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Don, a Runaway Dog: His Many Adventures

<h2>CHAPTER VIII DON AND THE CAN</h2></div> Don looked around quickly to see who had spoken. He saw two boys standing at the corner, near where that good smell of meat came from, for which Don was so hungry. One of the boys had stooped to pick up a stone. “Come on, Bill,” said this boy. “Get yourself a stone and we’ll see who of us can hit that dog first.” “Oh, I don’t want to,” answered the other boy. “What’s the good of hitting him?” “To make him run. Come on.” “No, I don’t want to. What’s the use of hurting a dog? I like dogs. I wonder if I could take that one home with me?” Don had two kinds of feelings just then. One was sort of an angry feeling at the boy who wanted to throw a stone at him, and the other feeling was a kind, glad one, toward the other boy. “That boy looks something like my little master, Bob,” thought Don. “I’d like to go to him,[76] for I think he would give me something to eat. And oh! how hungry I am.” Don wagged his tail. This was for the good boy. Then Don growled, the least little bit. That was for the bad boy. It was as if Don had said to the good boy: “I like you. I want to be friends with you. You and I can have good times together.” And when Don growled, it was as though he had said to the bad boy: “Come now! None of that—no throwing of stones. That isn’t nice. I can’t be friends with you if you throw stones at me.” Of course neither of the boys understood Don’s kind of talk. The dog was just going to go closer to the boy who did not want to throw a stone at him, when, all of a sudden the “bad” boy, as I call him, threw the piece of rock, and it hit Don on the leg. “Wow! Ouch! Yelp!” cried poor Don, as he limped away. “Ha! Ha!” laughed the boy who had thrown the stone. “Look at him go! I knew I could make him run!” “Aw, what’d you want to go and do that for?” asked the other boy, quickly. “Now I can’t get him.” “Well, he wasn’t much good,” spoke the boy who had thrown the stone. “Let him go.” [77] “Guess I’ll have to,” said the good boy. “But I wish you hadn’t hit him.” “So do I,” thought Don, who heard this talk as he limped away. “I don’t see why he wanted to throw a stone at me.” And I do not see why myself, except that some boys do things without thinking. I do not believe boys ever want really to be cruel and mean, as they are when they stone dogs and cats. It is just that they do not think. Don ran on, and, after a while, his leg, that had been hit by the stone, did not hurt him so much. His feeling of hunger, which had gone away for a little while, after he was hit, came back again worse than before. “I must find something to eat,” thought Don. “I’ll get so weak that I’ll fall down in the street, if I don’t eat.” So, with his nose, he sniffed and snuffed until, once more, he caught the smell of meat. Of course dogs can look for food, but their noses are sharper than their eyes, and they can smell something good to eat long before they can see it. Other animals do, too. You just watch your cat some time. She may see a wagon coming down the street, but she does not pay any attention to it because it is only a wagon from the drygoods store. [78] Then another wagon comes down the street. It looks almost like the one from the drygoods store, but as soon as pussy sees that, she meows, and runs to meet it. For this is the fish wagon, and she can smell the fish in it before you can. Cats like fish. It was that way with Don. And once more he smelled meat. This time he followed the smell to a can that stood on the edge of the gutter. It was an ash can, but in it was a piece of meat. Don reached in, and grabbed it out as quickly as he could, running around the corner, for he had not forgotten the time a stone was thrown at him when he took a bone from a yard. The meat was not as clean and as nice as Don would have gotten at his kennel at the farm, but he was so hungry that he did not stop to think of that. He ate the meat up at once. “My, that tasted good!” said Don to himself. “I wish I could find another piece like that. And to think I wouldn’t look twice at such a piece of meat at home. Well, running away is certainly a strange life! I’ll never do it again, and I’m going to run home as soon as I can.” It was easier to say this than to do it. Don was far, far from the nice farm, and he did not even know which way to start to get back there. My! what a noisy place the city was. Trolley cars and automobiles raced through the streets,[79] and there were many horses and wagons. And so many persons were hurrying here, there and everywhere. Poor Don was very lonesome. He finished the last scrap of meat he had pulled out of the ash can, and walked on. He did not know where he was going, or what to do, but every one in the city seemed to keep moving, so Don did the same. Don came to a street where there were many wagons, cars and automobiles. On the other side of the street he saw a butcher shop, with nice meat hanging in the window. “Now,” thought Don, “if I could only get over there I might get a nice bone, or a scrap of clean meat. Guess I’ll try it.” He watched his chance, for he was afraid of being run over, there were so many wagons and autos in the street. At last Don thought he saw an opening, and he darted forward. But Don was not used to city ways. No sooner was he half way across the street than it seemed as if a dozen cars were rushing down on him. A policeman shouted at him, and blew a whistle. “Get out of there, dog!” cried the policeman. Don started to run back, but, as he did so two automobiles came past, with tooting horns, and he was afraid of them. [80] “Go on! Go on!” cried the policeman. So Don kept on across the street. He was almost at the other curb, when another auto came along so swiftly that one of the wheels hit Don, and knocked him down. But the man steering the automobile turned it out of the way just in time, and Don was saved. He scrambled to the sidewalk, his heart beating very fast. “Well, well! That was a narrow escape you had!” said a voice in his ear, and, looking up, Don saw another dog. This dog was what we should call a “tramp” dog. But he spoke kindly to Don. “You came near being run over,” said this dog, wagging his tail. “Yes, I guess I did,” agreed Don. “What’s your name, and where do you live?” asked the tramp dog, wagging his tail some more, to show that he was friendly. “My name is Don,” said Bob’s pet, “and I did live on a farm. But I ran away, to have some adventures, and—” “Well, if you’ll take my advice you’ll run back to that farm as fast as you can,” said the tramp dog. “I lived on one once, and it is much nicer, for dogs, than the city. You’d better go back.” “I would, if I could, but I can’t find my way,” sorrowfully said Don, and he told of having been locked in a freight car. [81] <div id="i_p081" class="figcenter" style="width: 354px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_p081.jpg" width-obs="354" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <div class="caption">“Get out of there, dog!” cried the policeman.</div> </div> [82- 83] “My! You certainly have had some adventures,” said the city dog, who had mentioned that his name was Jack. “Have you had anything to eat?” “Yes, I found a piece of meat in a can,” answered Don. “But it was not very good. It was covered with ashes, and—” “Well, you were lucky to get that,” said Jack. “I haven’t had a thing to-day, and I’m almost starved. You’ll be very glad to get even scraps from ash cans if you stay in the city long, let me tell you—very lucky indeed. I wish I could find some now.” “I’ll show you where the can is,” offered Don, kindly. “But I don’t think there is any more meat in it.” “Hardly,” agreed Jack. “There are too many dogs about to eat it.” “There’s lots of meat in there,” said Don, looking at the butcher shop. “Maybe they’ll give us some.” “Not much they won’t!” cried Jack. “All the meat we’ll get there wouldn’t keep a kitten from starving. We’ll have to hunt our own. But come along. Maybe I’ll have some luck, now I’ve met you. Have you any place to sleep to-night?” “No. But at home, on the farm, I had a nice kennel, filled with soft straw,” said Don. [84] “You’ll find nothing like that here,” said Jack. “Such things are only for rich dogs, with homes. But never mind. I have a good sleeping place under some boards in a lumber yard. I’ll take you there to-night, and we’ll sleep together.” “That is very good of you,” said Don. “And if I find anything to eat, I’ll give you half.” The two dogs looked longingly at the meat in the butcher shop. In the window sat a fat cat, and it seemed as though she blinked her eyes at the dogs. She was not afraid of them. “Just think of it!” cried Jack. “That cat has all the meat she wants, and we have to be glad of even scraps from an ash can.” “Well, it serves me right for running away,” thought Don to himself. He and Jack managed to find a little meat that day, but it was not much. They drank from a mud puddle, and were glad enough to do so. Then, worn out, tired and dusty, that night Jack and Don went to the lumber yard to sleep. “Haven’t you any cushions, or anything like that?” asked Don, as he saw a space under some bare boards, which Jack said was the bed. “Nothing like that,” said Jack, with a bark. “I’m glad enough to have a sheltered place, without cushions.” Poor Don was so tired that he fell asleep almost[85] at once. And he dreamed that he was back in his kennel at the farm, lying in the warm straw, and that in front of him was a big bowl of milk and a plate of juicy bones. Dogs and cats, as well as other animals, do dream, I believe. If you ever watch sleeping cats or dogs, you will often see them jump or twitch, when their eyes are closed. And sometimes they will whine or howl, just as children talk in their sleep. Of course no one knows what dogs and cats dream about, but I imagine it must often be of good things to eat, don’t you? At any rate Don dreamed of being back home, but when he suddenly awakened he remembered where he was. “Oh, I’m under the lumber pile,” Don thought to himself. “And I’ll have to go hunting in ash cans for something to eat. Oh, I wish I were back home again! No more running away for me!” Then Don began to feel something queer on his tail. It was as though it were being pinched. He looked up, thinking perhaps Jack was doing this to awaken him. But Jack was not to be seen. And then Don saw something else. Tied around his tail was a piece of rope that had not been there when he went to sleep the night before. [86] Don jumped up quickly, and, as he did so, he heard a rattling sound. At the same time a boy’s voice cried: “Hey, Jimmie! The dog’s woke up! Now we’ll see some fun!” Don sprang out from under the pile of boards. As he did so, the rattlety-bang sound followed him. It went wherever he went and, as he looked around, he saw that a big tin can was tied to his tail. Don did not know what to make of it. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. He gave a jump, and ran around the lumber yard. At every step the can followed, with a rattle and bang. “Oh, this is terrible!” yelped poor Don, as he ran faster and faster. But, no matter how fast he ran, the can on his tail followed. <hr class="chap" /> [87] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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