Greetings, kind viewers,
and welcome to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants.
Today, April 24, 2010 is
World Lab Animal Day,
founded by the National
Anti-Vivisection Society
of the United States.
On this day,
anti-vivisectionists
around the world work
to raise public awareness
about stopping
the unethical, savage
and unscientific practice
of experimentation
and demonstration
on live animals, which
causes extreme suffering
and death to countless
innocent beings each year.
Besides being a central
figure in US literature,
renowned
author and humanitarian
Mark Twain was
a prominent advocate
of animal welfare who
spoke out against abuses
such as bullfighting
and vivisection.
The world-renowned
writer first encountered
the field of publishing
at age eleven when
he began working
as an assistant
in a print shop.
As a young man
he wrote articles for
a number of newspapers
and became famous
in the US
when his short story
“Jim Smiley and
His Jumping Frog”
was published nationally.
The work
he is best known for,
“The Adventures
of Huckleberry Finn,”
was written in 1884,
and is considered
by many to be
“the Great American Novel.”
Animals were featured
in many of
Mr. Twain’s works, from
his newspaper articles
condemning animal cruelty
to the thoughtful pieces
written toward
the end of his life,
“A Dog’s Tale” in 1903,
“A Horse’s Tale” in 1907
and his letter to the
London Anti-Vivisection
Society in 1899.
Several of Mark Twain’s
moving commentaries
were widely circulated
in the press and
numerous copies were
circulated as pamphlets
to promote the cause
of animal welfare.
In his letter to the
London Anti-Vivisection
Society, he wrote:
"I am not interested
to know
whether vivisection
produces results that are
profitable to the human race
or doesn't...
The pain
which it inflicts upon
un-consenting animals
is the basis of my enmity
toward it, and it is to me
sufficient justification
of the enmity
without looking further."
We now present the first
and the second chapters
of “A Dog’s Tale,”
a story told by a canine
named Aileen Mavourneen.
CHAPTER 1
My father
was a St. Bernard,
my mother was a collie,
but I am a Presbyterian.
This is
what my mother told me,
I do not know these
nice distinctions myself.
To me they are only
fine large words
meaning nothing.
My mother
had a fondness for such;
she liked to say them,
and see other dogs look
surprised and envious,
as wondering how
she got so much education.
But, indeed,
it was not real education;
it was only show: she got
the words by listening
in the dining-room
and drawing-room when
there was company, and
by going with the children
to Sunday-school
and listening there;
and whenever
she heard a large word
she said it over to herself
many times, and so was
able to keep it until there
was a dogmatic gathering
in the neighborhood,
then she would get it off,
and surprise and
distress them all, from
pocket-pup to mastiff,
which rewarded her
for all her trouble.
If there was a stranger
he was nearly sure to be
suspicious, and when
he got his breath again
he would ask her
what it meant.
And she always told him.
He was never expecting
this but thought
he would catch her;
so when she told him,
he was the one
that looked ashamed,
whereas he had thought
it was going to be she.
The others were always
waiting for this,
and glad of it
and proud of her,
for they knew what was
going to happen, because
they had had experience.
When she told the
meaning of a big word
they were all so taken up
with admiration
that it never occurred
to any dog to doubt
if it was the right one;
and that was natural,
because, for one thing,
she answered up
so promptly that
it seemed like
a dictionary speaking,
and for another thing,
where could they find out
whether it was right or not?
For she was the only
cultivated dog there was.
By and by,
when I was older, she
brought home the word
Unintellectual, one time,
and worked it pretty hard
all the week
at different gatherings,
making much unhappiness
and despondency;
and it was at this time
that I noticed that during
that week she was asked
for the meaning at eight
different assemblages,
and flashed out
a fresh definition
every time, which
showed me that she had
more presence of mind
than culture, though
I said nothing, of course.
She had one word which
she always kept on hand,
and ready,
like a life-preserver,
a kind of emergency word
to strap on
when she was likely
to get washed overboard
in a sudden way—
that was the word
Synonymous.
After these brief messages,
we’ll continue
with Chapter 1
from “A Dog’s Tale.”
Please stay tuned
to Supreme Master
Television.
Welcome back to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants
featuring a reading
of Mark Twain’s classic
story “A Dog’s Tale.”
Previously we learned
that Aileen’s mother
had a special word
she always kept on hand;
namely, “synonymous.”
When she happened
to fetch out a long word
which had had its day
weeks before and
its prepared meanings
gone to her dump-pile, if
there was a stranger there
of course
it knocked him groggy
for a couple of minutes,
then he would come to,
and by that time
she would be away down
wind on another tack, and
not expecting anything;
so when he’d hail
and ask her to cash in,
I (the only dog on
the inside of her game)
could see her canvas
flicker a moment—
but only just a moment—
then it would
belly out taut and full,
and she would say, as
calm as a summer’s day,
“It’s synonymous
with supererogation,” or
some godless long reptile
of a word like that,
and go placidly about
and skim away
on the next tack, perfectly
comfortable, you know,
and leave that stranger
looking profane and
embarrassed, and the
initiated slatting the floor
with their tails in unison
and their faces transfigured
with a holy joy.
And it was the same
with phrases.
She would drag home
a whole phrase,
if it had a grand sound,
and play it six nights
and two matinees,
and explain it a new way
every time—
which she had to,
for all she cared for
was the phrase;
she wasn’t interested
in what it meant,
and knew those dogs
hadn’t wit enough
to catch her, anyway.
Yes, she was a daisy!
She got so she
wasn’t afraid of anything,
she had such confidence
in the ignorance
of those creatures.
She even brought
anecdotes that
she had heard the family
and the dinner-guests
laugh and shout over; and
as a rule she got the nub
of one chestnut hitched
onto another chestnut,
where, of course,
it didn’t fit and
hadn’t any point;
and when she delivered
the nub she fell over
and rolled on the floor
and laughed and barked
in the most insane way,
while I could see that she
was wondering to herself
why it didn’t seem
as funny as it did
when she first heard it.
But no harm was done;
the others rolled
and barked too, privately
ashamed of themselves
for not seeing the point,
and never suspecting
that the fault
was not with them and
there wasn’t any to see.
You can see
by these things that
she was of a rather vain
and frivolous character;
still, she had virtues,
and enough to make up,
I think.
She had a kind heart
and gentle ways,
and never harbored
resentments
for injuries done her,
but put them easily
out of her mind
and forgot them;
and she taught her children
her kindly way, and
from her we learned also
to be brave and prompt
in time of danger,
and not to run away,
but face the peril
that threatened friend
or stranger, and help him
the best we could
without stopping
to think what
the cost might be to us.
And she taught us
not by words only,
but by example,
and that is the best way
and the surest
and the most lasting.
Why,
the brave things she did,
the splendid things!
She was just a soldier;
and so modest about it—
well, you couldn’t help
admiring her,
and you couldn’t help
imitating her; not even
a King Charles spaniel
could remain entirely
despicable in her society.
So, as you see,
there was more to her
than her education.
CHAPTER 2
When I was well grown,
at last, I was sold
and taken away, and
I never saw her again.
She was broken-hearted,
and so was I, and we cried;
but she comforted me
as well as she could,
and said we were
sent into this world for
a wise and good purpose,
and must do our duties
without repining,
take our life
as we might find it,
live it for the best good
of others, and never mind
about the results;
they were not our affair.
She said
men who did like this
would have a noble and
beautiful reward by and by
in another world,
and although we animals
would not go there,
to do well and right
without reward would
give to our brief lives
a worthiness and dignity
which in itself
would be a reward.
She had gathered these
things from time to time
when she had gone
to the Sunday-school
with the children,
and had laid them up
in her memory
more carefully than
she had done with those
other words and phrases;
and she had
studied them deeply,
for her good and ours.
One may see by this
that she had a wise
and thoughtful head,
for all there was so much
lightness and vanity in it.
So we said our farewells,
and looked our last
upon each other
through our tears; and
the last thing she said—
keeping it for the last
to make me remember it
the better, I think—was,
“In memory of me, when
there is a time of danger
to another
do not think of yourself,
think of your mother,
and do as she would do.”
Do you think
I could forget that? No.
Keeping mommy’s love
and wise words
in her heart, the
young pup Aileen set off
to face life on her own.
What kinds of challenges
await for her ahead?
Please
join us next Saturday
on Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants
for the second part
of our three parts series
on “A Dog’s Tale.”
Finally,
our hero’s salute goes to
the esteemed author
and animal advocate
Mark Twain
for his insightful work
promoting the welfare
of animals.
We also thank all
anti-vivisectionists
and concerned citizens
around the world
for their noble efforts
to save our vulnerable
animal friends.
Lovely viewers,
thank you
for your company
on today’s program.
Up next is
Enlightening Entertainment,
after Noteworthy News.
May Heaven’s Divine light
always shine on us all.
“Earthlings,”
an award-winning
documentary directed by
vegan filmmaker
Shaun Monson and
narrated by esteemed US
actor Joaquin Phoenix
examines the terrifying
and horrendous lives of
our fellow co-inhabitants
in the so-called
“entertainment” industry.
When going to the circus,
rarely do we stop for
a moment and consider:
What incites an animal to
do something unnatural,
even dangerous,
such as jumping
through flames,
balancing on one foot,
or diving into water
from shaky platforms
high in the air?
Make the Connection.
Join us for our
presentation of Part 5 of
“Earthlings,”
Tuesday, April 27,
on Stop Animal Cruelty.
Greetings,
benevolent viewers,
and welcome to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants.
Today’s show features
the second part of
a three-part series on the
thoughtful, classic short
story “A Dog’s Tale,”
by US author,
humanitarian
and outspoken animal
advocate Mark Twain.
This fine work published
in 1903 is written from
the perspective of
a loyal canine companion
named Aileen.
Mark Twain’s love of our
animal friends is evident
from his newspaper
articles that condemned
animal cruelty,
travel books that featured
his observations
on animals he encountered
on his journeys,
and novels that included
animal characters.
We now continue with
our reading of
“A Dog’s Tale.”
Previously, the pup Aileen,
after having spent
a delightful childhood
with her mother,
was sold and taken away
when fully grown.
In tears, her mommy
bid her farewell.
from CHAPTER 2
“In memory of me, when
there is a time of danger
to another
do not think of yourself,
think of your mother,
and do as she would do.”
Keeping her mother’s
love and her insightful
words in heart,
Aileen headed to face
a new life on her own.
CHAPTER 3
It was such
a charming home!—
my new one;
a fine great house,
with pictures, and
delicate decorations,
and rich furniture,
and no gloom anywhere,
but all the wilderness
of dainty colors lit up
with flooding sunshine;
and the spacious grounds
around it,
and the great garden—
oh, greensward, and
noble trees, and flowers,
no end!
And I was the same as
a member of the family;
and they loved me, and
petted me, and did not
give me a new name, but
called me by my old one
that was dear to me
because my mother
had given it me—
Aileen Mavourneen.
She got it out of a song;
and the Grays knew
that song, and said
it was a beautiful name.
Mrs. Gray was thirty, and
so sweet and so lovely,
you cannot imagine it;
and Sadie was ten, and
just like her mother,
just a darling slender
little copy of her,
with auburn tails
down her back,
and short frocks; and
the baby was a year old,
and plump and dimpled,
and fond of me, and
never could get enough
of hauling on my tail,
and hugging me,
and laughing out its
innocent happiness; and
Mr. Gray was thirty-eight,
and tall and slender
and handsome,
a little bald in front, alert,
quick in his movements,
business-like, prompt,
decided, unsentimental,
and with that kind of
trim-chiseled face that
just seems to glint
and sparkle with frosty
intellectuality!
He was a renowned
scientist.
I do not know what
the word means, but my
mother would know how
to use it and get effects.
She would know how to
depress a rat-terrier with it
and make a lap-dog
look sorry he came.
But that is not the best
one; the best one
was Laboratory.
My mother could
organize a Trust
on that one that would
skin the tax-collars
off the whole herd .
The laboratory was not
a book, or a picture,
or a place to wash
your hands in,
as the college president’s
dog said—no,
that is the lavatory;
the laboratory is quite
different, and is filled
with jars, and bottles,
and electrics, and wires,
and strange machines;
and every week other
scientists came there and
sat in the place, and
used the machines, and
discussed, and made what
they called experiments
and discoveries; and
often I came, too, and
stood around and listened,
and tried to learn,
for the sake of my mother,
and in loving memory
of her, although it was
a pain to me, as realizing
what she was losing
out of her life and
I gaining nothing at all;
for try as I might,
I was never able to make
anything out of it at all.
Other times I lay
on the floor in the
mistress’s work-room
and slept, she gently
using me for a foot-stool,
knowing it pleased me,
for it was a caress;
other times I spent
an hour in the nursery,
and got well tousled and
made happy; other times
I watched by the crib
there, when the baby was
asleep and the nurse out
for a few minutes
on the baby’s affairs;
other times I romped
and raced through the
grounds and the garden
with Sadie till we were
tired out, then slumbered
on the grass in the shade
of a tree
while she read her book;
other times I went visiting
among the neighbor
dogs— for there were
some most pleasant ones
not far away, and
one very handsome and
courteous and graceful
one, a curly-haired
Irish setter by the name
of Robin Adair, who was
a Presbyterian like me,
and belonged to
the Scotch minister.
The servants in our house
were all kind to me and
were fond of me,
and so, as you see,
mine was a pleasant life.
There could not be
a happier dog that I was,
nor a gratefuller one.
I will say this for myself,
for it is only the truth:
I tried in all ways to do
well and right, and honor
my mother’s memory
and her teachings,
and earn the happiness
that had come to me,
as best I could.
By and by came
my little puppy,
and then my cup was full,
my happiness was perfect.
It was the dearest little
waddling thing,
and so smooth and soft
and velvety, and had
such cunning little
awkward paws, and
such affectionate eyes,
and such a sweet
and innocent face; and
it made me so proud to
see how the children and
their mother adored it,
and fondled it, and
exclaimed over every
little wonderful thing
it did.
It did seem to me that life
was just too lovely to—
For a time Aileen lived
a joyful, pleasant life
in her new home,
but then an event
occurred that completely
changed her life.
We’ll find out
what happened after
these brief messages.
Please stay tuned to
Supreme Master
Television.
Welcome back to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants
featuring a reading of
Mark Twain’s classic
story “A Dog’s Tale.”
With her new family,
Aileen was living
a cheerful, happy life, but
as the warmth of summer
faded and autumn quietly
passed, an unexpected
event occurred.
Then came the winter.
One day I was standing
a watch in the nursery.
That is to say, I was
asleep on the bed.
The baby was asleep
in the crib, which was
alongside the bed,
on the side
next the fireplace.
It was the kind of crib
that has a lofty tent over
it made of gauzy stuff
that you can see through.
The nurse was out,
and we two sleepers
were alone.
A spark from
the wood-fire was
shot out, and it lit
on the slope of the tent.
I suppose a quiet interval
followed, then a scream
from the baby awoke me,
and there was that tent
flaming up toward
the ceiling!
Before I could think,
I sprang to the floor
in my fright,
and in a second was
half-way to the door; but
in the next half-second
my mother’s farewell
was sounding in my ears,
and I was back
on the bed again.
I reached my head
through the flames and
dragged the baby out
by the waist-band, and
tugged it along, and we
fell to the floor together
in a cloud of smoke;
I snatched a new hold,
and dragged the
screaming little creature
along and out at the door
and around the bend
of the hall, and
was still tugging away,
all excited and happy
and proud, when the
master’s voice shouted:
“Begone
you cursed beast!”
and I jumped
to save myself; but
he was furiously quick,
and chased me up,
striking furiously at me
with his cane, I dodging
this way and that,
in terror, and at last
a strong blow fell upon
my left foreleg, which
made me shriek and fall,
for the moment, helpless;
the cane went up
for another blow,
but never descended,
for the nurse’s voice
rang wildly out,
“The nursery’s on fire!”
and the master rushed
away in that direction,
and my other bones
were saved.
The pain was cruel, but,
no matter, I must not lose
any time; he might come
back at any moment; so
I limped on three legs to
the other end of the hall,
where there was
a dark little stairway
leading up into a garret
where old boxes and
such things were kept,
as I had heard say, and
where people seldom went.
I managed to climb up
there, then I searched
my way through the dark
among the piles of things,
and hid in the secretest
place I could find.
It was foolish to be afraid
there, yet still I was;
so afraid that I held in
and hardly even
whimpered, though
it would have been such
a comfort to whimper,
because that eases
the pain, you know.
But I could lick my leg,
and that did some good.
For half an hour
there was a commotion
downstairs, and shoutings,
and rushing footsteps,
and then
there was quiet again.
Quiet for some minutes,
and that was grateful
to my spirit, for then my
fears began to go down;
and fears are worse than
pains—oh, much worse.
Then came a sound
that froze me.
They were calling me—
calling me by name—
hunting for me!
It was muffled
by distance, but that
could not take the terror
out of it, and it was the
most dreadful sound to me
that I had ever heard.
It went all about,
everywhere, down there:
along the halls,
through all the rooms,
in both stories, and in the
basement and the cellar;
then outside, and
farther and farther away
—then back, and all
about the house again,
and I thought it would
never, never stop.
But at last it did,
hours and hours
after the vague twilight
of the garret had long ago
been blotted out
by black darkness.
Then in that blessed
stillness my terrors
fell little by little away,
and I was at peace
and slept.
It was a good rest I had,
but I woke before the
twilight had come again.
I was feeling
fairly comfortable,
and I could think out
a plan now.
I made a very good one;
which was, to creep
down, all the way
down the back stairs,
and hide behind
the cellar door, and
slip out and escape when
the iceman came at dawn,
while he was inside
filling the refrigerator;
then I would hide all day,
and start on my journey
when night came;
my journey to—well,
anywhere where they
would not know me and
betray me to the master.
I was feeling
almost cheerful now;
then suddenly I thought:
Why, what would life be
without my puppy!
That was despair.
There was no plan
for me; I saw that;
I must stay where I was;
stay, and wait, and take
what might come—
it was not my affair;
that was what life is—
my mother had said it.
Then—well, then
the calling began again!
All my sorrows
came back.
I said to myself, the
master will never forgive.
I did not know what
I had done to make him
so bitter and
so unforgiving,
yet I judged it was
something a dog
could not understand, but
which was clear to a man
and dreadful.
Sitting in the dark with
her soft heart pounding
in suspense,
the familiar voices
sounded distant and
the future seemed
unknowable
to the faithful canine.
Why were they
calling her
in such a frantic voice?
Precious viewers, join us
again next Saturday
for the third and final
segment of our three-part
series on “A Dog’s Tale”
by celebrated author
and animal advocate
Mark Twain.
Thank you for being
with us today on
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants.
Up next is Enlightening
Entertainment,
after Noteworthy News.
May loving kindness
always be your guide.
If you become trapped
following an earthquake,
what should you do?
I think first of all
you should verbalize,
you should shout,
you should, indicate that
you need help,
if you actually
can hear people digging,
you should knock
or use something to
make a repetitive noise
to let rescuers know
that you’re alive.
Be sure to watch Part 2
of “Earthquake Survival
with Dr. Jim Goltz,”
Wednesday, May 5
on Planet Earth:
Our Loving Home.
Greetings,
esteemed viewers,
and welcome to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants.
Today’s show features
the third part of
a three-part series on the
thoughtful, classic short
story “A Dog’s Tale,”
by US author,
humanitarian
and outspoken animal
advocate Mark Twain.
This fine work published
in 1903 is written from
the perspective of
a loyal canine companion
named Aileen.
Besides being a central
figure in US literature,
renowned
author and humanitarian
Mark Twain was
a prominent advocate
of animal welfare who
spoke out against abuses
such as bullfighting
and vivisection.
Animals were featured
in many of
Mr. Twain’s works, from
his newspaper articles
condemning animal cruelty
to the thoughtful pieces
written toward
the end of his life,
“A Dog’s Tale” in 1903,
“A Horse’s Tale” in 1907
and his letter to the
London Anti-Vivisection
Society in 1899.
Several of Mark Twain’s
moving commentaries
were widely circulated
in the press and
numerous copies were
circulated as pamphlets
to promote the cause
of animal welfare.
In his letter to the
London Anti-Vivisection
Society, he wrote:
“I am not interested
to know
whether vivisection
produces results that are
profitable to the human race
or doesn't...
The pain
which it inflicts upon
un-consenting animals
is the basis of my enmity
toward it, and it is to me
sufficient justification
of the enmity
without looking further.”
Today, we conclude
our presentation of
Mark Twain’s short story
“A Dog’s Tale,”
an engaging first-person
narrative on the life of
a loyal canine companion.
Previously, the story’s
main character,
Aileen the dog,
had risked her life to save
that of her caregivers’
newborn baby from a fire,
but instead of
getting praise or
words of encouragement,
Aileen was chased and
beaten by the male owner
of the house.
In utter confusion
and terror, Aileen, now
limping on three legs,
went and hid
in the home’s small attic.
They called and called—
days and nights,
it seemed to me.
So long that
the hunger and thirst
near drove me mad, and
I recognized that I was
getting very weak.
When you are this way
you sleep a great deal,
and I did.
Once I woke
in an awful fright—
it seemed to me that
the calling was right there
in the garret!
And so it was:
it was Sadie’s voice, and
she was crying; my name
was falling from her lips
all broken, poor thing,
and I could not believe
my ears for the joy of it
when I heard her say:
Come back to us—
oh, come back to us,
and forgive—
it is all so sad without our —”
I broke in with SUCH
a grateful little yelp,
and the next moment
Sadie was plunging
and stumbling through
the darkness and
the lumber and shouting
for the family to hear,
“She’s found,
she’s found!”
The days that followed—
well, they were wonderful.
The mother and Sadie
and the servants—
why, they just seemed
to worship me.
They couldn’t seem to
make me a bed
that was fine enough; and
as for food, they couldn’t
be satisfied with anything
but delicacies that were
out of season; and
every day the friends and
neighbors flocked in to
hear about my heroism—
that was the name
they called it by,
and it means agriculture.
I remember my mother
pulling it on a kennel once,
and explaining it
in that way, but didn’t say
what agriculture was,
except that it was
synonymous with
intramural incandescence;
and a dozen times a day
Mrs. Gray and Sadie
would tell the tale to
new-comers, and say
I risked my life to
save the baby’s, and both
of us had burns to prove it,
and then the company
would pass me around
and pet me and exclaim
about me, and you could
see the pride in the eyes
of Sadie and her mother;
and when the people
wanted to know
what made me limp,
they looked ashamed and
changed the subject, and
sometimes when people
hunted them
this way and that way
with questions about it,
it looked to me as if
they were going to cry.
And this was not
all the glory; no,
the master’s friends came,
a whole twenty of the
most distinguished people,
and had me
in the laboratory, and
discussed me as if I was
a kind of discovery;
and some of them said
it was wonderful
in a dumb beast, the finest
exhibition of instinct
they could call to mind;
but the master said,
with vehemence,
“It’s far above instinct;
it’s REASON, and
many a man, privileged to
be saved and go with you
and me to a better world
by right of its possession,
has less of it that
this poor silly quadruped
that’s foreordained
to perish";
and then he laughed,
and said:
“Why, look at me—
I’m a sarcasm!
bless you, with all
my grand intelligence,
the only thing I inferred
was that the dog had
gone mad and
was destroying the child,
whereas but for
the beast’s intelligence—
it’s REASON,
I tell you!—the child
would have perished!”
They disputed and disputed,
and I was the very center
of subject of it all, and
I wished my mother
could know that
this grand honor had
come to me; it would
have made her proud.
Then they discussed
optics, as they called it,
and whether a certain
injury to the brain would
produce blindness or not,
but they could not agree
about it, and said they
must test it by experiment
by and by; and next
they discussed plants,
and that interested me,
because in the summer
Sadie and I had planted
seeds—I helped her
dig the holes, you know
—and after days and days
a little shrub or a flower
came up there, and
it was a wonder how that
could happen; but it did,
and I wished I could talk
—I would have told those
people about it and shown
then how much I knew,
and been all alive
with the subject; but I
didn’t care for the optics;
it was dull, and when
came back to it again
it bored me,
and I went to sleep.
Pretty soon it was spring,
and sunny and pleasant
and lovely, and the sweet
mother and the children
patted me and
the puppy good-by, and
went away on a journey
and a visit to their kin,
and the master wasn’t
any company for us,
but we played together
and had good times,
and the servants were
kind and friendly, so we
got along quite happily
and counted the days and
waited for the family.
Aileen’s heroism and
intelligence won
the hearts of family
and friends, and
her bountiful happiness
and delight
never seemed to end.
When we return, we will
continue her story.
Please stay tuned to
Supreme Master
Television.
Welcome back to
Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants,
where we now feature
the conclusion of
“A Dog’s Tale.”
And one day those men
came again, and said,
now for the test, and
they took the puppy
to the laboratory, and
I limped three-leggedly
along, too, feeling proud,
for any attention
shown to the puppy
was a pleasure to me,
of course.
They discussed and
experimented,
and then suddenly
the puppy shrieked, and
they set him on the floor,
and he went
staggering around,
with his head all bloody,
and the master clapped
his hands and shouted:
“There, I’ve won—
confess it!
He’s as blind as a bat!”
And they all said:
“It’s so—you’ve proved
your theory,
and suffering humanity
owes you a great debt
from henceforth,”
and they crowded around
him, and wrung his hand
cordially and thankfully,
and praised him.
But I hardly saw
or heard these things,
for I ran at once
to my little darling,
and snuggled close to it
where it lay,
and licked the blood,
and it put its head against
mine, whimpering softly,
and I knew in my heart
it was a comfort to it
in its pain and trouble to
feel its mother’s touch,
though it could not see me.
Then it dropped down,
presently, and
its little velvet nose rested
upon the floor, and
it was still, and
did not move any more.
Soon the master stopped
discussing a moment, and
rang in the footman,
and said,
“Bury it in the
far corner of the garden,”
and then went on with
the discussion, and I
trotted after the footman,
very happy and grateful,
for I knew the puppy
was out of its pain now,
because it was asleep.
We went far down the
garden to the farthest end,
where the children and
the nurse and the puppy
and I used to play
in the summer in the
shade of a great elm, and
there the footman dug
a hole, and I saw he was
going to plant the puppy,
and I was glad, because it
would grow and come up
a fine handsome dog,
like Robin Adair, and
be a beautiful surprise
for the family
when they came home;
so I tried to help him dig,
but my lame leg was
no good, being stiff,
you know, and
you have to have two,
or it is no use.
When the footman had
finished and covered
little Robin up, he patted
my head, and there were
tears in his eyes, and he
said: “Poor little doggie,
you saved HIS child!”
I have watched
two whole weeks,
and he doesn’t come up!
This last week
a fright has been
stealing upon me.
I think there is something
terrible about this.
I do not know what it is,
but the fear makes me
sick, and I cannot eat,
though the servants
bring me the best of food;
and they pet me so, and
even come in the night,
and cry, and say,
“Poor doggie—do
give it up and come home;
don’t break our hearts!”
and all this terrifies me
the more,
and makes me sure
something has happened.
And I am so weak;
since yesterday I cannot
stand on my feet anymore.
And within this hour
the servants, looking
toward the sun where it
was sinking out of sight
and the night chill
coming on, said things
I could not understand,
but they carried something
cold to my heart.
“Those poor creatures!
They do not suspect.
They will come home
in the morning,
and eagerly ask for
the little doggie that
did the brave deed, and
who of us will be strong
enough to say the truth
to them: ’The humble
little friend is gone
where go the beasts
that perish.’”
As the story ends,
our hearts are saddened
by the fate of the
innumerable helpless,
innocent animals
dissected, infected,
injected, gassed, burned
and blinded while fully
conscious in university
and commercial research
laboratories
around the world.
These innocent,
intelligent beings,
who have feelings and
awareness the same
as humans, are forced to
be subjects in unethical,
cruel and appalling
experiments and procedures.
The fact is that animals
are vastly different from
humans with respect to
anatomy, physiology,
biochemistry and
metabolism, so
the results of experiments
on animals are not valid
for humans.
For these reasons, we
call for a worldwide ban
on the practice
of experimentation
and demonstration
on live animals, and
look forward to
soon-in-coming peaceful,
harmonious future where
all of humanity adopts the
compassionate, ethical
organic vegan lifestyle
to preserve animals,
humans and
our precious ecosphere.
Our hero’s salute goes to
the esteemed author
and animal advocate
Mark Twain
for his insightful work
promoting the welfare
of animals.
We also thank all
anti-vivisectionists and
concerned citizens
around the world for their
noble efforts to save our
vulnerable animal friends.
Intelligent viewers,
thank you for your company
today on Animal World:
Our Co-Inhabitants.
Up next is Enlightening
Entertainment
right after
Noteworthy News.
May we all live and
let live in peace and unity.
Just as the uniqueness
of each human being
in our society is valued,
the uniqueness of
each species
on our planet is a treasure
we must protect.
However, this treasure
is rapidly disappearing.
Esteemed botanist
Dr. Peter Raven
of the US believes
our planet's Biodiversity
is in severe danger.
In the past,
in the geological record,
we were losing about
a dozen or so per year.
Over the last 500 years,
since people began
writing about well-known
groups of organisms,
we’ve been losing
hundreds a year.
And now we seem to be
losing thousands
per year, going up
towards tens of thousands
Please join us and
learn more about
the biodiversity crisis
from Dr. Peter Raven,
Wednesday, May 12,
on Planet Earth:
Our Loving Home.