Back of the house was a yard, and every day we dogs were turned out there to run about awhile and get the fresh air. Trained dogs act just like any other dogs. They sniff about and play together, only never fight. Mr. Bonelli wouldn’t allow any fighting.
The dog I liked best was a little black dog named Sambo. He was just about my size, and we played together a great deal. We were great friends.
Besides Sambo there was a poodle named Punch, and a terrier named Frisco; then there were Ruby—he was a setter—and Snaps, and Diamond, and Sancho and Frolic. I don’t know what kinds of dogs they were. There was a long-legged greyhound, too, who could jump further than any dog I ever saw. His name was Graceful.
There had been another dog, but he had died, and that is the reason Mr. Bonelli had come to the shop and had bought me.
When Mr. Bonelli first began to teach me my tricks he took me off in a quiet room by myself; but when I had once learned them, I had to do them before all the other dogs with Mrs. Bonelli making loud music on a piano.
At first it was harder to do it there before the others, and I made mistakes; but I soon became used to it, and then it wasn’t any harder to pay attention with all the others there than when I was in a room alone with Mr. Bonelli.
VII
EVERY day Mr. Bonelli took all of us down into a big cellar under the house.