In it was some water. It was clean water, for, when Simon Peter looked into it, he saw a baby and a Teddy bear. Reaching for the bear, he lost his balance.

Just then Buff, who was busy gnawing a bone, looked up and saw a pair of chubby brown legs sticking up out of the pail. Sensing what had happened, he climbed up on the side of the pail, and, adding his weight to that of the baby, managed to tip the bucket over, and the pickaninny crawled out.

Buff then ran to where the two “sisters” were in the depth of a discussion about church matters, and commenced jumping up and down, and running back and forth to attract their attention. Sister White took notice and inquired, “What’s the matter with that fool dog?” Simon Peter’s mammy took the hint. Running to the house, she found her little brown baby sitting in a puddle of water, and she saw that he was dripping wet.

This was such a good story the dogs wanted another from Buff, and he promised that at the next session he would tell them about Whitey, another mongrel of his acquaintance. So when the time came he told his second story.