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Don, a Runaway Dog: His Many Adventures

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<h2>CHAPTER X DON’S NEW FRIEND</h2></div> Poor Don did not know what to make of all this. But, somehow, he felt that he was in danger, and, with one more glance back over his shoulder, seeing the man with the net on the long pole still running after him, Don ran also—and faster than ever. “This is queer,” thought Don. “I wonder what makes that man chase me? And does he think I am a fish, that he tries to catch me in a net?” But these men were not fishing for fish—they were fishing for dogs, and Don did not know what would happen if they caught him, so he ran faster and faster. Those men, you see, were hired to catch stray dogs that were not allowed to run loose about the streets in summer. The people feared the stray dogs would go mad and bite them, so they hired men, with wagons and nets, to catch them. Once the dogs were caught they would be put in a pen, called a “pound,” and if, after a certain time, the dog’s master did not come and take him away, the poor dog would be killed. That is what they do to stray dogs in the city. Of course Don did not know all this, though[97] his friend Jack had told him to be careful as he went about the streets. So now Don felt there was some danger, and on and on he ran, as fast as he could run. Somehow, Don could not run as fast and as far as he used to. On the farm, when he raced with Bob, Don always beat. But since he had run away, Don had not had as good things to eat as he had had on the farm. And he had not had as good a place to sleep in. So Don was not as strong and healthful as he had been. “Why, I’m getting tired!” panted poor Don, as he raced on. He looked back over his shoulder. The man with the net was coming closer. There was another man following, with a big, black wagon. “Can you get him?” asked the man, driving the black wagon. “Yes, I’ll have him in a minute!” cried the man with the net. “That will make the wagon full, and we’ll take ’em all to the pound.” “You’ll never take me there—not if I can help it!” thought Don. He ran on, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his breath coming in gasps. He was thirsty, too, but he saw no place to get a drink. Even if there had been a puddle of water, Don would not have dared stop to lap up any, for the dog catcher was close to him, coming on and on. [98] “Oh dear!” thought Don. “This is terrible! How much better I would have been had I stayed on the farm. No more running away for me.” But Don was not at the end of his adventures, even yet. He gave one more glance backward, to see how close the man with the net was to him, and then something happened. Don stepped on a sharp piece of glass in the street, and cut his foot, not badly, but enough to make him limp. And then he could not run so fast. The piece of glass must have stuck in his foot, for Don could not step on it without its hurting him very much. He had to run on three legs. Now a dog cannot run as fast on three legs as he can on four, and Don had to go slower and slower. “Now you can get him!” cried the man on the wagon. “Yes, I’ll have him now,” shouted the man with the net. Don tried to run on faster, but it was of no use. In a few minutes more he felt something hit him on the head. Then he was all tangled up in the meshes of the net, and he fell down, hurting his cut foot more than ever. [99] <div id="i_p099" class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_p099.jpg" width-obs="353" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <div class="caption">He was all tangled up in the meshes of the net, and he fell down.</div> </div> [100- 101] “Now I have you!” cried the man with the net. He picked up Don, and, as the wagon came up, tossed him into it. Instantly there was a chorus of barks and growls, for there were many other dogs in the wagon, and they did not seem to like Don. “Who’s coming in here now?” growled one of the dogs in the catcher’s wagon. “Yes; weren’t we crowded enough already?” asked another. “Oh, well, it doesn’t make much difference,” snarled a third dog. “We’ll soon have room enough in the pound.” “I’m sorry to bother you,” said Don, thinking it best to make friends with the stray dogs, “but I did not come in here of my own accord. I was—” “Thrown in!” interrupted a little, white poodle dog in one corner of the wagon. “That’s it—you were thrown in—I saw you!” “That is right, I was thrown in,” said Don. “I’d gladly go out, if I could, and make more room for you, but I can’t,” and he looked at the dogs and the tightly closed door. “No, you can’t get out,” growled the yellow dog who had said there would be more room soon. “We’ll just have to crowd up a little closer, that’s all. But we’ll soon have plenty of room to move about.” “You said that before,” spoke the little poodle dog. “How do you know?” [102] “Because I have been there,” was the answer. “I was caught once before, just as I was this time, and taken to the pound. But a boy came and bought me, so I was allowed to go.” I forgot to tell you that sometimes people who want a dog go to the pound, pick one out of those that have been caught, and buy it, taking it away to give it a good home. “I hope some one buys me,” thought Don. “I don’t like this life, living like a tramp, with no good place to sleep, and no nice things to eat.” The wagon rumbled on to the city pound, and there the dogs were allowed to go out, and run about in a yard, all fenced in with wire. There were many other dogs there, little ones and big ones, nice ones, and some that were not so nice. Some of them snarled and barked, and some tried to get out, but could not. “Oh dear!” cried one little poodle dog, whose silken hair showed that he was used to a good home. “Oh dear! I don’t like it here. Oh, stop!” he cried, as a bigger dog tried to bite him. “Here, you let him alone!” growled Don to the big dog. “Why should I let him alone?” asked the big dog, growling and showing his teeth. “Because he’s a friend of mine,” said Don. “Oh, well,” answered the bad dog, “in that[103] case it’s different. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours. Of course I’ll let him alone.” “You’d better,” growled Don. Of course the little dog was not really a friend of Don’s, for he had never seen him before, but Don thought it best to speak that way, for he did not want to see the little dog hurt. And when the bad dog had gone off in a corner of the pound, the little silky poodle, who had been in the same wagon with Don, came up to him, and said: “It was very kind of you to take my part that way. I am very much obliged to you. It was nice to tell him I was your friend,” and he wagged his tail in a friendly fashion. “Oh, that’s all right,” said Don, as he limped to a shady place to lie down. <hr class="chap" /> [104] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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