I felt lonely, so I called to Billie who was curled up on the sofa, “You are certainly the sleepiest dog I ever saw.”
Billie blinked at me. “I am the most tired dog that ever lived. It seems to me I will never make up the sleep I lost during the first part of my life, when the children’s feet were always making earthquakes under me in the bed. Then you must remember that Mrs. Martin gives me lovely long walks.”
“And you take lovely long ones yourself,” I said suspiciously. “I believe you have been foraging in back yards this very day.”
Billie gave a heavy sigh. “A neglected pup makes a disobedient dog, Dicky-Dick.”
“And our Mary gave you a heaping plate of food for your lunch, Billie,” I went on. “You’re like that Tommy boy at the corner. He only minds his mother half the time, and Chummy says it’s because he had his own way too much when he was a little fellow.”
“I know I’m forbidden to eat in the neighbors’ yards,” said Billie, “but what can I do? My paws just ache—they carry me where I don’t want to go.”
“But why don’t you come home when you’re called? I was up on the roof the other day, and heard Mrs. Martin whistling for you, and you stayed stuffing yourself by a trash can. Why didn’t you mind her?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You heard her, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, quite plainly. I never was deaf.”