Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-11-19
A PRAlRIE-DoG sToRE
Dcplorable Results of an Effort to Eama
 These Peculiar Creal lures

"Did you ever see prairie-dog?'' asked a countryrnan of the Chicago I{al
 ''Only those in the park. Nhye"
 "Well, l was just thinking of a boyhoca
 scene i, which the cunning little prairie.
 dog was very prominent figure.
 "Who., I was a little boy my father
 moved from H.sosierdom over upon a broad and blooming pralrie in Illinois. That prai rie, stretching as far as the eye could see to the north and west, was one vast garden l of flowers from April to November There | must have been q hundred varieties of wild | blooming plants, ranging from the loNly | strawberry, with it's white blossoms, to the gaudy, famboyant wild marigold, whose oriental splendots gave vivid color to miles | and miles of undulating plain
 "But this by tho way. I started to speak | of the prairie-dogs. The flowers were scarcely more numerous than they. You
 might ride for miles along path fianked on | either side by their villages, which were | seldom more than a few rods apart. These villages, always on some little knoll. were | populous. The horsenlan who approached i one of them would see a sentinel sitting | gravely motionleSs at the door of every bur- TOW. One could scarcely tell these sentries | from bits of wood, so still and straight were 1 they, so much a part in seeming of tho great, silent landscape.
 "But even if there was case of now you see it and now you dont,' those little sen- 1 tinel prairie dogs offer the traveller a Strils- ing example. lie sees them there silent and impressive as the sentries Of Pompeii and wonders what they will do when he gets closer. He keeps his eye fixed on two ! or three of them and unconsciousiy checks | his horse, so that the chatter of hoofs may | not startte them. He is within fifty, thirty, l twenty paces, when-lo, the sentries are gone! He has not seen them go. The earth 1 has swallowed them. He rubs his eyes and l rides On,Wondering if it were all an illusion. | He looks back to assure himself, when-lo! | the SentrieS are there-aS still and Statu- l esdue as before.
 "Cne time my father trapped four or five
 Of them. don't know how he managed it;
 I've forgotten that. I think they must have | been young and foolish, like baby rats
 which venture where their pa and ma would
 never go. My father brought them home,
 and we children hugged ourselves in de- | light as We fancied them as pretty pets like squirrels or white rabbits. \ cage was | quickly fitted up: the captives were placed
 in 1t and surrounded by all the dainties which
 we fanced could tempt them to forget their
 captivity. O.,r parents kept us away from the cage.as the littIe strangers regarded us with
 q terror which thny did not attempt to con-
 ceal. But we went to place more food be-
 fore them the neXt morning. The food pre- | yiolsly provided had not been touched The little prisoners sat Wcarily on their launches | in the dark eZtr2ritv of their cell. Childish | curiosity was rcpressed till the second l morning. when tho cage was again visited. | The captiyes sat in the samc position, and
 no morscl of the varic1 bill of fare with
 which we had designed to tempt them had | been touched. The water was und min
 ished in the bowl. Anot her day passed, the
 third morning came, and we ran out to sec
 our pets. The sight that met our eyes
 shall never forget. In thelr hunger and
 despair the poor captivcs had eaten their
 own feet. The bloody stumps were a sad
 and slckcning reproof of our cruelty in de-
 priving the children of the prairie of their
 wild. sweet liberty. We felt it, children as
 we were, and silently. almost in tears we
 opened the prison door and slipped away to
 give the captIves opportunity to escape
 But it was too late With their feet gnawed
 of up almost to th.ir little bodies, they
 could scarcely moro than drag themselves
 out, and creep away Into the grass, where
 thpJ- sOD5, :,TTn,. died =