Once when she had three pups, one of them 

 died. For two days and nights she gave herself 

 up to trying to bring it to life — licking it, and 

 turning it over and over, growling over it, and all 

 but worrying it to awake it. She paid no attention 

 to the living two, gave them no milk, flung them 

 away with her teeth, and would have killed them, 

 had they been allowed to remain with her. She 

 was as one possessed, and neither ate, nor drank, 

 nor slept, was heavy and miserable with her milk, 

 and in such a state of excitement that no one 

 could remove the dead pup. 



Early on the third day she was seen to take 

 the pup in her mouth, and start across the fields 

 towards the Tweed, striding like a race-horse — 

 she plunged in, holding up her burden, and at the 

 middle of the stream dropped it, and swam swiftly 

 ashore : then she stood and watched the little 

 dark lump floating away ; bobbing up and down 

 with the current, and losing it at last far down, 

 she made her way home, sought out the living 

 two, devoured them with her love, carried them 

 one by one to her lair, and gave herself up wholly 

 to nurse them : you can fancy her mental and 

 bodily happiness and relief when they were pulling 

 away — and theirs. 



On one occasion my brother had lent her to a 

 woman who lived in a lonely house, and whose 

 husband was away for a time. She was a capital 



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