by Felix Salten
By this time the truck had roared over Renni, and on past, leaving behind a cloud of dust and bluish smoke.
Renni lay flat on the ground, not moving a limb. He was alive! He had not the slightest wound! He was only paralyzed by fright. That was why he dared not make a move. He had lain between the crushing wheels while sudden darkness, crashing and roaring, broke over him, passed in the twinkle of an eye and then vanished, leaving the bright friendly sunshine again.
When George rushed to him and found him safe and sound, picked him up and felt him all over, he could not believe that Renni had escaped whole from certain death, that nothing at all had happened to him. Like a man possessed he pressed the puppy close, hugging the chubby warm body to him, stammering words of endearment mingled with threats and warnings. At last he came back to the garden with his clothes soiled, his hands dirty, but with an inexpressibly happy expression on his face. He closed the garden gate with a bang. Put down in the grass, Renni came to and performed a dance of joy around George. In his gaiety he ran over Kitty and sent her rolling. Kitty was ready enough to play with Renni, but she had to sneeze every time she came near him, for he smelled of street dust and burnt gasoline.
From that day on George redoubled the care with which he watched over Renni. He screwed a spring latch onto the garden gate so that it sprang shut whenever a delivery man or anyone else went in or out.
Renni was growing larger and larger. He could no longer be called a puppy, except as a pet name. He still had all the signs of puppyhood in his looks, his awkwardness and clumsiness, but he was no longer a pup. There was no way to tell whether he remembered the adventure in which he had almost lost his life. George declared that Renni was cured once and for all, that he would dodge any automobile and would be careful to keep off the highway. Mother Marie laughed. “Then why did you put the automatic lock on the garden gate?” she asked.
“To keep him from running around in the fields by himself,” said George in self-defence.
The relations between master and dog became closer and more intimate from day to day. According to George, Renni realised that George owned him. As a matter of fact, Renni was firmly convinced that George was his personal property.
If George was gone for a few hours Renni might condescend to frolic with Kitty, who was always challenging him, but in a little while he would refuse to be tempted further and would lie waiting in front of the house door or peeping out the garden gate, with his big sharp ears pricked up. Those ears were very expressive. If he had to wait too long he would give vent to an impatient whine and then lapse into his silent waiting. Once again longing would overcome him. He would lift his beautiful head and a soft, wailing howl would come from his rounded lips in long-drawn-out, high-pitched tones. They seemed to say, “Where is he? Why doesn’t he come? Won’t I ever see him again?” Renni’s song of mourning voiced every imaginable complaint.
But he knew when George was coming, a long way off. Before he came into sight, before his steps could be heard by human ears, Renni’s eager tail would be thumping the ground loudly, he would be getting up to greet his master with an outburst of joy. He would spring up on George as high as he could, try to kiss him, dash around like a whirlwind, come back to him again and again, and would not begin to calm down until he had been praised and petted extravagantly. As long as this dance of joy went on, nothing and nobody existed except George—not Kitty or Mother Marie, or a bite of his favourite food, or furniture or rugs or anything. He upset chairs, rolled over and over, pulled at a rug until it wrapped itself around his legs and threw him down. When he knocked dishes clattering around him they did not scare him or lessen his joyous madness in the least degree.
Later on Renni fell into the habit of getting hold of some piece of George’s clothing—a cap, a shirt, a neckerchief; anything he could snatch up in a hurry he would take and stretch out on it just as though he had George safe forever, and now George could never leave him again. Anyone listening then could hear deep, soft, sighing breaths of joy and peace. As soon as George became aware of this habit he cut short the ceremony of greeting by throwing Renni something of his, and Renni was immediately satisfied.
Chapter III
ABOUT THIS TIME A SORT of crisis arose between master and dog. Renni set his will against George’s. Neither had the least suspicion what was going on. Olga was the cause of it all. Olga was a pretty, flashily dressed girl whom George met in one of the city parks and found very attractive.
From the very beginning Renni took a strong dislike to her. Gay, jolly, full of fun, apparently harmless, ready for everything, the girl set her cap for George. Naturally the dog had not the slightest idea of that, but in some instinctive way he felt her insincerity and simply could not stand her.
It happened this way. George had begun to take Renni with him when he went walking in the city. That was when Renni was about seven months old. “There’s no need for him to have to wait for me,” thought George. “I’ll take him along and let him get used to me, let him learn to behave himself out in the world.”
His mother suggested that George might learn something from it, too.
“Certainly,” agreed George. He would always agree to anything reasonable. He had a great deal of sound sense and Mother Marie never said anything unreasonable. So they got along very nicely.
George led Renni by a leather leash, talked to him all the time and helped him out of the confusion and fear of the heavy traffic in the street. He took him on the street car, praised and petted him when Renni at first crept fearfully into a corner of the platform. “Now, now, that’s right! That’s your place! Good boy! You’re learning.” People looked scornfully or smiled in friendly fashion according to the kind of people they were. George paid as little attention to them as Renni did to those who petted him. He kept his eye solely on his master.
When they reached open country George unsnapped the leash and turned the dog loose. Renni ran in wide joyful circles, galloping happily over the meadows, or rummaged about, his nose to the ground in obedience to some hunting impulse awake in him. If George called him he would stop instantly, dash up in wild career and act as overjoyed as though he had just discovered his master and was charmed to find him again after being away ever so long. Sometimes he would pay no heed to call or whistle, assume an air of independence, behave like a complete stranger. George put up with these whims, waited for them to end. He never thought of punishing the dog, but greeted him in all friendliness when he came up wagging his tail. Mother Marie was a good prophet when she said George too would learn from these trips together. George practised patience and came to know the dog better and better.
Most of the time Renni had his tongue out of his open mouth, sometimes because he was tired, sometimes because he was excited. He was often tired and often excited. He was panting nearly all the time.
Renni had several little adventures and encounters with strange dogs. On the street when he was on the short leash they seldom spoke to him, though George did not object to friendly meetings if they amounted only to the long ceremony of mutual sniffing. If a strange dog challenged to a fight, George would shorten the leash and say, “Come, Renni,” and Renni would come at once. George took good care not to seem hostile toward the strange dog or try to drive him away. If he had it would only have excited Renni to attack and the battle would have been on. George wanted to keep Renni from becoming quarrelsome. If a stranger was especially stubborn, George had only to stoop down quickly and the troublemaker would scamper off as fast as he could for fear George would throw a stone at him.
When they came to a park George would sit down on a bench so Renni would have a chance to rest. Usually the dog would stretch out at his master’s feet, yawn, pant a little and finally go to sleep. When he awakened no longer tired he overwhelmed George with demonstrations of affection. Often Renni set out quietly but wholeheartedly to climb George. He would stretch his forepaws up onto George’s knee, and with great difficulty drag his hind legs up after
them, and not be satisfied until he lay in George’s lap. To be sure, he was three times too big for a lap dog. He covered George’s lap completely and hung over in places. Not to mention that he got his long-suffering master’s clothes into terrible shape.
Once it happened that a wire-haired fox terrier caught a whiff of Renni as he lay sleeping in the park, woke him up and challenged him. It was hard to tell whether it was a challenge to play or to fight. The fox terrier, not in the least embarrassed by George’s presence, soon grew bold. He kept barking and even thrust his muzzle into Renni’s flanks. Renni made no sound, just showed his teeth. The terrier was not to be bluffed. He was a brave little fellow and he snapped at Renni. Then George eased up on the leash. Renni shot to his feet and in a second the surprised little dog was wriggling between his paws. When Renni dropped him he fell to the ground and flew away as if bewitched. Renni at once lay down calmly at his master’s feet. His expression seemed to say plainly enough, “That’s that.”
Several weeks passed before George and Renni went to the park again. This was the day Miss Olga put in an appearance. She came slowly along under the green shadows of the trees, very jaunty and assured. There were plenty of empty benches, but Olga picked out the one where George was sitting. Possibly the wide linden tree that shaded it influenced Olga in her choice; just possibly she had other motives. She took a seat, nodded—an uppish, scarcely perceptible nod—as if she wished to be left strictly alone.
Yet she was not really calm. She was forever picking and pulling at her clothes, at the sleeve of her blouse, at the wrinkles in her skirt, at her straw hat. Anyone observing her coolly could have seen how vain she was, and yet how unsure of herself. But George noticed nothing of the sort. He gazed at Olga attentively but by no means coolly. He liked her looks.
Renni had got up to sniff at Olga. She drove him away with an ill-natured gesture, and George put him in his place more sternly than usual. He lay down again as if it didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry my dog . . . ” stammered George.
Olga murmured, “Please don’t mention it.”
There the conversation lagged for a while. In a few moments she took a compact from her bag, unsnapped the tiny mirror, powdered her face and used her lipstick. Meanwhile her handbag fell to the ground. Of course it may have slipped down accidentally. Just possibly it had been given a little push. At any rate George hailed it as a bit of good fortune, picked it up quickly and started to hand it to its owner.
“Oh, thank you so much,” said. Olga, now very friendly. “Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to hold it till I get through. Otherwise you might have to pick it up again.” Her laugh did not ring quite true. It sounded rehearsed. But it enchanted poor George. Only Renni seemed to catch its insincerity.
That was the beginning of the silent struggle between Olga and Renni. From then on George met Olga almost daily in the park. She was his first girl, and in his eyes could do no wrong. Olga knew from the start what she wanted, and she soon realized George’s feeling about animals. If she did not share it, at least she was smart enough to make an honest effort to make Renni like her. It wasn’t her fault that she failed. Once she tried to pet him. Renni avoided her hand. When she repeated the attempt, he raised his lips, showed his gleaming fangs and growled softly.
She had failed with Renni, but not with George. More and more he became her devoted slave. Such a state of affairs could not be kept long from Mother Marie. One day she asked him abruptly, “Have you got a girl?” Her eyes were laughing.
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad,” said Mother Marie. George threw his arms around her neck, and then rushed out of the room.
It was not mentioned again by either of them until a night some weeks later when they were sitting up late talking. George sighed deeply.
“Renni’s been acting queer here lately,” he said.
“Queer?”
“He doesn’t like Olga.”
Now the whole story had to come out. Renni hadn’t been cross, but he made his dislike quite evident.
“What do you think, Mother? Isn’t that hard to understand?”
She smiled in a peculiar way.
“I do not find it the least hard to understand, my dear boy. You’ll simply have to find another girl.”
“Another girl! There isn’t any other.”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“On Renni’s account?”
“Certainly.”
“Why? Because he happens to be jealous?”
“Nonsense. Renni isn’t jealous. He just happens to be right, you know. That’s the reason.”
“Why, Mother, do you really, seriously want me to do what Renni thinks best? Give up a splendid girl like that for the sake of a dog?”
“You’re in love. You couldn’t possibly be unprejudiced.”
“Do you actually think Renni has better judgment than I have?”
“No. But his intuition, his instinct, is sure.”
“Now, see here, Mother. I was guided by my own instinct. Otherwise, I’d hardly have fallen in love.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, son. A mere attraction made up your mind for you. But let’s not try to settle it by arguing. We’d never get anywhere that way. I’ll tell you what to do. Bring Miss Olga to see me.”
“Oh, Mother, that’s what I meant to do anyway. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me. All I want is to meet her.”
“All right. That’s settled. I’ll ask only one thing of you. Don’t be prejudiced against Olga.”
His mother interrupted him, laughing.
“Which side do you really think I’m on, son—the dog’s or yours?”
George fell silent. He was a bit ashamed.
The very next day he brought Olga home with him. As usual Renni paid no attention to her, and his greeting to his master was much shorter and less cordial than usual. Then he went and lay down in his usual place.
Olga came in radiant, perfectly certain she would carry all before her. She looked everything over with bright eyes that missed nothing. She felt very near her goal. In the sitting-room Mother Marie bade her welcome with utmost friendliness. Again her sharp eyes made a swift but searching survey of the room, and again she liked all she saw. She thought it would be an easy thing to win the mother over.
But it wasn’t easy at all. The two women were too opposite in their natures. Even George soon began to feel the great contrast between his mother’s frankness and Olga’s artificiality. Beside his mother’s clear, sweet face, Olga’s painted features were almost painful to him. And her words made him feel that they too were, so to speak, painted. When he heard his mother talk so naturally and with such a sincere ring in her voice, he was uncomfortable. He wriggled in his chair and soon stopped talking. The conversation limped again and again.
Gradually Olga lost her assurance. This may have been why she did not try to control herself when Kitty appeared, but gave a little shriek of disgust.
“Phew! A cat!”
Mother Marie hugged the little thing and asked innocently, “Don’t you like our Kitty?”
“No,” confessed Olga quickly and without considering. “I do not like cats. They’re all treacherous.”
At that moment George knew he was done with Olga. Renni growled softly. Olga realised her mistake, but she was past caring now, so she let herself go.
“I can’t understand at all,” she said in the tone of a schoolteacher, “how anybody could stand having one of these spiteful creatures in the house. I never will understand it.”
It was the only sincere thing Olga had said, but it was a declaration of war on Mother Marie.
Smiling and conciliatory, she answered, “There are many people who think just as you do, Miss Olga. I know that well enough. But nothing can be done for us others. We’re just that foolish.”
George took Olga home in a taxi. As soon as she was alone with him, she regained all her self-confidence. She counted on her hold over him. Th
is young man was her private property, she thought. Oh, she was certain of success. Now she’d triumph over that old woman.
“Darling,” she whispered, “when we’re married, your mother will live somewhere else, of course. You know, sweetheart, a mother-in-law in the house—it never works.”
She kissed him. “You surely won’t expect that of me. You know I could never stand it, though I’d stand almost anything for you.”
She realised she had lost when George loosened her arms and said earnestly, “I shall never be separated from my mother.”
But even then she would not give up.
“Is that so? Then you’ll have to be separated from me.”
He said nothing.
Her tearful reproach, “You don’t love me,” fell flat because anger dried her tears and because he had a ready answer.
“After what you have just asked, I think it’s you who don’t love me.”
It did not take them long to part. Olga was spiteful, George sad.
Olga comforted herself. She thought, “He’ll come back all right. He’ll have to swallow his words. This can’t possibly be the end. I know he won’t hold out against me.”
But George did hold out. Going home that evening, he felt deeply hurt. His mother said nothing. She saw what had happened and did not need to speak of it. George, too, had nothing to say.
Again George began to take long walks with the dog, lonely wanderings in the open fields.
After a few days a letter came. Mother Marie handed it over to her son. He opened it, glanced at it, hastily crumpled it up and threw it into the waste basket.
“From Olga,” he said wearily.
Nothing more was said. It was the last time they mentioned her name. Mother Marie stroked the dog with a special tenderness. She had known all the time that Renni would win.
