Bruno made a short run, then came back, pausing as before, and glancing first in the direction he had started to go, then at Julius.
"It is probably a 'possum," I suggested.
Bruno had shown himself to be very careful about attacking strange animals. He seemed to remember our adventure with the hens, his first meeting with Rebecca, and some of his other experiences.
Julius answered his evident question with,—
"Yes. It's Boonie's 'possum. Go get him!"
Off he sprang, dashing into a little clump of trees, about a bow-shot from us, then with a yelp retreated, throwing himself on the ground, uttering short cries, rubbing and rooting his nose down into the grass and sand. Alas, poor Bruno! We knew what it was. We did not see it, we did not hear it, but we knew. He felt that he had been a victim of misplaced confidence; but we suffered with him, for it was days before he got rid of the "bouquet." Then it was as if by an inspiration. He seemed, all at once, to remember something. There was a tiny lake near our place, that was going dry. Day by day its waters had receded, until it was a mere mud-hole. Bruno went down to it, and buried himself up to the eyes in the black mud.
He lay there until late afternoon, then trotted off to a wet lake near by, and took a thorough bath. With this, he regained his lost self-respect, but he never forgot the experience. It was only necessary to say,—
"Kitty, kitty, where's kitty?" to make his ears and tail droop in the most dejected manner; then he would creep away, out of sight, till some more agreeable topic of conversation was broached.
It was not strange, after such a trying adventure, that Bruno was rather timid about approaching "Br'er 'Possum" when he did meet him. One night, he was found lurking around outside, sniffing some odds and ends that Bruno had disdained. After a little urging, Bruno was induced to seize him. Finding that nothing unpleasant followed, he became from that moment an enthusiastic 'possum-hunter, and used to bring one in every night or two. I usually cooked them for him, and he ate them with a relish, which we thought was fortunate, as we were about twelve miles from a butcher. Another substitute for beef we found in the Florida gopher. This is a grass-eating tortoise, which digs a house for itself in the sand.
Bruno soon became a most ardent gopher-hunter. Their hard shells make them difficult to handle, as they promptly draw in the head and legs on being approached; so Bruno would nose one over until he could seize the shovel, a protruding piece of the lower shell. Getting this small bit between his side-teeth, he balanced the weight by holding his head stiffly sideways, and came trotting in. The shadow of the house reached, he dropped the gopher, carefully turning it over on its back, and lay down beside it, to cool off and rest. Then off he would go for another.