CHAPTER XVIII 



MY DOG, AND ANOTHER 



WHEN Peter first arrived, h$ travelled by train in a small wooden 

 box about the same size as one of the wretched little prison-cages 

 one sometimes sees hung outside a cottage containing a captive 

 bird. On opening the box at the station, just a small black 

 downy ball standing on four legs, with beady black eyes, stepped 

 out, glad that the journey by rail was at an end. We at once 

 fell in love with this little pet Pomeranian dog, and, as I write, 

 he is curled up on the study table with his foxy head as close to 

 the writing-pad as he dares to venture. Peter is never happy 

 unless he is in the study with me, and it is appropriate that he 

 should be in close proximity to my manuscript paper when his 

 little life-story is being written. If the door is closed, he pats 

 it with his small paws, and thus asks to be admitted. He shows 

 every evidence of knowing my exact whereabouts. 



Since he arrived as a -little mite a few months old, Peter has 

 altered considerably. He was born at St Albans as a toy Pom. 

 We first saw him being exercised along the Eoman Causeway, 

 near the site of Verulam (see Chapter II.), and, if we had followed 

 the directions given to us as to his diet, he would doubtless have 

 remained a toy dog until now. The amount of food prescribed 

 per diem was, however, so limited that the mere sake of keeping 

 the little fellow of small proportions did not appeal to me. We, 

 therefore, increased his food supply as we thought fit, and he 

 waxed exceedingly. 



Peter has a noble pedigree which would, if set out, fill the whole 

 of this printed page. It is hidden away in a disused archive, 

 for, if the truth be told, pedigrees of animals kept as pets do not 

 appeal to me so much as a constant companion, such as a frolic- 

 some little dog whose friendship is one of the most delightful 

 things in existence. (As I write these words Peter looks up at 

 me, and places his foxy head half-way over the writing-pad, as if 

 to emphasise his immense interest in what is happening as my 

 fountain pen glides smoothly over the paper !) 



