THE WILD ANIMALS AT PLAY 13 



bank, then down he goes splash into the stream. 

 Up he climbs and down he goes time after time, 

 day after day. There is nothing like a slide, unless 

 it is a cellar-door. 



How much of a necessity to the otter is his play, 

 one would like to know what he would give up 

 for it, and how he would do deprived of it. In the 

 case of Pups, my neighbor's beautiful young col- 

 lie, play seems more needful than food. There are 

 no children, no one, to play with him there, so 

 that the sight of my small boys sets him almost 

 frantic. 



His efforts to induce a hen or a rooster to play 

 with him are pathetic. The hen cannot understand. 

 She has n't a particle of play in her anyhow, but 

 Pups cannot get that through his head. He runs 

 rapidly around her, drops on all fours flat, swings 

 his tail, cocks his ears, looks appealingly and barks 

 a few little cackle-barks, as nearly hen-like as he can 

 bark them, then dashes off and whirls back while 

 the hen picks up another bug. She never sees Pups. 

 The old white coon cat is better; but she is usually 

 up the miff-tree. Pups steps on her, knocks her over, 

 or otherwise offends, especially when he tags her out 

 into the fields and spoils her hunting. The Society for 

 the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ought to send 

 some child or puppy out to play with Pups of a 

 Saturday. 



I doubt if among the lower forms of animals play 



