Rats!
"HE has no nose," said my master; "he is a handsome dog, but he has no nose."
This annoyed me very much, for I have a nose—a very long, sharp, black nose. I wear tan boots and gloves, and my coat is a beautiful shiny black.
I am a Manchester terrier, and I fulfil the old instructions for such dogs. I am
Neckèd like a drakè,
Headed like a snakè,
Tailed like a ratte,
And footed like a catte.
And then they said I had no nose.
But Kerry explained to me that my master did not mean to find fault with the shape of my nose, but that what he wanted to be understood was that I had no nose for smelling rats. Kerry has, and he is ridiculously vain of this accomplishment.
"And you have no nose, you know, old boy," said Kerry; "why, you would let the rats run all over you and never know it."
I turned up my nose—my beautiful, pointed, handsome nose—and walked away without a word.
A few weeks afterwards my master brought home with him some white rats. Kerry was out at the time, but my master showed me the rats through the bars of their cage. He also showed me a boot and a stick. Although I have no nose, I was clever enough to put two and two together. Did I mention that there were two rats?