Nov 1, 1912
Cat Kills a Bulldog
A large Angora cat owned by Mrs. Henry Lindley of Venice, Cal., attacked and killed a full-blooded English bulldog, owned by J. C. Fromeyer, at Venice. Within two minutes the bulldog, bleeding and helpless, fell upon the sand. The cat then leaped upon the dog's head and with claws and teeth severed the animal's jugular vein.
I thought dogs were supposed to chase cats! I'd watch out now...
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
That Poor Dog
Aug 31, 1928
Brownie
Brownie is dead. He wasn't much of a pup, just an ordinary scrub dog, but beloved by Betty Ann of the Pilot household. He never won any prizes at a dog show; he had no fine points. He was just a faithful, affectionate dog.
A few years ago a stray dog, homeless, helpless, probably desperate, feeling the urge of motherhood, crawled under a strange porch and took part in the miracle of creation. There were seven of the offspring, woolly, playful little fellows. It was our porch. It was the first haven that offered. It was a safe haven.
Betty Ann secured good homes for them all. She kept Brownie. In the exuberance of his spirits he chased automobiles and sometimes barked as people passed the house, but he never harmed anyone and was faithful to his mistress.
Some heartless human being poisoned Brownie. When he got the lethal potion he didn't make any fuss about it, he just crawled off by himself and kept quiet while the poison gnawed at his vitals. Dogs are like that. His big liquid brown eyes showed gratitude and appreciation for a friendly word or a pat on the head, but he preferred to be alone with his agony. Then he crawled further into the weeds and died.
If the person who poisoned a harmless and faithful dog and brought grief to the little girl who was his loving mistress can get any satisfaction out of his cowardly act he is welcome to it.
People still do this for no reason. I don't understand why some people are just jerks.
Brownie
Brownie is dead. He wasn't much of a pup, just an ordinary scrub dog, but beloved by Betty Ann of the Pilot household. He never won any prizes at a dog show; he had no fine points. He was just a faithful, affectionate dog.
A few years ago a stray dog, homeless, helpless, probably desperate, feeling the urge of motherhood, crawled under a strange porch and took part in the miracle of creation. There were seven of the offspring, woolly, playful little fellows. It was our porch. It was the first haven that offered. It was a safe haven.
Betty Ann secured good homes for them all. She kept Brownie. In the exuberance of his spirits he chased automobiles and sometimes barked as people passed the house, but he never harmed anyone and was faithful to his mistress.
Some heartless human being poisoned Brownie. When he got the lethal potion he didn't make any fuss about it, he just crawled off by himself and kept quiet while the poison gnawed at his vitals. Dogs are like that. His big liquid brown eyes showed gratitude and appreciation for a friendly word or a pat on the head, but he preferred to be alone with his agony. Then he crawled further into the weeds and died.
If the person who poisoned a harmless and faithful dog and brought grief to the little girl who was his loving mistress can get any satisfaction out of his cowardly act he is welcome to it.
People still do this for no reason. I don't understand why some people are just jerks.
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