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bruce-第8章

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proportion to the rest of him。 The head did not bother him。 Being

hampered by no weight of brain; it would be navigated with more

or less ease; in spite of its bulk。 But the legs and feet were

not only in his own way; but in every one else's。



He seemed totally lacking in sense; as well as in bodily

coordination。 He was forever getting into needless trouble。 He

was a stormcenter。 No one but a born foolcanine or humancould

possibly have caused one…tenth as much bother。



The Mistress had named him 〃Bruce;〃 after the stately Scottish

chieftain who was her history…hero。 And she still called him

Brucefifty times a dayin the weary hope of teaching him his

name。 But every one else on The Place gave him a title instead of

a namea title that stuck: 〃The Pest。〃 He spent twenty…four

hours; daily; living up to it。



Compared with Bruce's helplessly clownish trouble…seeking

propensities; Charlie Chaplin's screen exploits are miracles of

heroic dignity and of good luck。



There was a little artificial water…lily pool on The Place;

perhaps four feet deep。 By actual count; Bruce fell into it no

less than nine times in a single week。 Once or twice he had

nearly drowned there before some member of the family chanced to

fish him out。 And; learning nothing from experience; he would

fall in again; promptly; the next day。



The Master at last rigged up a sort of sloping wooden platform;

running from the lip of the pool into the water; so that Bruce

could crawl out easily; next time he should tumble in。 Bruce

watched the placing of this platform with much grave interest。

The moment it was completed; he trotted down it on a tour of

investigation。 At its lower edge he slipped and rolled into the

pool。 There he floundered; with no thought at all of climbing out

as he had got in; until the Master rescued him and spread a wire

net over the whole pool to avert future accidents。



Thenceforth; Bruce met with no worse mischance; there; than the …

perpetual catching of his toe…pads in the meshes of the wire。

Thus ensnared he would stand; howling most lamentably; until his

yells brought rescue。



Though the pool could be covered with a net; the wide lake at the

foot of the lawn could not be。 Into the lake Bruce would wade

till the water reached his shoulders。 Then with a squeal of

venturesome joy; he would launch himself outward for a swim; and;

once facing away from shore; he never had sense enough to turn

around。



After a half…hour of steady swimming; his soft young strength

would collapse。 A howl of terror would apprise the world at large

that he was about to drown。 Whereat some passing boatman would

pick him up and hold him for ransom; or else some one from The

Place must jump into skiff or canoe and hie with all speed to the

rescue。 The same thing would be repeated day after day。



The local S。P。C。A。 threatened to bring action against the Master

for letting his dog risk death; in this way; from drowning。

Morbidly; the Master wished the risk might verge into a

certainty。



The puppy's ravenous appetite was the wonder of all。 He stopped

eating only when there was nothing edible in reach。 And as his

ideas of edible food embraced everything that was chewable;from

bath…towels to axle…greasehe was seldom fasting and was

frequently ill。



Nature does more for animals than for humans。 By a single

experience she warns them; as a rule; what they may safely eat

and what they may not。 Bruce was the exception。 He would pounce

upon and devour a luscious bit of laundry…soap with just as much

relish as though a similar bit of soap had not made him horribly

sick the day before。



Once he munched; relishfully; a two…pound box of starch; box and

all; on his recovery; he began upon a second box; and was unhappy

when it was taken from him。



He would greet members of the family with falsetto…thunderous

barks of challenge as they came down the drive from the highway。

But he would frisk out in joyous welcome to meet and fawn upon

tramps or peddlers who sought to invade The Place。 He could

scarce learn his own name。 He could hardly be taught to obey the

simplest command。 As for shaking hands or lying down at order

(those two earliest bits of any dog's education); they meant no

more to Bruce than did the theory of quadratic equations。



At three months he launched forth merrily as a chicken…killer;

gleefully running down and beheading The Place's biggest

Orpington rooster。 But his first kill was his last。 The Master

saw to that。



There is no use in thrashing a dog for killing poultry。 There is

but one practically sure cure for the habit。 And this one cure

the Master applied。



He tied the slain rooster firmly around Bruce's furry throat; and

made the puppy wear it; as a heavy and increasingly malodorous

pendant; for three warm days and nights。



Before the end of this seventy…two…hour period; Bruce had grown

to loathe the sight and scent of chicken。 Stupid as he was; he

learned this lesson with absolute thoroughness;as will almost

any chicken…killing pup;and it seemed to be the only teaching

that his unawakened young brain had the power to grasp。



In looks; too; Bruce was a failure。 His yellowish…and…white body

was all but shapeless。 His coat was thick and heavy enough; but

it showed a tendency to curlalmost to kinkinstead of waving

crisply; as a collie's ought。 The head was coarse and blurred in

line。 The body was gaunt; in spite of its incessant feedings。 As

for contour or style



It was when the Master; in disgust; pointed out these diverse

failings of the pup; that the Mistress was wont to draw on

historic precedent for other instances of slow development; and

to take in vain the names of Thackeray; Lincoln; Washington and

Bismarck and the rest。



〃Give him time!〃 she urged once。 〃He isn't quite six months old

yet; and he has grown so terribly fast。 Why; he's over two feet

tall; at the shoulder; even nowmuch bigger than most full…grown

collies。 Champion Howgill Rival is spoken of as a 'big' dog; yet

he is only twenty…four inches at the shoulder; Mr。 Leighton says。

Surely it's something to own a dog that is so big。〃



〃It IS 'something;'〃 gloomily conceded the Master。 〃In our case

it is a catastrophe。 I don't set up to be an expert judge of

collies; so maybe I am all wrong about him。 I'm going to get

professional opinion; though。 Next week they are going to have

the spring dogshow at Hampton。 It's a little hole…in…a…corner

show; of course。 But Symonds is to be the all…around judge;

except for the toy breeds。 And Symonds knows collies; from the

ground up。 I am going to take Bruce over there and enter him for

the puppy class。 If he is any good; Symonds will know it。 If the

dog is as worthless as I think he is; I'll get rid of him。 If

Symonds gives any hope for him; I'll keep him on a while longer。〃



〃But;〃 ventured the Mistress; 〃if Symonds says 'Thumbs down;'

then〃



〃Then I'll
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