What followed was awful. William filled the tub in the stable half-full of cold water and put me in it. I thought at first I would drown, but he held me up with one hand and lathered me all over with harness soap with the other. And then he took a horrid, stiff brush and scrubbed me until it hurt. The soap got in my eyes and smarted and it got into my mouth and tasted badly, and all the time William scolded.
I had to cry a little. You’d have cried too. I’ve heard you cry when Nurse got soap in your eyes, and you needn’t pretend you haven’t. Besides, it was all very unfair. I didn’t want to fall in the mud and get dirty. It was all that duck’s fault. But William just blamed it all on me without trying to find out how it really happened, and I had to suffer. Once I caught sight of Freya peeking around the corner of the door and I said to myself: “Just you wait till I get out of here, if I ever do, and see what will happen to you, Miss!”
But when, after a long, long time, William thought he could not get any more dirt off me and so put me out on the floor, and when I had shaken myself half a dozen times, felt so good that I forgot all about the way Freya had behaved and ran circles and barked until I was almost dry. Then I found a nice warm spot against the side of the stable and went to sleep.
But even if I did forgive Freya that time you can see that she behaved very badly and is not at all brave. Still, I suppose that being a girl dog has a lot to do with it. You mustn’t expect a girl-dog to be as brave as a boy-dog.
That was my first real bath. I’ve had many since then and I’ve grown to put up with them just as one must put up with castor-oil and pills. But I’m sure I shall never get fond of them. I don’t mind wading in the pond or even swimming a little, but baths are quite different. Besides, I am not a water-dog, like a spaniel or a retriever, and folks ought to think of that. They don’t, though. About once a month I have to go through with it, and the mere sight of a cake of soap quite takes my appetite away for hours. I once heard the Mistress tell the man who comes for the laundry that she wanted something “dry-cleaned.” I wonder why dogs can’t be dry-cleaned too!
CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD LADY WHO DIDN’T LIKE DOGS
Are you scared of thunder storms? I am, too. Well, not exactly scared, maybe, but I—I don’t like them very well. I don’t mind the lightning so much, but the thunder is very noisy and it affects my nerves. I am quite a nervous dog. All highly-bred dogs are nervous, you know. And when you can trace your family back for dozens of years, the way I can, you have every right to dislike thunder. Perhaps you didn’t know I had such a long pedigree? Mother told us all about it once. We are descended from Hansel von Konigsberg, who was the Champion of all Germany for many years and quite the finest dachshund that ever lived. He won all sorts of prizes wherever he was shown and was a very fine, proud dog. Every one in Germany knows about Hansel von Konigsberg. Mother says it is a fine thing to be descended from such a dog and that I should always try to live up to it. Well, that isn’t telling about the time I got under the bed in the guest-room when there was a thunder storm, is it?
There were visitors at the house, and one was an elderly lady who wore a black silk dress and had her eye-glasses on a little stick. When she saw us puppies she held the glasses up to her eyes and looked at us just as though we were something quite strange. “Dear me,” she said, “what ugly little things. What are they?” The Master laughed and told her we were dachshund puppies. “You mean they’re dogs?” she asked. “Why, they look like alligators! Don’t let them come near me, please. I never could stand dogs, anyway, and these are quite—quite disgusting!”
Neither Freya or I knew then what an alligator was, but we didn’t like the sound of it. Besides, she had said we were ugly and disgusting. So I looked at Freya and Freya looked at me and we made a rush for the Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs and jumped all over her. Of course we made believe we were awfully pleased to see her, but we weren’t. She gave a screech and dropped her eye-glasses. They were on a black ribbon, though, and so they didn’t break. But I got the ribbon in my teeth and laid back and pulled and growled, and Freya took hold of the old lady’s skirt and shook it. And all the time the old lady said “Shoo! Shoo, you nasty little brutes! Oh, somebody take them away!”