The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1877-03-15
MY DOG PICKLE.

LhC 1uCoUlOIA Wcoo pun Wy OIL 1All1FIOluhI
whom | would rather not describe, no
one being SO incompetent a critic of a
personal appearance as it's owner, and
was answered by little dog of doubtful
breed. She-the little dog was of the
unenfranchised sex-was to evidently the
offspring of an ill-sorted match. Her
mamma was a member of the famous
Skye family, and her papa connected by
birth with the black and-tans. Superb
cial judges would have pronounced her
F." the image of her father" but the
learned in points would have detected
traces of the female side of the family in
a moment. Still, to all intents and pur-
poses, she was a black-and-tan terrier
The. undescribed biped, as the reader
has undoubtedly surmised, was the mar
ratOr OF the occurrences Sc hereinafter set
forth, " as the lawyers have it; the fully
described quadruped was my dear little
dog Pickle, the companion of my solitude
on the desert island where [ wrote, my
tellow-fugitive from the haunts of men,
the sharer OF my awful secret.
For ten long years Pickle and / have
lived alone upon this island, which shall
be nameless, latitudeless, and longitude
less. A young and sprightly pup of
some twelve revolving moons when we
landed, age has since told it's tale upon
my little dog. The muzzle, once rich
jet black, is very gray now; the 1.-the
little limbs move more leisurely and
methOdically at my CALL the soft brown
eyes that look up lovingly into mine have
lost the sparkle and the clearness of youth.
My dog is CID and feeble, and [ cannot
disguise from myself the fact that soon,
very soon, we shall be parted by the cru
ell constable who hauls off animals to the
eternal lookup, irrespective of the num-
Der of their legs. And when my poor
little Pickle is dead, I can leave this
lonely place and commence this world
anew-but not till then
Well, if that's all, why couldn't you
kill the dog and come back ?"
Thank you, Mr. Somebody, [ fancied
you'd say that; ten years of isolation
have not made me forget that there are
Cold-hearted rufians in the world
Kill my dog Go and kill your wife,
Slr-the woman who marks your every
gesture with admiration, and worships
you, and thinks there never was man
III all the world like you. Go and kill
your little child, who watches for you from
your going cut to your coming in. who
leaps upon your knee and nestles in
your arms. Confound it, sir go and
destroy every link that binds you to the
past. Sell the letters your mother
wrote you when you were bow at
school to the butterman: throw the
massive old tllrnip that was your fathers
and your grandfathers on to the dust
heap. But, pshaw waste no words
on you A man who would suggest the
butchering Of o faithful beast would do
all these things, and dine with better ap-
petite for the exercise Go you, rather.
and be vivisected in the interests of
science, tell me how it feels, and then I
will tell you why did not kill my dog.
Here don't you read any more of my
story. Put it down at once-you won't
understand it, Kill my dog, indeed
Bow, WOW, wowr'
Go ON, you bad dog [ shall get
angry if | like. Leave off wagging that
silly old tail, do. Look here, Miss
Pickle, if you come and interrupt me
again, I'll III Won Glabenize you,
there p
Ii you had seen my dog Pickle when
| said those words you would have
Jumped instantly to the conclusion-but
perhaps you wouldn't some people are
aWtully dull where animals are con-
cerned. I'd better tell you about it in
the ordinary way.
Firstly, then, you will please under
stand that it is agreed between nv dog
Pickle and myself that it will be q great |
rellet to our feelings If we unburden our
selves OF a secret that Expresses us.
Secondly, living as we do upon desert
island, we run no risk of suffering for
our candor. Thirdly, it is not intended
TO bottle this confession and hurl it into
the sea, after the fashion of the hum
drum catsaway. 1t is written with
island homemade paper, and will be de- /
posted IN a suitable place on the coast. |
50 that, IN the event of my predeceasing
Tickle, the story OF q strange affair may
be LETT ON record, and in the event Of |
Flckle predeceaslng Newell, then / /
may go back to civilization, and keep it |
10 myself. Now for the confession.
Towards the close of a dull November I
day, in the year 1856, young man was
standing, with his back to the fire, in a
small, but well-furnished apartment in
- street. Scattered about upon the
table We're several open and evil-looking
volumes, bearing, as their titles indi-
Gated, upon witchcraft, spiritualism, mes
mer1sm, and various supernatural phe-
nomena. Their appearance showed that
they were frequently and deeply studied. !
Seated on the hearthrug, close to the.
young mans feet, was small black-and-
tan mongrel, very sharp about the muz-
z1e, very bright about the eyes, and very
tremulous about the tail Every now and /
then she looked up into her masters face