The story of a woolly dog

There was a little farm in the country not far from Donald’s home, and the farmer kept a few hives of bees for the honey they made. This farmer happened to be out working among his bees when the boy who had stolen the Woolly Dog ran past. And when the boy, to get rid of the Dog, threw the toy over the fence, why, Donald’s plaything fell right into an open hive of the honey-making and stinging insects.

For bees can sting as well as make honey, you know.

“Yes, this certainly is the worst of all my adventures!” thought the Woolly Dog, as he found himself among the crawling bees. “It is even worse than when Jane cut me open with the scissors and I was sewed up again. Oh, what a tickling feeling!”

Well might the Woolly Dog say this, for now he was being tickled on the outside by the bees crawling over him, and he already had a tickling feeling inside, though from what he did not know.

“These bees will sting me to death!” thought the Woolly Dog. “They certainly will sting me to death! I heard one of the animals, in the Noah’s Ark that Donald has, talking about bees. I think it was the Wooden Elephant. He said bees were dreadful stingers.”

As for the bees they were much excited. They always grew excited when the farmer took the top off their hive, as he had just done, to get some of the honey for himself. Here and there crawled the buzzing, humming bees. They had a Queen, and the Queen called:

“What is this that has fallen among us? If it is anyone but the kind farmer after our honey, just sting him, my children! We will not sting the farmer, for he is kind to us and puts us in a warm place in winter. But if it is anyone else, sting him!”

“It is someone else, Your Majesty,” answered a busy bee. “This creature is large and fuzzy—not as large as the farmer but more fuzzy.”

“Sting him!” ordered the Queen bee.

“Oh, please don’t sting me!” begged the Woolly Dog.

“Stop! Wait a minute!” commanded the Queen. “The creature speaks our language. Perhaps he means no harm,” for the Dog, you see, had spoken the language of animals and insects, there being no human beings there to spy on him.

“Certainly I mean you no harm,” barked the Woolly Dog. “I am sorry if I disturbed you, but I couldn’t help it. A bad boy tossed me in among you.”

By this time a number of the strongest bees had gotten ready to sting the Woolly Dog in answer to their Queen’s command, but now Her Majesty, who was a longer, thinner bee than any of the others, walked daintily toward the Woolly Dog.

“What a queer creature he is, to be sure,” said the Queen. “So very large and fuzzy, as you said, my children. Not as large as the farmer, but truly much more fuzzy.”

“Big as he is, Your Majesty,” growled one of the worker bees, “we can all sting him if you say so. But it will be hard work. His fuzzy coat of wool will tangle in our legs. But we can sting him on his nose—he has no fuzz there.”

“Oh, don’t sting me on my nose! Don’t, please, sting me on my nose!” howled the Woolly Dog, and he began hiding his nose down in his paws.

“No, don’t sting him,” ordered the Queen. “He is one of us. But I must ask you, Mr. Woolly Dog,” she went on, “please to get out of our hive, for you are in the way. I don’t want to be impolite, but you are in the way.”

“Oh, I’ll get out fast enough, I promise you,” said the Dog, but he wondered how in the world he was ever going to get back to Donald’s house all by himself. Here was a dreadful adventure!

The Woolly Dog was about to jump out of the beehive when suddenly the Queen called:

“Here comes the farmer!”

Then the Dog knew he dared not move, for that was not allowed when human eyes saw him.

Up came the farmer to put the cover back on the beehive, after having taken out what honey he wanted. The farmer looked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

“Well, bless my stars!” he exclaimed. “A toy Woolly Dog in my beehive! I wonder how it got there? Some children must have been out here playing while I was in the house, and they tossed their dog there. It’s a wonder they weren’t stung. Well, unless I want a honey Dog, I’d better take him out.”

The farmer lifted the Woolly Dog from the hive and laid him on the ground. Then the top of the beehive, or house, was put in place, and the bees began working again at gathering more honey for the man. The Queen bee started to lay more eggs to hatch out more bees, and she laughed to herself as she thought of the visitor to her hive.

“He certainly was a queer chap—so fuzzy,” hummed the Queen. “And how he would have howled if my children had stung him on his little black nose. But perhaps it is just as well they didn’t.”

So the Woolly Dog got through that adventure rather well, I think, but still he was far from home—that is, far for him, as he was not as large as a real dog.

“I’ll take you up to the house,” said the farmer, talking to himself, but looking at Donald’s toy. “You are a pretty handsome toy,” he bee-keeper went on. “But you must have been in a war,” he added, with a laugh, as he turned the Dog over and saw where he had been cut and sewed up. “Yes, you certainly must have been in a war!”

As the farmer reached the house, his wife came out with a basket of eggs. She saw in his hand the Woolly Dog.

“Where did you get that?” asked the farmer’s wife, in surprise.

“I found it in one of my beehives. Put it away until Mary comes to visit us and we’ll give it to her baby.”

“No, indeed!” exclaimed his wife. “Why, that Woolly Dog belongs to Donald Cressey!”

“Not the Cressey we sell eggs and honey to?” cried the farmer, in surprise.

“Yes, the very same one,” said his wife. “I remember the last time I took eggs there I saw Donald playing with his Dog. His uncle, Mr. Blakeley, gave it to him.”

“Well, if this is Donald’s Dog I don’t want it,” said the farmer. “I wonder how it got in my beehive, though. Do you think Donald is around here?”

“No; I’m sure he wouldn’t come away out here alone, and none of his folks has been here. But I am going to his house now with these eggs, and I’ll take the Woolly Dog back.”

“All right,” agreed the farmer, and the Woolly Dog was placed in the basket of eggs. He was so soft and fluffy that he did not break a one, even though he bounced around on them as the farmer’s wife drove to town in the donkey cart. The place where the bees were kept was a little way beyond the suburb of the city in which Donald lived.

“More adventures!” thought the Woolly Dog, as he was jiggled and joggled about on the eggs in the basket. “Will they never end? And that ticklish feeling inside me—I wonder if it could have been caused by the bees’ legs? No, it couldn’t! For I felt ticklish inside before that bad boy tossed me into the beehive. And, anyhow, the bees tickled me on the outside, not on the inside. Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose.”

You can imagine how surprised Donald and his sister were when the “Egg Lady,” as they called the farmer’s wife, brought back the Woolly Dog. Donald had missed his plaything from the porch on coming back after having gone to see the hand-organ man and monkey, and when he told his mother what had happened she said:

“Someone must have come in and have taken your dog,” for Susan did not remember having picked it up with the other toys.

“But how it got in our beehive, we can’t guess,” said the “Egg Lady.”

“Some boy must have taken it off our porch and then have gotten tired of carrying the Dog,” said Mrs. Cressey. “Then he tossed him over the fence.” And that is just the way it happened, except that the bad boy was afraid of the policeman, and that’s why he threw away the Woolly Dog.

Anyhow, the Dog was back home again, and much pleased to be there, too. That night, when he was put in the playroom with the other toys, the Woolly Dog told of his adventure, and all the others listened eagerly.

From then on, nearly every day, something happened to the Woolly Dog, with whom Donald liked to play. Once Donald took the Dog for a sail on a board raft in a puddle of water and the Dog fell in.

“Oh, he’s drowned!” cried Donald, but another boy fished out the Dog and Mrs. Cressey washed him clean and dried him by the stove.

Another time a real dog ran into the yard, picked up the Woolly Dog and started to run away with him. But Donald and Jane chased the real dog and got back the Woolly Dog.

Summer passed and fall came, bringing new adventures to the toy Dog. Then winter, with its snow and ice, arrived.

“Hurray! Now we can ride down hill on our sleds!” cried Donald and Jane, after the first snow.

“I’m going to take my Dog,” said Donald.

“Don’t lose him,” cautioned his mother.

“I won’t,” promised Donald. But he did. He had the Woolly Dog on his sled with him, and, in steering around a curve, the sled upset and Donald fell off. But this was not the worst: The Woolly Dog was tossed into a big bank of soft snow!

Deep down into the snowdrift sank the Woolly Dog, out of sight, growing colder and colder all the while.