The next day the little boy said he meant to call me Dick, so his mother took my head between her hands and said: “Dear little doggie, your name is Dick now, so don’t forget that we mean you when you hear us say it.”
I wagged my tail as hard as I could to tell her I would remember and I did so well that it wasn’t long before I forgot to expect to be called Sandy and grew to like Dick much better.
I found I had come to live on a farm with cool green grass to run through, cats to chase, chickens to hunt and horses and cows to look out for.
One day I was barking at a cow to make her go into the barn and she turned quickly and kicked me against the fence.
It hurt me pretty badly and I was sick for several days. My new mistress gave me medicine, rubbed my sides and kept me in the house by her until I felt better.
There was another dog at this house. He was a great St. Bernard called Brian and he used to play with me and scare me almost to death.
His paws were so large that when he struck me in play he nearly knocked my breath away.
There were seven people in this home, the little boy’s mother and father, baby sister, their grandfather and a little woman and a young man who did most of the work.
My mistress used to talk to me and teach me how to do things. I soon learned to jump and speak and shake hands, to sit up, lie down, roll over and do other little similar tricks.
When she went out with her horse, I would go too and sometimes when we were alone I would sit on the seat by her side.