DOG-STORIES.
[TO TRZ EDITOR OF THY " SPECTATOR.-] SIR, We have in the house a Russian poodle who bears the name of Teufel,' and never did dog better deserve his patronymic, assuming that the arch-enemy of mankind possesses that cunning which Mephistopheles displays. That the dog is capable of malingering—bobbling now on one leg, now on another, whenever the fit takes him, but ready at any moment to rush out of the open door—is admitted by all, from the veterinary surgeon downwards, but his latest exploit seems the very acme of canine " Mephistophelism." He has a mania for scratching at a certain garden some two miles from his tome, which garden forms one of a row facing a Reading street, and differing in no way from a hundred others, except in its being singularly tidy and well-kept. From this evil purpose apparently nothing will turn him. Recently my servant took the culprit for his usual walk, and missed him a mile or so from the scene of his misdoing. At once my servant gave chase, and choosing the most direct route, arrived at the scene of action in advance of the fugitive. He bad not, however, long to wait, for in a few moments the dog was seen coming stealthily and limping round the corner of a by-street. He first looked into a butcher's shop, but this was evidently a blind, for he then made straight for the garden in question, the gate of which he found fastened. He then proceeded along the street, trying the various gates till at Length he found one open. Through the garden he made his way, and across the others, climbing or getting through intervening railings till he reached his goal. But then came the denouement of the story, for my servant rushed across the street and caught the miscreant just as the scratching opera- tion was about to begin; and speedy retribution followed. But what is to be done with this hardened criminal who has already caused me sleepless nights, but who is irresistibly attractive in his sheer naughtiness ? Have any of your readers had a similar experience of canine eccentricity P—I am,
Sir, &c., W. H. KENRICK.
The Vicarage, Cavereham, Reading.
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