“We little pups were washed in this box, and if we cried or jumped about Martin would put a collar on to hold us by. The washing wasn’t bad at first, but it was very wet and sometimes cold, and the big brush he used wasn’t as soft and warm as our mother’s tongue that washed and wiped at the same time.
“Sometimes if Martin was tired or in a hurry he did not dry us well, and often dogs grew sick and sneezed and shivered. Then the big doctor-man came hurrying out from over town with his quick horse, to see them, and said they had ‘distemper.’ When this happened Miss Jule would often sit up at night with them; and sometimes they got well, and sometimes they were taken away and never came back, then Miss Jule would say ‘This is an unlucky season.’ But we knew it most often happened when Martin forgot something, for Miss Jule could not feel each dog’s nose every day, and see if its eyes look bright, and ask us if we feel well, as our mistress does.
“The flea-killing was worse; our mother took them one by one, but Martin rubbed sneezy powder in our hair, so if we tried to lick ourselves a bit we coughed and choked. Our Jack is nearly grown, and yet he has never had a bath from any one but me, and there’s not a flea upon him. See what it is to be born free and live a private life!”
Then Mrs. Waddles’s broad chest swelled with pride, as she yawned, stretched her feet toward the fire, and curved her back.
“Where did the good smells come from?” asked Waddles. “Part of them might be soup, but the others were too much like the village bakery where Mistress sometimes buys us broken cakes.”
“That smell came from the kennel kitchen, you must have been there on a baking day. There are four rooms together that dogs must never go in, but the day our Mistress bought me from Miss Jule and I walked home with her, she went out through those rooms, then I saw and knew. The littlest room was full of the soap they wash us with, and bottles of the stuff they give us when we are sick or sprinkle on the melted stone floors, that are through all the kennels, to sweeten them.
“The next room had boxes in it like those that hold the horse food in our stable, and they were full of the stuff Martin makes the dog-bread of. I saw him take some out, and in the corner was a great cold box, and though I could not see inside I smelled that it held meat, and near by was the kettle they cooked our soup in. In the biggest room of all there was a great block like that our butcher chops the meat on while we wait to catch the bits, also a big can full of milk and rows of tin pans piled on more shelves.
“Just then I smelled something delicious and Mistress turned round, I following her; there I saw Martin standing by the open door of a great oven with a red fire below, and in it were pans and pans of crispy bread ready to take out, and more upon a table to go in, and Mistress broke off a crust that overhung, and threw it to me. I sha’n’t forget that crust; it was my first bite of liberty.”
“Did you never run free at all, or never go out alone to have any sport? I should have jumped that fence or dug out somehow.”