“We learned to wrestle by tumbling about together. As to snatch-bone, how could we play it, we who have no bones?” “No bones!” echoed Waddles, in amazement. “None to keep, or to bury, or play with; such as we had must be gnawed at a meal or they were taken away. How could kennel dogs who are never alone bury bones without having them stolen and breeding a fight? “One day after I had left the puppy yard old Antonio kept a round bone hidden in his mouth to gnaw on later. Forgetting himself he barked and dropped it. Oh, but there was a commotion that took three men, besides Miss Jule, to quell, and all the dogs were bristling and angry for three days. “Waddles,” and there were almost tears in Happy’s eyes, “you don’t know what it was to be a well-fed kennel dog, and yet be so poor that you had not even a bone to bury! And if you had one you could not hide it in a floor of melted stone. “I noticed that as I grew bigger and stronger and hungrier I had fewer meals, until when I was grown and slept in a separate room with Flo, the English setter, we had but one a day; a great pan of warm stew with bread in it, every evening when we were chained up for the night beside our beds.” “That stew sounds good,” said Waddles, licking his lips, “and what for breakfast?” “No breakfast. No bits of toast from Tommy, or chop shank from the master. It’s always supper with a kennel dog. It isn’t Miss Jule’s fault, or anybody’s; there aren’t enough bits of toast or chop bones to feed a yard full of pups and dogs. [Illustration] “As to the fleas and baths, when we were old enough Baldy’s brother Martin washed us every week. There is a room next to the nursery kennel that has a water-box in it like the one our cows drink out of, and above it hang rows and rows of collars of all sizes, ready for dogs to wear who are to go away or come to the kennel without them. “We little pups were washed in this box, and if we cried or jumped about Martin would put a collar on to hold us by. The washing wasn’t bad at first, but it was very wet and sometimes cold, and the big brush he used wasn’t as soft and warm as our mother’s tongue that washed and wiped at the same time. “Sometimes if Martin was tired or in a hurry he did not dry us well, and often dogs grew sick and sneezed and shivered. Then the big doctor-man came hurrying out from over town with his quick horse, to see them, and said they had ‘distemper.’ When this happened Miss Jule would often sit up at night with them; and sometimes they got well, and sometimes they were taken away and never came back, then Miss Jule would say ‘This is an unlucky season.’ But we knew it most often happened when Martin forgot something, for Miss Jule could not feel each dog’s nose every day, and see if its eyes look bright, and ask us if we feel well, as our mistress does.