"'Rover' let it be. He'll be unique—the only dog on Mars with that name. In fact, the only dog on Mars."
"I'm unique too, Daddy. I'm the only boy on Mars called 'Small'."
"It's not your real name, you know."
"It is so," asserted Small. "'Anthony, Jr.' is just a nickname. When I start going to television school, I'm going to tell the teacher that my name is Small Kidd."
Alice had been thinking. She said, "Anthony, dear, instead of writing for a dog, why don't you try again to get one of those new guns? I'm sure that if you did fill out a form—"
"I've filled out thousands. But don't worry, dear, I'll write T. I. Tapling again. Just don't expect too much, though."
Alice tried to pretend that she didn't, but in her heart she felt a pang of disappointment when Tapling wrote back that additional guns were forbidden not only by Regulation L34XC3 of Code 3, but by virtue of certain other regulations as well. He was pleased, however, to reply favorably to Mr. Kidd's other request, and enclosed forthwith a copy of a catalogue published by the Central Terrestrial Dog Breeding Station.
Alice's first thought was that for once Mr. Tapling had done something right, and without wrapping his action up in red tape. Alice's second thought was, "That Idiot Tapling!"—for the catalogue, it turned out, was three hundred years old. It had been published some time before the first Mars expedition had taken off, and she could only wonder from what antique waste-paper pile the bureaucratic T. I. Tapling's bureaucratic subordinates had dug it up.
It was, nonetheless, fascinating reading, and Small was even more fascinated by the pictures it contained. Moreover, with a catalogue actually in the house, he seemed to regard her as definitely committed to get Rover. He wavered in his favorites for that title between Great Danes and Saint Bernards, and Alice, as she contemplated the size of the two breeds, could only think of the enormous quantities of food they would consume, and shudder in dismay.