Part 2

A day or two later, while his fate was hanging in the balance, Raggety again nosed aside the curtains of the rooms of The Great Man. The latter tells the rest of it this way: “I had been drowsily reading the newspapers, probably took a cat-nap and woke with a consciousness of something breathing in the room. I looked about for our big cat but could not find him. Then on the floor, beside my chair, that little cock-eared dog was sitting up, quietly begging.” Mr. Great Man opened his eyes to find Raggety sitting up on his haunches, waving entreating paws. Nor would he get down until The Great Man stretched out a forgiving hand, took his paw, and there was peace between them. As The Great Man says, “When one gentleman asks pardon of another whom he has hurt, what can the latter do but forgive him generously?” So The Great Man and Raggety have been firm friends ever since.

_Raggety’s Ears_

I always wonder what people who do not own a dog do for general conversation. The very young, the uninteresting and uninterested alike, the dangerous, and the facetious can always be safely steered onto the discussion of dogs or _the_ dog, if there happens to be a dog in the room. When you have not an idea, and your guest hasn’t an idea, when the man is treading on delicate ground or is approaching the barriers, if you just introduce Raggeties into the conversation the day is saved, the feelings are preserved, your own supremacy maintained. If politics and the market flavor the situation between men, dogs and dress savour the conversation with women. Take heed, if the woman has been driven to the dogs conversationally, you are losing headway and heart-way. This is about Raggety’s ears. They always, sooner or later, come into the conversation.

The fact is Raggety’s ears are very interesting. Haven’t I told you about them before? He has one ear that stands up and one ear that flops down and never stands up. You can never remember whether it is the right ear that stands up and the left ear that lies down, or the left ear that stands up and the right ear that lies down. Which is it? Well, I myself after knowing Raggety intimately for many years do not feel quite sure!

Those ears cause an endless amount of surmise and conjecture. A person sits in my room enjoying stereotyped conversation and invariably says, “What do you suppose makes one of Raggety’s ears stand up and the other flop over?” Now here are the three theories with which I invariably entertain my questioner in stereotyped form. The first is my own theory, which is that when Raggety was a baby-puppy, his mother or one of his baby-brothers bit him through the ear, just in play and broke the muscles. But when I once advanced this theory to a Doctor-friend of Raggety, he scoffed at it.

“Oh, no,” said Raggety’s Doctor-friend, “muscles don’t give out in that way. It is paralysis. The dog was kicked, probably in the head, once upon a time and that side is paralyzed and so he can not raise his ear.” This sounded professional and so thereafter I quoted this theory. But when I told this to a dog-trainer who observed and of course commented on the famous mismatched ears, again such theory was scorned as unprofessional.

“Why,” laughed the dog-trainer, “if the dog was kicked, his brain injured and paralysis occurred, he would have had all that side paralyzed, not just an ear. That isn’t it at all! That dog had a prick-eared father and a lop-eared mother,--or the other way round,--and so he just took one ear from each. That’s no paralysis!”

So you can choose your theory after you look at Raggety’s picture. You see I do not know which is right--do you?

_Raggety’s Tail_

Yes, it’s a very sore subject with me, though Raggety is entirely indifferent. His tail is not pretty, indeed, it is rather ugly. It’s too long and it isn’t very fluffy and he carries it arching over his back, which makes it look twice as long as it is. Some rude boys once even pretended that they thought his name was Rag-tail, instead of Raggety! Yes, decidedly his tail is his weakest spot, a sort of Achilles’s heel. I never talk much about tails before him, for as I say his tail is a very sensitive subject.

Nevertheless, Raggety’s tail is beautifully responsive to suggestion! It is an emotional tail, reflecting the wearer’s innermost feelings. Indeed it seems as though sometimes it would wag itself off. And some of his girl friends say that it is a “pinned-on tail” and does not belong to him, it is so ready and waggy whenever it has the least encouragement. But his tail is not beautiful, and were it not that this is a _true_ story of a truly dog, I should not even mention Raggety’s tail.

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He’s a molasses dog, with butter-scotch ears, chocolate-cream eyes, licorice nose, pink peppermint tongue, and teeth like the little candies that come in Christmas tree cornucopias. “But,” said one of the little girls, “isn’t his tail butter-scotch too?” “Oh, no,” I hurried to reply, “it’s molasses, only it’s darker because it is not _pulled_ as much, _for we never pull tails_!”

_His Athletic Interests_

Raggety is not built for an athlete. His general proportions are those of a very fat sausage mounted on four tooth-picks, “with a head on before and a tail on behind” (see rhapsody entitled “The Mintie”). Nevertheless like many a man of athletic instinct and corporate incapacity, he considers himself “an all-round one,” which perhaps is as true as it sounds!

First of all, he loves to walk. The mere fact that you are a biped and can walk wins Raggety’s interest. He even knows the word “walk” in a general conversation and the magic of it waves his tail. Oh, me! oh, my! what walks we have had together!

Then The Riding Lady once took him on horseback and from time to time since he has ridden his horse. This is the way he rides with The Riding Lady: he sits on the saddle-bow (is that the right name? I hope it is for it sounds so nice and mediæval!) and puts a paw on each of her arms, and when the horse trots he gently bounces up and down and looks to right and left with a most knowing air.

One of his chiefest delights out-of-doors is swimming. Never can I forget the first time he showed me that he could swim. We were living in Portland, Maine, and below State Street Hill lie beautiful Deerings Oaks, earlier celebrated by the poet Longfellow. I took Raggety to walk in Deerings Oaks and he discovered the pond! Ducks swam in the pond and lived in a wonderful little house on a tiny island in the middle of the pond. He went down to the muddy bank, tasted the water, found it good, in went fore-legs, body, hind-legs, tail; just that yellow head and ears above the surface, and how fast those four legs moved underneath! But that is not the worst of it! He saw the ducks and made towards them, off they started quacking furiously, fast the yellow head followed, barking. Round and round and round the pond they went, and my whistles and calls were utterly unavailing. Visions of duck-keepers, police, fines flitted through my head! He landed on the ducks’ island, inspected their house, roused to activity any sitting mother-ducks and having stirred the whole duckdom to hysterical agitation, came swimming over to me, emerging more like a drowned rat rather than a fluffy yellow dog! He rolled on the warm dry grass, then shook himself as who would say, “There, those old ducks needn’t think they own that pond!”

One instinct born in every terrier’s blood is a love of the chase. Naturally small game is appropriate, so mice, rats, moles, squirrels, or a stray rabbit fill Raggety’s hunting soul with joy. To-day he is too fat, too much petted, too old to have the ardor of his earlier years, but recently I saw him dig a mole, seize it, crack its neck with a celerity and dexterity which made me more than glad I was not a mole burrowing under Raggety’s path. Squirrels are an endless source of interest. You never catch one. I do not know whether secretly you ever hope to catch one, but like the pursuit of virtue it shows off your style to interested onlookers, and stirs your system to a healthy vigor. And you can always trot back and say, “My! But he’s a swift one! I did my best and you see how well I look in action.” Not alone the attainment, but the pursuit of virtue ennobles!

_Raggety’s Love Affairs_

Raggety’s bachelorhood has always been an anxiety to me. Limited environment and force of circumstance have prevented my suing for the paw of some gentle little terrier Miss, and setting Raggety and his mate up in domesticity. Many times through the years simple and frank women have said to me, “How adorable Raggety’s puppies would be!”

Yes, indeed, if they could all be Raggeties. But genius does not always reproduce itself, and I’ve been fearful that the puppies might have _two_ stupid prick-ears, or worse still, _two_ dull lop-ears. But the hearts of dogs and men are not bound exclusively to domestic felicity. Therefore Raggety has had his loves, and, like the Greatest of Frenchmen, his love affairs show catholicity and wide range of imagination.

When this imagination is upon him he is ardent and progressive, fights with lordly rivals, and returns bloody but triumphant. Once he eluded a whole band of rivals, crept through a broken pane of glass far too small for the rest, and dropped eight feet below to the floor of the cellar where the adorable Belle had been secreted by cruel guardians. You may imagine the guardians’ surprise on the following morning when they came to feed the imprisoned Belle! Raggety greeted them with a cordiality and friendliness which exhibited his new and intimate relation to the family and--Belle.

Jeems, on the other hand, leads a guarded life and knows that virtue also has its rewards. I can only hope that Raggety has never communicated to Jeems’s innocent mind the joys of nature and the love of the sex. True follower of nature’s supreme law, how Raggety’s independence and disregard of conventionalities would have delighted the liberty-loving heart of the ardent Jean-Jacques!

_Raggety’s Friendships_

Along with an ardent temperament, a love of liberty, and a wide sympathy goes a democratic tendency. Quite true to the type, Raggety of unknown pedigree shows his aristocratic stock. No recent upstart can choose his friends as he elects. Only the true aristocrat can be absolutely democratic. If you have a social position to make or maintain, you must be careful that your associates are useful and important in the structure of society; if you are absolutely sure of your own position, your heart may reach up and down and round about and say, “Thou art mine, for I am yours.” And it is thus that Raggety elects his friends.

The Donahues, The Great Man, His Lovely Lady, Belle, Black Henry, the four Brooklyn Aunties of those delicious chocolate crackers, Jeems, Brother-in-Law, all have place in his heart without reference to their place in the social edifice. Happy Raggety, to be free to choose and to refuse! For he will not accept those whom he does not desire. No amount of caressing or blandishment can fix his affections. I have discovered, however, that food and an interest in outdoor exercise attract him, but there must be some personal quality beyond to make this attraction permanent. I have seen both fail; why, I can not explain.

If you should ask Raggety about Black Henry, I know he would reply, “He is my invaluable friend.” Think of being invaluable to some one! Isn’t it what we mortals are all striving to attain? To be valued when present, to be missed when absent is the face-value of the note of friendship. This is the bond between Henry and Raggety.

The first rattle of the coal which Henry brings to renew the fire in the early morning awakes Raggety to the joy of the day. Henry’s arrival means a breath of fresh air and breakfast to follow. Oh! and if one only investigates the glorious mysterious pockets of Henry’s white linen coat! Such tid-bits, shares of Henry’s own breakfasts and luncheons and dinners! Then Henry walks to the post-office when every other stupid person stays at home, so that on rainy days you can get in a walk with him when all others fail.

Often have I seen Raggety kiss the hem of Henry’s trousers in enthusiastic appreciation of some pleasant suggestion about walk or food. Coming in of an evening one finds Henry seated on the hall bench with Raggety beside him,--Henry the silent, the smiling, the serviceable friend. Raggety lifts a forepaw and puts it lovingly on Henry’s knee, saying, “What is race, what is rank between hearts that love? This is my invaluable friend Henry.”

_Raggety and The Dear Man Who Passed_

Of one of his friendships I must make special mention, because the mortal part of it is no more. The Dear Man lived among Books, and about his Book House stood tall oaks inhabited by bands of quite tame squirrels. They were tame because they were loved by The Man and fed from his hands. I have seen Raggety sit in twitching self-control watching the squirrels feed, divided painfully between his desire to pursue those virtuous squirrels and his love of The Dear Man whose heart he could not grieve by the vain pursuit. When The Book Man wrote his noble tribute to The Dear Man, Raggety appropriately ran into the pages.

The Dear Man went away one summer and never returned, and the squirrels have grown wild and fearful, for the hands that fed them feed them no more.

Almost the last message from The Dear Man before He Passed was to Raggety. I give it to you as it stands to-day, and on the reverse of the card is a colored picture of the blooming orchards of Montana.

MASTER RAGGETY:

I’m thinking of a far-away dog, a companion even as he seeks companionship, who has a mind of his _own_, interests of his _own_, an independence of his _own_, but _who gives his little heart away_ to those whom it elects, and who look upon him to love him.

He who writes this begs that he will _stand_ before the two friends who are with him and thus be the messenger to them of this friend’s love.

_1 July, 1911._

_Me and Jeems_

(Raggety speaks)

Jeems is bigger than Me, but much, much younger and not half so clever; but that is partly due to his bringing-up, which of course he can not help, poor Pup!

Jeems belongs to The Lovely Lady and as Hers I thoroughly love and respect him. Of course I too belong in a kind of way to The Lovely Lady, for I love Her and she loves Me. Jeems came to take the place of dear gentle Balribbie who died. I never saw pretty Balribbie; perhaps if she had not died before I came to live here, our Mistresses might have let us marry and there would have been little Raggeties and tiny Balribbies. But pshaw! These are the Dream Puppies of an old bachelor dog!

(Don’t be surprised that I know about dear Charles Lamb, for I live in a literary atmosphere and there is much writing going on all about Me!)

Jeems is anything but a dream!--except of course in looks, for he is very handsome and his tail is all right,--though Mistress would rather I did not mention tails. Funnily enough, mine never bothers me the way it does her. Well, Jeems is a bouncing barking breathless brother. But he’s being trained to be awful particular, more’s the pity, for he’s a true democrat at heart.

This in-breeding training of his makes him a bit slow. When we both sit up and beg for those good sweet crackers at afternoon-tea, I always get his share too, for he’s slow at finding. Of course his Mistress always sees that he gets enough, but he’s never had to fend for himself and _I_ have, and it makes a dog or a man mighty sharp, doesn’t it? Jeems has had milk and chicken in painted saucers ever since he was born. I’ve told him how especially good very old chicken bones out of a garbage pail are, but his tastes remain simple. I can’t get up his enthusiasm!

Jeems never goes out alone as I do. And he is always cleaned and combed so that The Lovely Lady doesn’t like him to get muddy in water-rat holes or stuck up with burrs. But with The Lovely Lady as companion and guide, Me and Jeems have elegant walks! Of course occasionally I have to break through and lie in a mud-puddle just to get the Nature-feel, but I know that Jeems and The Lovely Lady are both helpful to me, as they are refined and particular. It is not good for even a dog always to lead a dog’s life.

Best of all, Jeems speaks my language--doggerel, does one call it? Even when humans are dear and good and kind, one’s native tongue is sweet in the ears. So when Jeems and I dash down the hall together and he shouts, “Hurrah, here goes for a run!” I shout back as sharp and loud as I can, “Hi, Jeems, off we are!” The Lovely Lady laughs, even while she holds on to her ears, for she almost knows the doggerel language herself since we, Me and Jeems, took up her education doggedly.

“Hi, Jeems Pitbladdo, there’s a squirrel on that oak! See who’ll get there first!” And off we go.

_What The Lovely Lady Says_

It was quite by accident that years ago I met a warm devoted bit of life called Raggety. He has since become a near neighbor and an intimate and devoted friend.

First in my memory, I see a bundle of wet yellow fur carried up a stairway in a northern city by the sea, and when I interestedly inquired _who_ it was, received the reply, “Don’t you know Raggety?”

But the really truly introduction came in a railroad station one fine June morning, how long after our first meeting I do not know. I was unhappy. I had said good-bye for a whole Summer to my precious pet Balribbie, and left my bit of Blue Skye happiness behind me. It was no use, the tears would come when I thought of that little bunch of affection with its soft yellow head sitting in the farmhouse window,--waiting, watching for her truant mistress.

Raggety’s little paw touched me and his cold wet black nose nuzzled into my hand with the wonderful sympathy of discovering a friend. Raggety’s lovely brown eyes were also filled with tears. He was in trouble and pining for the Mistress who had just left him. Every one was going away and he gasped at the loneliness of life.

We sat side by side on the hard station bench and had ten minutes of affection and bliss. All I could do was to say softly, “Wait a minute, wait a minute! Suddenly Time goes by and Mistresses reappear, tails wave round, and long happy walks begin again for little doggies!”

My train came and there was another tear at Raggety’s heart strings. The casual stranger of a few minutes before had become endeared forever by her knowledge of the comforting scratching places of little beasties.

Summers in Europe went and came; Time slipped by and one day he took little dog Balribbie with him, and hurly-burly Jeems begged to take her place. Then as accidentally as Raggety and I had met in that distant railroad station, so Time brought Raggety and his Mistress and Jeems and his Mistress to live in a pretty southern village and we four became a dog club or show!

And here Raggety is to-day making friends as he needs them, or dropping them when he yearns for quiet; always ready for a walk with an agreeable companion, or a fight with Al Kelly’s dog up the road; a swim in the cold creek; a tid-bit (if it’s the same to you!); a scurry through the brush after Molly Cottontail or a plunge into the deep wet meadow where the frogs sing and the violets bloom. Even a great pig does not fright him until he sees the snout bear down upon his little paws, to lift him up and off and away!

This is why Raggety is loved. He was born a little trusting dog and he has made himself the companion of scholars and sages.

You, dear Raggety, are one of the Dog-stars in my firmament of loves. Along with Balribbie and Teddy and Jeems, you will greet your slower, earth-plodding Mistresses in some far-off Heaven. We shall see you wagging your long tail of welcome and tinkling your little silver bell, ushering us into that Kingdom of Love.

_Raggety Trots out of His Book_

Raggety trotted into my life and heart long years ago; he has trotted into the lives and hearts of many people since; he has trotted into your life too! It is good to love even a fluffy little yellow dog and have him love you. See, his tail is wagging! Will you say to him as I did, “Raggety, Raggety, how do you do?”

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Transcriber’s note

Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. The following Printer errors have been changed.

CHANGED FROM TO

Page 13: “thrust his hind legs” “thrust his hind-legs” Page 38: “Devotion to His Lovely Laay” “Devotion to His Lovely Lady”

Other inconsistencies are as in the original.