"Bobtail Dixie" by Abbie N. Smith. My grandmother owned this book. My grandmother lived next door, and I spent a lot of time with her. I cannot really remember reading this book at her house. I remember reading other books there, such as "Dandie: The Tale of the Yellow Cat" and "The Sunbonnet Babies Trip to Italy." This book now sits on our bookshelves.
Bobtail Dixie is a dog, owned by Preacher Smith and his family. I have a copy of the 4th edition, copyrighted in 1901 by Abbey Press and 1902 by the authoress. The story is in first person and told from the dog's perspective. It is an interesting child's book, filled with photographs that act as illustrations, in addition to drawings.
Following the Table of Contents is the dedication: "To my nephews and nieces, this book is affectionately dedicated by the Author." Chapter I is preambled by this question: "Every dog has his day, why not I?"
I have copied the first chapter of this charming little book. Enjoy!
Chapter I.
WHEN I WAS A PUPPY.
First, you will want to know who I am and what I look like. As far as I know, from glimpses I have caught of myself while drinking from a shiny tin basin, I am a little dog, white in color, except a dark brown mark over my right ear and eye; my eyes seem to match in color the brown on my ear, and I do not seem to have a tail worthy of mention.
I was born "way down South in Dixie," on a farm, near Houston. Texas. My master's name was Smith; perhaps you have heard the name before, as they say there are a great many Smiths in the world; but I am very sure that not one of them is quite as nice and good as my master Roy. When a little boy, Roy was a great favorite of his grandfather, who loved animals and was kind to them, so perhaps that is the reason my master has always been kind and good to them, too.
Roy owned several other dogs besides myself, and we did have such good times running around and playing on the farm. One of our duties was to make some pigs stay where they belonged, and as there were no fences on our farm, we sometimes had great sport chasing the pigs out of the yard and garden. It was funnier for us than for them, as we sometimes pulled their ear to teach them to stay at home. Roy's grandfather said it reminded him of the way teachers used to pull the ears of unruly pupils in school.
Our home was so happy I wanted to stay there always, but could not, as you will see. It happened this way: an uncle of my master came to visit him, and Roy, who was very proud of us, showed us to the gentleman.
"I have two little cousins, living up North, and I would like to send them a present; how do you think they would like one of my dogs?" I heard master say as I listened to their conversation.
I was greatly interested, and listened eagerly for his answer. I heard the uncle say he was sure nothing would please them more, and as he and his wife were soon going to visit them, he would gladly take them a dog. This excited me still more, and I thought, "Can it be they will select me?" On second thought, I was sure there were handsomer and nicer dogs than I on the farm, though I am proud to say I am not a mongrel, but a real aristocratic dog. I thought it would be a fine thing to go away and see more of the world, and I wanted to see those little children. But I soon thought how I should miss the other dogs, even though we did not always agree, and sometimes grieved our kind master, who reproved us for quarreling.
As I was one of the smallest dogs, I usually came out of a fight feeling very humble, and sometimes looking pretty rough. But that is an unpleasant subject to me, so I will drop it.
They took some time to decide which dog to take, looking us over very carefully several times. Then they looked at me again, and my master said,"This is a cute little fellow and I believe I will send him, although I shall miss him."
I was glad and sorry, too; but it did not seem to make much difference how I felt about the matter, for I was no consulted int eh least, thought it was to make such a difference in my life.
I forgot to tell you that I was to be a Christmas present. They knew Master Roy was to send them something, but had no idea it would be alive; probably thought it would be a drum or a doll; they surely did not think a little dog would go so far to see any one.
At this time I was only three months old, but you know dogs know a great deal more than babies do at that age, at least they are not so helpless; for while babies cannot even creep, dogs can run real fast. I will confess, though, that when babies do walk they walk on two legs, which the oldest and wisest of dogs cannot do, unless they are what are called trained dogs; and between you and me they do not like it, and never do it except when compelled to do so by their master, and then they drop down and walk on four legs just as soon as they dare. They are not comfortable at all walking on two legs. Some trained dogs are even dressed up like folks and try to act like them - the "Snyder Family," for instance, who, with their master, travel about giving exhibitions. Roy took me to see them one day, and bought one of their pictures. Would you like to see it?
Isn't it an adorable photo? I wonder if the child this book was given to enjoyed the story and smiled at the pictures. My grandmother's copy has a little message written on the first page: Miss Ruth Walters Xmas
From Uncle Jim. It was a sweet note.
April update coming soon!
Bobtail Dixie is a dog, owned by Preacher Smith and his family. I have a copy of the 4th edition, copyrighted in 1901 by Abbey Press and 1902 by the authoress. The story is in first person and told from the dog's perspective. It is an interesting child's book, filled with photographs that act as illustrations, in addition to drawings.
Following the Table of Contents is the dedication: "To my nephews and nieces, this book is affectionately dedicated by the Author." Chapter I is preambled by this question: "Every dog has his day, why not I?"
I have copied the first chapter of this charming little book. Enjoy!
Chapter I.
WHEN I WAS A PUPPY.
First, you will want to know who I am and what I look like. As far as I know, from glimpses I have caught of myself while drinking from a shiny tin basin, I am a little dog, white in color, except a dark brown mark over my right ear and eye; my eyes seem to match in color the brown on my ear, and I do not seem to have a tail worthy of mention.
I was born "way down South in Dixie," on a farm, near Houston. Texas. My master's name was Smith; perhaps you have heard the name before, as they say there are a great many Smiths in the world; but I am very sure that not one of them is quite as nice and good as my master Roy. When a little boy, Roy was a great favorite of his grandfather, who loved animals and was kind to them, so perhaps that is the reason my master has always been kind and good to them, too.
Roy owned several other dogs besides myself, and we did have such good times running around and playing on the farm. One of our duties was to make some pigs stay where they belonged, and as there were no fences on our farm, we sometimes had great sport chasing the pigs out of the yard and garden. It was funnier for us than for them, as we sometimes pulled their ear to teach them to stay at home. Roy's grandfather said it reminded him of the way teachers used to pull the ears of unruly pupils in school.
Our home was so happy I wanted to stay there always, but could not, as you will see. It happened this way: an uncle of my master came to visit him, and Roy, who was very proud of us, showed us to the gentleman.
"I have two little cousins, living up North, and I would like to send them a present; how do you think they would like one of my dogs?" I heard master say as I listened to their conversation.
I was greatly interested, and listened eagerly for his answer. I heard the uncle say he was sure nothing would please them more, and as he and his wife were soon going to visit them, he would gladly take them a dog. This excited me still more, and I thought, "Can it be they will select me?" On second thought, I was sure there were handsomer and nicer dogs than I on the farm, though I am proud to say I am not a mongrel, but a real aristocratic dog. I thought it would be a fine thing to go away and see more of the world, and I wanted to see those little children. But I soon thought how I should miss the other dogs, even though we did not always agree, and sometimes grieved our kind master, who reproved us for quarreling.
As I was one of the smallest dogs, I usually came out of a fight feeling very humble, and sometimes looking pretty rough. But that is an unpleasant subject to me, so I will drop it.
They took some time to decide which dog to take, looking us over very carefully several times. Then they looked at me again, and my master said,"This is a cute little fellow and I believe I will send him, although I shall miss him."
I was glad and sorry, too; but it did not seem to make much difference how I felt about the matter, for I was no consulted int eh least, thought it was to make such a difference in my life.
I forgot to tell you that I was to be a Christmas present. They knew Master Roy was to send them something, but had no idea it would be alive; probably thought it would be a drum or a doll; they surely did not think a little dog would go so far to see any one.
At this time I was only three months old, but you know dogs know a great deal more than babies do at that age, at least they are not so helpless; for while babies cannot even creep, dogs can run real fast. I will confess, though, that when babies do walk they walk on two legs, which the oldest and wisest of dogs cannot do, unless they are what are called trained dogs; and between you and me they do not like it, and never do it except when compelled to do so by their master, and then they drop down and walk on four legs just as soon as they dare. They are not comfortable at all walking on two legs. Some trained dogs are even dressed up like folks and try to act like them - the "Snyder Family," for instance, who, with their master, travel about giving exhibitions. Roy took me to see them one day, and bought one of their pictures. Would you like to see it?
Isn't it an adorable photo? I wonder if the child this book was given to enjoyed the story and smiled at the pictures. My grandmother's copy has a little message written on the first page: Miss Ruth Walters Xmas
From Uncle Jim. It was a sweet note.
April update coming soon!
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