Two Dogs
Bob's dogs always had coats of such fine condition that they seemed to glow,, and he was proud of them. Today he is sorrowful, for one of the pair has died, and he blames a fox-bait or rat-poison, hinting that he knows where the poor dog took the fatal scrap of meat or bread and threatening to see things " evened up." One of the dogs was an old one, and it is the old one that has just been buried in the gorse behind Bob's cottage. It is best to have an old dog and a young one, Bob tells me, for that way one is sure of a combination of brain and speed. He will not be consoled by the suggestion that he should find a still younger dog or replace the old one with one of a like age, saying, " Dogs work together as a pair. You can never be sure you can match them once they get broke up." I feel sure he will change his mind when he gets over his sorrow. He has never been without two dogs as long as. I have known him.
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