The Newark star and Newark advertiser. [volume] (Newark, N.J.) 1909-1909, 1909-05-01
Go to the Dog ShoqU and You VII See
Just Hou Bue-blooded Kl-yf's Can Be
Every One OF Them Had an An
cestor That Used to Be the Pet
of the Mayfower Crew.

eyes harden. The blue ribbon Is be-
slowed. One eeuntenance clears, while
the lin of another quiyers. The red
libbon goes to the duiyering up, wnlie
lone mar gets the other. Red rib
ran goes ovsr to her friends, her Rome-
rsilian peeping out indifferently from
mder her arm.
1T isn't fair, that's all have to say.
The idea. AS IL anyone couldn't see
which was the better of the two. OF
course, l won't say anything, but u
seems dreadful that there is not MORE
of a spirit Of fairness in a contest like
Ills. Did ums little booty Diet cheated
of a blue ribbon? Poor, little sing.
Never mind. we have our opinion of
horrid old judges, haven't Really.
now. do you think that was a fair de-
%cision? Why, my dog
rover OF BABEL,
Again you move on. past a little
girl, who is weeping copiously because
her daddy's bull only got a third. In
another ring the Boston terriers are be-
ing put through their PAGES. and little
beauties they are, every one. Here you
get into the spirit of things, and when
the judge decides you, too, feel like
saving ''coises.-' And that, l might add,
is the general spirit Of the show. Every
n thinks his own canine the superior
of all the rest. Egotism here, there and
everywhere.
The Tower OF Babel is peace itself
compared to the tumult when the Irish
terriers are led into the ring. Their
one ambition seems to be to eat each
other. An unwary pup ventures too
near another, only to get a sharp nip
as a reminder. A howl goes heaven
ward IS he hops out of reach.
1t is growing very late. You push
your way through the exhibitors and
exhibitories, and after a brief inspec-
tipn of the little toy dogs, including
two tiny chihuahuas-that's really the
way to spell it-that weigh only two
and one-half pounds each, you find
yourself in a place of wonderful, all
embracing quiet, the street,
The Purp Doesn't Care,
on The curb, with one ear up and
the other hanging forlornly over his
eye, with impudenee written in every
line of his complex figure, sits a
mongrel ''purp." Not a whit cares he
for the blue-bloods inside. What are
their joys to his? They know nothing
OF the delights Of being tossed a bone
by a soft -hearted hucfler or housewife;
the knawing of ii until one grows
weary and the hiding of it in a secret
place. where only one's very own nose
can ferret it out.
What do they know of the wonderful
remps with a collection of street
urchins; the joys Of barking at the
heels OF friendly horses, or the exquisite
bliss of being taken to the heart OF
some sympathetic little girl, who per
haps has lost her own deal doggie?
Who would want to be a pampered
blue blood, showing off at the end of a
silver chain, with summer coming and
the whole world aglow with life? What
is a dog-cake. no matter how dainty.
to a good old one you've cherished
for ten days. digging 1t up and putting
it back?
Hello, You Purp.
No wonder the mongrel "purp' looks
i~mpudently happy. He is a philosopher,
is that yaller dog. The secret of the
Joy of living Is his. To him each day
is a wonder-day, and If he could ne
would not change with his "aristo-
cratic superior, to whom life is only
cushions, company. kisses and an over
abundance OF square meals.
Hello, purp,'' say you, as you wait
for your car, and he capers joyously.
He'd catch your skirt for a good old
tug-of-war 1.-THE thought you'd let him.
But your car and he Wags q
joyous farewell. Happy little vaga-
bond he.