WALTER'S DOG.
"Mamma, why can't I have a collar for Fido, like that on Charley's dog?"—"You must wait until our ship comes in," said his mother, laughing.
Walter believed that a ship was really coming, and set to thinking of the things that he hoped it would bring him. Then he called Fido, and told him how much he wished to give him a collar.
If Fido had known how to speak, perhaps he would have said, "I don't care much about a collar: I get along just as well without it." But Fido could not speak English, though he barked smartly when Walter said, "Speak, sir."
I must tell you some of Fido's funny ways. He would sit up on his haunches, drop his fore-paws, and wait for Walter to put a piece of bread on his nose; then he would sit quite still while Walter counted, "One, two, three;" and, at the word "three," he would give his head a toss, and catch the bread in his mouth.
Fido had a great taste for music. There was one tune in particular that he was very fond of; and, when it was played on the piano, he would begin to make a whining noise, which would grow louder and louder, until it ended in sharp, quick barks, keeping time with the music. Walter called this "Fido's singing."
Fido liked dancing-tunes; but there was a friend of his, one of the neighbor's dogs, that liked only psalm-tunes. He would whine solemnly until a lively tune was struck up; when he would slink away in manifest displeasure. He would not countenance such frivolity.
So you see, dogs have their fancies as well as human beings.
