STORY OF THE PRAIRIE DOG. 
“Yip, yip.” 
As I heard this sound I turned my head and saw hundreds of small legs 
and whisking little tails disappearing in burrows. I was on the edge of a 
prairie dog town. The chief dog, or the “big dog,” as he is called, which 
governs every prairie dog town, had seen me. Instantly he gave the signal of 
alarm and all the inhabitants of the place dived into their burrows. 
I concealed myself behind a clump of brush and waited patiently. Pretty 
soon a little head appeared at the entrance of one of the burrows and took a 
quick survey of the surroundings. Having satisfied itself that all danger was 
past, the little animal gave a shrill whistle and one by one the prairie dogs 
came from their holes in the ground and seated themselves upon their hind legs 
on the little mounds of earth in front of their burrows. Lying flat on the 
ground I took deliberate aim at one of the dogs and fired. A little cloud of 
dust was raised as the dogs skurried into their homes. 
Nothing is more difficult than to get possession of the body of a prairie 
dog after it has been shot, although the wound may be mortal. Even when a 
bullet is put straight through their heads they are more likely to tumble into 
their burrows than to fall outside of them. 
My shot went true. The bullet pierced the head of the little animal and it 
fell dead on the little mound of earth in front of its dwelling. Just as, I was 
about to rise and secure its body one of its companions that had scampered into 
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