The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1877-03-16
MY DOG PICKLE.


"There can't be much harm in doing
it, can there, my doggie ?"
Bow, wow, WOW
The question was put by an individual
whom / would rather not describe, no
one being SO incompetent critic of
personal appearance as its owner, and
was answered by little dog of doubtful
breed. She-the little dog was of the
uneniranchised sex-was to evidently the
offspring of an ill-sorted match. Her
mamma was n member of the famous
Skye family, and her papa connected by
birth with the black-and- tans. Superb
cial judges would have pronounced her
"the image of her father" but the
learned i'll points would have detected
traces of the female side of the family in
moment. Still, to all intents and pur-
poses, she was blacA-and-tan terrier.
The undescribed biped, as the reader
has undoubtedly srlrmised, was the mar
rator of the occurrences g 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
fellow-fugitive from the haunts of men,
the Snafef 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 its 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 ut my call; the soft brown
eyes that look up lovingly into mine have
lost the sparkle and the clearness of youth.
My dog is old and feeble, and / cannot
disguise from myself the fact that soon,
very soon, we shall be parted 10y 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, / 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-heartad rufiians i'll the world.
Kill my dog Go and kill your wife,
sr-the woman who marks your every
gesture with admiration, and worships
you, and thinks there never was man
in all the world like you. Go and kill
your little child, who watches for you from
your going ont 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 boy mt
school to the butterman throw the
massive old turnip 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 Il faithful beast would do
all these things, and dine with better APP
petite for the exercise Go you, rather,
and be vivisected in the interests of
science, tell me how it feels, and then |
will tell you why | did not kill my dog.
Here don't you read any more of my
.story. Put it down mt once-you won't
understand it. Kill my dog, indeed
"Bow, WOW, WOW -
eco ON, you bad dog / shall get
angry if 1 like. Leave off wagging that
silly old tail, do. Look here, Miss
Pickle, if you come and interrupt me
again, Tll-Ill Won Glabenize you,
there !"
If you had seen my dog Pickle when
l said those words you would have
jumped instantly to the conclusion-but
perhaps You wouldn't; some people are
awfully 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 my dog
Pickle and myself that it will be great
irelief to our feelings if we unburden our
selves of a secret that Expresses us.
Secondly, living MS 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 he de-
posted in suitable place on the coast,
80 that, in the event of my predeceasing
Pickle, the story of q strange affair may
be left on record and in the event. of
Pickle predeceasing Newell, then /
may go back to civilization, and keep it
10 myself. Now for the confession.
Towards the close of dull November
day, in the year 1856, young man was
standing, with his back to the fire, in
small, but well-furnished apartment in
= street. Scattered about upon the
table were several open and evil-looking
volumes, bearing, as their titles indi-
Gated, upon witchcraft, spiritualism, mes
merism, 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-
zle. very bright about the eyes, and very
tremulous about the tail. Every now and
then she looked up into her masters face
with that look of wistful wonder so COM
mon to the canine features, giving at the