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“A Dog’s Tale” by Acclaimed Author Mark Twain - P2/3
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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.
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