232 
FOREST AND STREAM 
April, 1918 
A DOWN EAST GUIDE AT THE DOG SHOW 
PETE FROM THE BIG WOODS LOOKS IN ON THE SHOW IN THE GARDEN 
AND WRITES HIS VARIOUS IMPRESSIONS TO THE FOLKS BACK HOME 
By HIMSELF 
RIEND Bill: 
I meant to write 
to you as soon as I 
struck town and I 
don’t know why I 
haven’t, but last 
night I went to the 
Dog Show, and 
knowing how much 
you think of that 
old mongrel that 
you call a foxhound 
I thought perhaps 
you might like to hear all about the show. 
I was in to see Mr. Jones about that 
matter of business that brought me here 
and he said, “How’d you like to go to the 
Dog Show in the Garden?” and of course 
I said, “I’m agreeable,” and then he said 
how sorry he was that he couldn’t go with 
me,: but he had two tickets I could use. 
And so I did—that is, I used one, and 
the one I didn’t have any one to take on 
I just lost on the sidewalk thinking maybe 
somebody would find it and come along in 
to the Show. Well, when I got to the 
"“Garden” blamed if it wasn’t the same old 
place where they used to have the Sports¬ 
men’s Shows and where you and me and 
Henry run that booth for the guides’ asso¬ 
ciation fifteen—twenty years ago. It’s the 
same old place, Bill, only twenty years dir¬ 
tier and with the smell that you remember 
•overpowered by a sort of dog smell; and 
the big pond in the middle where old John 
Cusack and his dog Pinkie rode logs must 
•of dried up, for they had a kind of ring 
there where they judged the dogs. 
Gee, it was funny—all around was tiers 
of little stalls like, hiked up on a base 
above the floor so that the dogs were well 
up where people could see them and where 
they could bark in your ears but couldn’t 
get a chance to bite you unawares. And 
such a noise I never heard in my life? It 
was worse than a crowd of river drivers at 
a movie show. I never did think much 
of a dog as a musical instrument, unless 
perhaps that hound of yours when he got 
a fox out, but the noise in that Garden 
sounded just like a great big organ that 
was being hammered on by a lot of kids. 
There was every kind of dog I ever heard 
of and some that I couldn’t of dreamt up 
if I’d tried. And here they all were, in 
their little straw lined stalls, trying to re¬ 
ward their dear masters by getting some kind 
of a blue ribbon or pink tag or tin cup for 
them to gass about for the next ten years. 
And what do you suppose--you remem¬ 
ber that great big brute of a homely man’s 
<log that George Creed brought over from 
Newfoundland, well, there was one just 
like him here and he laid there in his stall 
rolling his homely red eyes and slobbering, 
and a woman sitting by him watching him 
like a baby and— knitting. Yes, sir, there 
she sat just as independent as you please 
and looking like a proud mother with one 
child. I saw a lot of women dog-tending 
a little later; it seems that they kind of like 
to knit and tend dogs in public places. 
There was lots of Great Danes, they call 
them—you know the kind I mean, although 
like me I’ll bet you always thought they 
was bloodhounds, for they are thp same¬ 
looking dogs that chase Eliza across the ice 
in that Uncle Tom’s Cabin show that comes 
to Shaw’s Hall every spring. I liked the 
Airedales best, they are a great sight and 
I’ll bet for all they are so kind that they 
could put up some scrap. I guess every¬ 
one owns an Airedale they were so many 
cages of them. They are so cocky and in¬ 
dependent even though they do look like a 
used-up hairbrush. There weren’t any knit¬ 
ting women around these stalls—seems like 
an Airedale must be a man’s dog. 
There was lots of pointers and setters, 
of course. All colors and some fine red 
ones, although even a backwoods guide 
would of known better than to show off 
a red setter on a bright red carpet and 
expect him to have any color. Just about 
then I managed to nose into the crowd 
about the judging ring. The judges would 
stand in one end of the space and some 
dog would trot back and forwards in front 
of him leading a foolish-looking man or 
woman on the other end of the string. 
Then the judge would frown and cough a 
couple of times and take out a note book 
and write a little. Then the dog would run 
faster and the man would trot after him— 
I tell you, Bill, I’ve felt like a fool many 
a' time when we been having canoe races 
and greased pole stunts to show off to the 
sports at the Lake and I’ll bet I know just 
how them men felt. The women seemed 
to kind of like it all but one woman who 
built pretty heavy and she got awfully 
fussed. She was showing off a little white 
fox terrier and I guess he knew she ought 
to get a prize of some sort for he kept 
putting her between the judge and himself 
just to show her off well, I suppose, and 
the judge had to play peekaboo first on 
one side and the other to get a squint at 
the dog. It was funny to see the way 
people tried not to laugh. 
I GIVE up looking at the judging because 
somehow the judges knew so much more 
about dogs than I did that it made me 
mad. They never chose a single dog that 
I thought ought to of got the prize. I 
guess from their looks some of the others 
thought just as I did. I got tired after 
awhile and went over to the Forest and 
Stream booth and sat down for a chat 
with the young man there. While we was 
setting there an awful looking old bum of 
a tramp came slouchin along, as indepen¬ 
dent as could be. Everybody stared at 
him—say, Bill, we’d be ashamed in the 
country to stare the way folks do in the 
city—and the Forest and Stream man said, 
“Well, how in thunder did that feller ever 
get in here? It costs me one bean to come 
through those gates and he looks as if he 
had a bean he’d eat it.” And then, Bill, 
I remembered that ticket I’d thrown away 
and I felt as if every one knew it and was 
looking right at me. So I said, “Well, I 
guess I’ll go home.” And the Forest and 
Stream man said, “Have you been up in 
the pet dog room yet? No? Well, you 
go.” And I did. 
It was up at the top of a flight of rick¬ 
ety stairs and when I got there I thought 
I’d made a mistake and that there was an 
incubator-baby show going on there, for 
all around the room were little incubators¬ 
like with pink and blue and white silk 
hangings with gold trimmings and letters. 
In the corner next the door was a group 
of women around one lone man all inter¬ 
ested in something. I never saw an in¬ 
cubator baby and I thought maybe they 
was some of these “war babies” that I 
heard talked about when I was down look¬ 
ing at Wall Street—you know the show is 
to benefit the Red Cross—so I horned in 
to get closer. “I feed it nothing but warm 
milk and bread and always keep the tem¬ 
perature at blood-heat,” the man was say¬ 
ing in a hushed voice, and I pushed over 
and blest if it wasn’t a dog. It was just 
big enough to lie on his outspread hand 
and it hadn’t hardly a mite of hair on its 
body, that is not like you’d expect to find 
on a dog, and its eyes bugged out so that 
you could of knocked them off with sticks. 
It was the homeliest mite of creation I 
ever seen and to see that pack of women— 
say, Bill, do you remember that woman you 
took down the West Branch trip last year 
and how she shocked old Joe Smith when 
she began to ask questions about that she- 
dog of his?—well, most of the dog-women 
look something like her. I’ve seen horse¬ 
raising women and I’ve seen dog-raising 
women, and say, Bill, though I have never 
seen any of that kind, I guess I’d rather 
prefer the women who raise pigs! Ain’t 
it funny, Bill, but did you ever stop to 
think that when a woman starts to raise 
anything but raising kids or raising Cain 
she don’t seem somehow to be attractive. 
Well, I walked along in front of the 
silk-hung cages and looked at Poms and 
toy terriers and spaniels—rubies, they 
called them, but they couldn’t of been 
guarded closer if they’d been diamonds and 
pearls. One woman was combing a kind 
of beard on a funny little fellow she called 
a griffon. “Don’t that hurt him?” I asked. 
“Oh, he doesn’t mind it,” she snapped. 
Poor little fellow, he couldn’t help himself, 
for she had a grip on the back of his neck 
that held his head like a vise. 
Say, Bill, do you remember that sport 
that took the Allegash with us last fall— 
the one who had been to China—and how 
he told us about the Street of the Lighted 
Lanterns and the little lacquered houses 
with glass fronts? Well, there was a row 
of little lacquered houses all across the 
front of the room and it made me curious,: 
so I walked right over and looked in the 
glass front and in each was a flat-faced 
hairy little dog—Pekes they called them, 
and one peek was all I took. 
(continued on pace 254) 
