sometimes not. Poaching happens to be a crime, but it is also dishonest—and confuses the game animals. Squire Randolph was very strict with poachers, yet he had no scruples about telling lies: "Here now, Bossy, we're just going to borrow your pretty little calf." To excuse these moral lapses, humans call them social lies, white lies, flummery. For Spot's sake, even poor colorblind Bossy can recognize a faradiddle when she hears one.
They do it all the time, calling such falsehoods polite fibs: "Delighted to see you. So glad you could call. You are looking lovely. I adored your gift. Please come back soon." Miss Merkle explained that gentlemen and ladies bend the truth a shade here and there so no one's feelings will be hurt. When the knacker comes and they tell the decrepit old plow horse, "Here, boy, we're just going to take a little walk," you know something more than feelings are going to be hurt!
No wonder animals have learned to distrust men. Still, I say don't listen to the words, listen to the heart. An animal can tell the truth. Just like I listened to what Lord Ansel Berke didn't say.
I was waiting in the hall when company came, quiet so Marston would not notice. Having studied under Muffy, I was pretending to be a scatter rug. Not my finest role, but I was not dragged back to the kitchens. Miss Sonia spotted me right away—she always does—when she walked some of the departing guests to the door. As soon as Marston turned his back to fetch Baron Berke's gloves, hat, and walking stick, she introduced us. We shook hands. He patted my head and said, "What a fine dog, Miss Randolph. Smart and handsome." Then he wiped his hands on a cloth.
He did not commit a crime, like stealing eggs from a chicken coop, or a sin, like stealing the chickens. But he does not have a true heart. A dog always knows.
Miss Sonia deserved better, so I had to expand our horizons. Somewhere in this great city of London…
I had never been on foot beyond the park before. Always we went sightseeing in the carriage, and I waited on the box with the driver outside the Tower or Westminster, marveling at mankind's achievements and wondering why they bothered. I could only sniff at the passing strangers from my high perch; now I would be down among them. I was looking forward to exploring on my own while Miss Sonia had her final fittings. Tippy the turnspit dog says there are rats as big as cats!
I saw one myself, a surly fellow with a half-chewed ear. He wouldn't give me the time of day, much less any hints as to where I should begin my search. Muffy was right, city folk aren't as friendly, for even the horses didn't stop when I asked directions. The heavy workers were short-tempered beasts in a great rush to get nowhere that I could tell. The fancier cattle were all twitchy nerves and bunched muscle, ready to explode. I stopped asking. I kept going, following my nose as it were, and oh, the smells! And the sights and the noise and the traffic. Even the air had myriad tastes. And men, hustling, bustling, busy. A few glanced my way, one tried to kick me, another held out a cup—and it was empty! Mostly they were in a hurry. I may have been a tad optimistic about my search.
I always knew where I was, of course. Hadn't I been carefully marking my way? Much too soon, though, I had spent every penny, out of sheer excitement, I suppose, so I decided to return home. But there were buildings in the way and high fences, and alleys no dog should walk down by himself. The smoke was so thick, I could not even sniff my own scent in the air, and a pair of livery horses pulling a hackney poked fun when I asked my way back to Grosvenor Square.
" 'Ere now, who's 'e think 'e is, some poodle wot gets 'is blinkin' toenails painted?"
"Oi say 'e ain't no gennlemun's dog, 'e's one of those baa-baa baby-sitters. Ya wants th' sheep pens out Marlybone way, ya 'airy botfly."
I wished them high hills and heavy loads, then I showed them my heels. Did Diogenes
They do it all the time, calling such falsehoods polite fibs: "Delighted to see you. So glad you could call. You are looking lovely. I adored your gift. Please come back soon." Miss Merkle explained that gentlemen and ladies bend the truth a shade here and there so no one's feelings will be hurt. When the knacker comes and they tell the decrepit old plow horse, "Here, boy, we're just going to take a little walk," you know something more than feelings are going to be hurt!
No wonder animals have learned to distrust men. Still, I say don't listen to the words, listen to the heart. An animal can tell the truth. Just like I listened to what Lord Ansel Berke didn't say.
I was waiting in the hall when company came, quiet so Marston would not notice. Having studied under Muffy, I was pretending to be a scatter rug. Not my finest role, but I was not dragged back to the kitchens. Miss Sonia spotted me right away—she always does—when she walked some of the departing guests to the door. As soon as Marston turned his back to fetch Baron Berke's gloves, hat, and walking stick, she introduced us. We shook hands. He patted my head and said, "What a fine dog, Miss Randolph. Smart and handsome." Then he wiped his hands on a cloth.
He did not commit a crime, like stealing eggs from a chicken coop, or a sin, like stealing the chickens. But he does not have a true heart. A dog always knows.
Miss Sonia deserved better, so I had to expand our horizons. Somewhere in this great city of London…
I had never been on foot beyond the park before. Always we went sightseeing in the carriage, and I waited on the box with the driver outside the Tower or Westminster, marveling at mankind's achievements and wondering why they bothered. I could only sniff at the passing strangers from my high perch; now I would be down among them. I was looking forward to exploring on my own while Miss Sonia had her final fittings. Tippy the turnspit dog says there are rats as big as cats!
I saw one myself, a surly fellow with a half-chewed ear. He wouldn't give me the time of day, much less any hints as to where I should begin my search. Muffy was right, city folk aren't as friendly, for even the horses didn't stop when I asked directions. The heavy workers were short-tempered beasts in a great rush to get nowhere that I could tell. The fancier cattle were all twitchy nerves and bunched muscle, ready to explode. I stopped asking. I kept going, following my nose as it were, and oh, the smells! And the sights and the noise and the traffic. Even the air had myriad tastes. And men, hustling, bustling, busy. A few glanced my way, one tried to kick me, another held out a cup—and it was empty! Mostly they were in a hurry. I may have been a tad optimistic about my search.
I always knew where I was, of course. Hadn't I been carefully marking my way? Much too soon, though, I had spent every penny, out of sheer excitement, I suppose, so I decided to return home. But there were buildings in the way and high fences, and alleys no dog should walk down by himself. The smoke was so thick, I could not even sniff my own scent in the air, and a pair of livery horses pulling a hackney poked fun when I asked my way back to Grosvenor Square.
" 'Ere now, who's 'e think 'e is, some poodle wot gets 'is blinkin' toenails painted?"
"Oi say 'e ain't no gennlemun's dog, 'e's one of those baa-baa baby-sitters. Ya wants th' sheep pens out Marlybone way, ya 'airy botfly."
I wished them high hills and heavy loads, then I showed them my heels. Did Diogenes
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