4 
BIZZ AND HER FOES. 
[Nature and Art, January 1, 18G7. 
Mary O’Gorman — or as I am ashamed to say, 
Mary Ogreman, as she chose to anglicise her name- 
stumbled a great deal over the “ reasons ” her friend 
Hatchment had for wishing to get rid of this ugly 
paragon of canine fidelity ; but the “ reasons ” were 
cogent : since he had given up his yard, he had no 
place “ convnnient” to chain Bizz in. She was an 
ugly customer in his shop, where, seated on the top 
of a potato-basket, she was ever ready to do battle 
with any one, or any thing, on the least provocation. 
Fond, indeed, I am of dogs, which (cunning things) 
they know so well, that many a homeless cur, of 
low degree, has followed me home, while the moi’e 
aristocratic dogs, who never go abroad without an 
escort, sniff, and wag their tails, while regarding me 
for a minute or so ; with their deep-brown, or grey- 
green eyes, seem to say with mute eloquence, “We 
know you, you love us and we love you.” Yet 
frequently as I passed Hatchment’s, and was 
tempted to order some pretty pot of mignionette, or 
line hyacinth, or snowy and succulent celery (for 
Hatchment dabbled in flowers, and was eminent 
as a greengrocer), for a considerable time, the sight 
of that fiendish-looking dog, perched like grim 
death on a potato-basket, often scared me away. I 
did not mind her torn ears, nor her ugly, yellowish, 
bandy legs, nor that horrid broken-down nose 
peculiar to her family. I pitied her poor blind eye, 
which, half closed, had a penitential look, and gave 
an expression of gentleness to that side of her face, 
at once tender and touching — if that side happened 
to be turned to the street. I felt as if I could 
order whatever I pleased, but the other side might 
have belonged to another dog ; there was a split in 
her upper lip, directly over one of the whitest and 
most determined-looking fangs, I ever saw in a 1 
dog’s head; that was the side of her bright keen eye, 
and when it “ eyed ” any one intently, the lip moved 
and twitched in a nervous disagreeable manner, so 
that the ugly “gap,” closed and unclosed, as if it 
sneered “ Ah, ah ! do you understand 1 I’d like to 
bite you.” Her coat was jet black, and shone like 
satin ; it was a coat any dog might be proud to wear. 
I suppose everybody has heard of the Irishman 
who said “ the most eloquent feature in a dog’s face 
was its tail.” Now Bizz’s tail could hardly be called 
“ eloquent,” but it was determined : it stuck out 
stiff and curveless, nearly on a line with her back, 
it seemed too stern and too sturdy to wag ; there was 
no wag in it, it might have been made of cast-iron. 
Bizz disdained conventionalities, she would not wag 
her tail because other dogs wagged theirs. No, 
she stiffened it into perfect indifference, neither 
elevating nor lowering it, but let it be, a firm and 
independent tail. The first time I saw her on the 
potato-basket, she looked very different from what 
she did when on guard in her master’s cart. 
Once, I happened to be at her blind side when 
the cart stopped at our gate, and I asked Hatchment 
“ how his poor dog lost her eye.” I shall never 
forget the alarmed look he cast on the dog, as he 
advanced close to me, and said in a very low tone, 
“ Madam, don’t ask before her, she can’t bear it, it 
hurts her feelings so, I’m glad she didn’t hear you ; 
she’d tear the Queen on her throne in pieces, if she 
heard her Majesty talking about her eye ! ” 
On the potato-basket I saw frequently the re- 
verse of the medal — the split lip quivering over the 
white fang, the keenly fiery eye, darting its arrows 
here and there from beneath its “tan” eyebrow, 
the blunt upturned nose, the bandy fore leg, and 
above all the sturdy tail, strong, muscular, and 
inflexible. Experience had taught me in time two 
peculiarities in this queer dog : she never picked a 
quarrel with another dog, she held herself above 
her species ; if attacked by any combative lady, she 
would prove her breeding, and fight as became her 
bull-blood, but a dog-quarrel must be forced on her, 
and she was never uncivil to well-dressed or com- 
monly respectable customers. One morning I 
wanted to order some pink Asters, and walked over 
to Hatchment’s for the purpose. Bizz was on the top 
of the potato-basket as usual, and as usual I spoke 
to her ; the only reply she ever made to a salutation 
to a good customer was to draw up her lip and 
wink. She did so with more graciousness than 
common, indeed she winked twice, and I felt almost 
inclined to pat her, when I perceived two boys 
peeping at her through the vegetables piled behind 
where she sat (the shop was double fronted). 
“ I have never got so much as one cabbage-leaf 
for my rabbits, since she took to the shop,” said one 
rosy-cheeked fellow; “the governor says I may have 
the trimmings, but if we only look at them, she’s 
out upon us. I wish she was dead.” 
“ Oh, my eye ! Isn’t ,slie ugly though 1 ?” observed 
the other urchin. Now whether Bizz caught the 
offensive exclamation or not, I cannot tell, but 
she sprang from her elevation, and would certainly 
have punished the author of the obnoxious sound, 
if both boys had not managed to bolt into the 
tailor’s shop, next door, and shut themselves in. 
But Bizz had good reason to hate the boys that 
congregated in Steward’s Grove. Where the legions 
came from I never understood ; unkempt raga- 
muffins some of them, whose clothes hung together 
by a miracle, and whose lungs were as strong as a 
brass trumpet : others were better dressed, but to 
the full as mischevious, with demrrre-looking slates 
and satchels, intent, I am sorry to say, on upsetting 
Hatchment’s baskets, and in the melee , stealing his 
apples and oranges. One fellow more daring than 
the rest would “shy” (I believe that is the term) a 
piece of wood or a stone at Bizz, and run away, 
certain that she would pursue him, and then as 
Mr. Hatchment was much too unwilling to move 
quickly, the other lads would assault* the nuts or 
apples, or whatever they could get at. The poor 
dog had as many bumps 'and scars as ought to have 
won her a medal, for those marks were indications 
of her guard over her master’s property. Bizz had 
no worse foes than the mischievous boys of Steward’s 
Grove. 
But the cats ! It was generally believed that a 
cat, whose kittens Bizz had disposed of in a sum- 
mary manner, had scratched her eye out ; that, 
added to the natural antipathy of terriers to the 
feline race, engendered in Bizz the most deadly 
