NELLIE’S DOG
I
He was a lonely looking little beggar with a wistful look in his eyes. Shaggy-haired, with a limp in one leg, and the scars of many stones on his small body, he was a miserable looking dog as he trotted down the dusty road. His tongue lolled out and his sides heaved from panting.
But his rough looks hid a heart of gold. Any one could see that by looking into his eyes, which were pleading and trustful.
But no one looked into his eyes; they looked only at his shaggy coat and rough appearance, then shouted and threw stones and clubs at him. The stones hurt cruelly, and it was a club that put the limp in his leg, for he was a stray dog and unwelcome everywhere.
He was hungry for some one to love, to live for. His eyes told that every time he met a stranger, or when, with drooping tail and with fawning side-steps, he presented himself at some new farmhouse.
But rebuffs and kicks had brought a faint light of distrust and caution to his eyes, and he began to crawl into the weeds along the roadside when he saw any one approaching; and when he came to a farmhouse he would stop at the gate, ready to run at the first hostile move.
Sometimes people set well-fed home dogs on him. When these were his size, or smaller, he would back away with teeth half-bared defensively. He made no move to fight. It was not in his nature to fight unless he had some one to defend. When the dogs were larger than himself, he would run as well as the limp in his leg would allow.
Twice he had been overtaken by dogs—huge, fierce fellows that mauled him without mercy, while their owners encouraged them. But always they had allowed the little dog to go with his life. Even dogs have codes of honor.
It was just at sunset one evening when he limped into the yard where little Nellie was playing. He gazed into her eyes with a pleading, homesick look, and she smiled. Then she threw her arms around his neck and caressed him tenderly. He fawned on her in a very ecstasy of joy, and his scarred, thin little body wagged from end to end. And so the pact was sealed. He was Nellie’s dog and she was his mistress.
There was just a trace of Airedale blood in his veins, and an Airedale dog always selects some one person as the idol of his undying love and faithfulness. Nellie was to him the one person in the world.
II
Nellie’s father was a big man, and abrupt. He became excited when he saw her playing with the little dog, and dragged her away. He declared that she might have been bitten by the cur.
In spite of the little girl’s protests, he kicked the dog from the yard and stoned him, sending him, a whimpering, heart-broken little piece of misery, limping down the road.
Nellie cried and declared that she had always wanted a doggy and that no doggy but the little stray dog would do. But her father was firm; he would have no stray dogs about the place; there was no telling what the dog was, or had been—he might be dangerous; for the father had not looked into the little dog’s eyes as had Nellie.
One day Nellie was taken sick. A raging fever colored her face and sent her pulses bounding. For many anxious hours her tearful father watched by her bedside. Then Nellie began calling for her “doggy.”
The doctor, who was already grave, became graver. He told the father that if Nellie’s doggy was not found he feared that she might not get better.
Then She Lay Back on Her Pillow
A great pain came to the father’s heart, and his face twitched in misery. He would have given all he possessed to have back the little stray cur to save her—the little dog that he had stoned and sent whimpering down the road.
Evening came. The doctor, who had been holding little Nellie’s wrist in his hand, laid it very gently on the bed, a misty look in his eyes.
Suddenly he turned toward the door. There, just within the threshold, with drooping tail and a loving, pleading look fastened on the little figure in the bed, stood a stray dog.
The doctor looked into the little dog’s eyes, and understood. He knew it was Nellie’s doggy. Swiftly he caught the dog up in his arms and placed him on the bed.
With a glad cry little Nellie half-raised herself from her pillow, as her hands found the dog’s shaggy hair and felt the warm touch of his tongue. Then she lay back on her pillow, a new color in her cheeks and a new light in her eyes. She breathed easily and sighed contentedly. The doctor smiled tenderly and her father cried tears of joy.
The little dog curled himself against Nellie and licked her hand lovingly, for of all the people in the world she alone was his mistress, and neither kicks nor stones could keep him away.
—Robert E. Hewes.
There is joy in caring
For helpless little things.