AN ORIENTAL SHEPHERD.
I had not much to do with this pet, only as I visited his home occasionally, and saw and played with him a little.
It was my cousin Tip who had most to do with this bright feathered fellow, and to whom he was indebted for most of his education.
Tip was a great favorite; in fact, his mistress was fond of all sorts of pets; had a name for each of her cows, and for every one of her hens, so she had a name for this chicken.
Tip used to go about wherever he pleased, and so did the chicken. My cousin was in the habit of taking almost anything he could find, and dragging it to the spot where he wished to lie, then make a bed of it and go to sleep.
His little friend the chicken for awhile watched him with envious eyes—for I regret to say Cousin Tip was too selfish to provide a bed for any one besides himself.
But this chicken evidently thought “what had been done could be done,” so he asserted his independence, and gathered up what he could carry or drag; put the articles—stockings, handkerchiefs or rags—in a heap near Tip’s bed, and would then tread them down as he had seen Tip do, and squat upon them for a make-believe nap. Now wasn’t that a pretty bright chicken, and was not Tip a pretty successful teacher for one so young?
No, that lesson wouldn’t be much for a bright little dog to learn; but we do not expect much intelligence in a hen or rooster.
I suppose they cannot understand what people say to them as we do. And some people do not seem to think we understand what they tell us to do or not to do, even when they tell us we have done well.
I remember so well when I was young, though almost as large as I am now, how I astonished a lady by acting as though I understood what she said to me.