BURIED ALIVE;
OR, LOVE NEVER LOST ON A DOG.
"H
eigho!" sighed Thusnelda, as she lay on the straw not far from the spot where her three beautiful puppies were curled up in a heap. "Heigho!" she sighed, "I do hope dear master will not deprive me of any more of my darlings. Let me see now, there were ten of them originally. Yes, ten, for I counted them over and over again fifty times a day, and now there are only three. Heigho!" Here she glanced round towards these sleeping beauties in the straw, and her lovely eyes were brimming over with motherly affection and intelligence.
"To be sure," she added, "master has kept the three prettiest, that is some consolation, and the others have all gone to good homes, where I doubt not their virtue will be duly appreciated, though I shall never, never see them more."
Thusnelda was a dog of German birth and extraction. In truth, she was a Dachshund, and a high-bred one too, and both in this country and in Berlin she had taken many honours at dog shows.
Some might not have thought Thusnelda's body shapely. She was long and low, with a red jacket as smooth and soft as satin; so low in stature was she, that her chest almost touched the ground, and her fore legs were turned in at the ankle, and out at the feet—the latter indeed were almost out of all proportion, so big and flat were they; but no one could help admiring Thusnelda's splendid head, her broad intelligent skull, and her long silky ears and gazelle-like eyes. If ever eyes in this world were made to speak love and affection and all things unutterable, those eyes were Thusnelda's.
She got up at last and went and stood over her darlings. She gazed at them long and fondly, wondering and thinking what future they had before them. She held her head so low as she did so, that her splendid ears trailed and touched them. They moved in their sleep, they kicked and gave vent to a series of little ventriloquistic barks as puppies have a habit of doing; then the mother licked them fondly with her soft tongue, and therefore one awoke. It was Vogel. The names of the other two were Zimmerman and Zadkiel. As soon as Vogel awoke she gave a joyful wee bark of recognition, which aroused both her tiny brothers, and the whole three rushed at once to their good mother.
"Ah, my dears," she said; "you are very fond of me at present, I dare say, but you will get to be different as you grow older, I expect. However, I must make the most of you while you are young. Why, let's see, you will be six weeks old tomorrow, and you can lap every bit as well as I can. Yes, and it's quite a treat to see you lapping, and master thinks so too."
"Master" did.
"Master" was very fond of dogs, and he doted on good ones. He used to come and admire these three puppies by the hour. The milk he gave them was of the freshest and creamiest, and he even thickened it with a little boiled flour. Whenever Vogel and Zimmerman and Zadkiel saw him coming with the milk-pan they expressed their joy by saucy little barks and yelps, and made a headlong but awkward rush towards him, and when he put down the pan they weren't content to simply put their heads over the side and lap. No, they must have their fore feet in as well, although their mother often told them it was only little piggies that fed in that fashion. But Vogel was worse even than Zimmerman or Zadkiel, because she used to insist upon getting in the dish bodily. Only Vogel was master's favourite, and he used to take her kindly out of the dish again and place her by the side of it, and try to show her how to lap like a lady.