MY DOG, AND ANOTHER 233 



bearing a Rabbit almost as big as himself ! (Peter's right paw 

 has contrived to advance perilously close to my manuscript 

 sheet, and a wet nose is pressing at my elbow. I am now writing 

 at an acute angle, but Peter remains unperturbed !) 



Like most dogs, Peter has his favourite resting-places. When 

 I enter the house after a lengthy, or temporary, absence, his first 

 place of refuge is my lap, upon which he at once springs and 

 curls himself up like a Dormouse entering its Winter sleep. At 

 other times he makes himself comfortable upon a mat on the 

 upstairs landing, where he can survey all that goes on above and 

 below, or, in Winter, he lays full stretch on the mat before the 

 fire. As it is as black as himself, it is sometimes difficult to find 

 him ! At night he retires into a wicker basket, and is carried 

 upstairs, and placed on a chair by the bedside. Nine times out 

 of ten, however, he steals cautiously from his basket during the 

 midnight watch, and makes himself comfortable at the foot of 

 the bed. (Peter has now placed the whole of his body over my 

 manuscript, and I had to write this note after he had removed !) 



We give him one good meal at midday, and half a dozen 

 small puppy biscuits for supper. He is a mark on ginger biscuits 

 (for which he waltzes round very prettily on his hind legs to the 

 delight of children), chocolate, pieces of apple, and tea. He 

 refuses to eat shop cake or pastry, and is evidently as old-fashioned 

 in this respect as his master ! (I am turned right off the large 

 writing-pad now, and am working as best I can at the very edge 

 of the table ! Peter snorts ! He is very tired to-night.) 



Peter is a capital little house dog (I am back at the centre of 

 the writing-table again now), and barks persistently when the 

 front gate is opened, or shut. Some of the itinerant vendors 

 who visit us have been heard to remark that " the little 'uns 

 are very often worse than the big 'uns." If making a noise is 

 anything to go by, I agree. 



This faithful little dog of mine then, so gentle and affectionate, 

 withal so sensitive, is part and parcel of my own existence. It 

 may appear childish to make such an open confession, but it is 

 so. His pretty little ways, as he greets one with prancing front 

 paws, his cleanly habits, companionship, and response to coaxing, 

 endear him to us all. I am willing to confess that tears were 

 shed when we mourned the loss of a Persian kitten (Peter has 

 just risen, and walked right across my sheet of wet manuscript, 

 smudging it en route I), but as to what would happen if little 

 Peter was taken from us I do not care to predict. 



