Thy Servant a Dog

Please may I come in? I am Boots. I am son of Kildonan Brogue—Champion Reserve—V.H.C.—very fine dog; and no-dash-parlour-tricks, Master says, except I can sit-up, and put paws over nose. It is called “Making Beseech.” Look! I do it out of my own head. Not for telling…This is Flat-in-Town. I live here with Own God. I tell:

I
There is walk-in-Park-on-lead. There is off-lead-when-we-come-to-the-grass. There is ‘nother dog, like me, off-lead. I say: “Name?” He says: “Slippers.” He says: “Name?” I say: “Boots.” He says: “I am fine dog. I have Own God called Miss.” I say: “I am very fine dog. I have Own God called Master.” There is walk-round-on-toes. There is Scrap. There is Proper Whacking. Master says: “Sorry! Awfully Sorry! All my fault.” Slipper’s Miss says: “Sorry! My fault too.” Master says: “So glad it is both our faults. Nice little dog, Slippers.” Slipper’s Miss says: “Do you really think so?” Then I made “Beseech.” Slipper’s Miss says: “Darling little dog, Boots.” There is on-lead again, and walking with Slippers behind both Own Gods, long times…Slippers is not-half-bad dog. Very like me. ‘Make-fine-pair, Master says…

There is more walkings in Park. There is Slippers and his Miss in that place too. Own Gods walk together—like on-lead. We walk behind. We are tired. We yawn. Own Gods do not look. Own Gods do not hear…They have put white bows on our collars. We do not like. We have pulled off. They are bad to eat…