“Talking?” cried Willie in surprise.
“Why, certainly,” said Professor Petit. “Sancho, come here, my boy.”
The black shaggy dog with the curly tail detached himself reluctantly from the breakfast pan and trotted up to his master. Professor Petit put his hand gently on Sancho’s throat, and said, “Speak, boy! Speak!”
“How are you, my friend?” said the dog, or so it certainly sounded to Willie.
“Very good,” said the professor. “Now finish your breakfast, boy.” The dog wagged his tail and returned to the pan of food.
Willie was openmouthed with astonishment. He forgot to eat. He could hardly speak for wonder and surprise. But Professor Petit went on with his story, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
“Hoskins has nothing to compare with that,” he said. “He trains his animals with fear and not with kindness. It is impolite for me to speak ill of a rival, but the truth compels me to say that Hulk Hoskins is a cruel and dishonest man. At first we had nothing to fear from him, for his show was decidedly inferior to ours. And then last winter in some way that I do not know about, he was able to secure a tiger for his show. Have you ever seen a tiger, my boy?”
“No,” Willie said, “that’s why I wanted to go to Hoskins’s Circus, to see a real, live tiger.”
“Exactly,” said Professor Petit. “To see a real, live tiger! Everyone wants to see the tiger. Hoskins had all of these beautiful posters printed with colored pictures of the tiger. He sent them to all of the postmasters in the region and asked to have them posted on the town walls. Now people are only interested in seeing tigers. They say to themselves that anybody can see dogs. Every town is full of dogs. The people will not pay out their money to look at dogs, when, by waiting a few days, they can see a tiger. It is too bad, but our business has been completely ruined. We play to empty seats. I don’t mind telling you that this is the last good meal we are likely to have, unless something can be done. And you say that Hoskins’s Circus is coming to your town, too? How soon?”
“In just a few days,” said Willie. “On Saturday, I believe.”
“Then we are finished,” said Professor Petit. “I thought that by coming here to this rural region, I might get away from Hoskins and his tiger. But I seem to have run directly into his path.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” asked Willie. “A talking dog now—that’s really something!”
“We can only go on as we have been doing,” said Professor Petit, “giving honest entertainment and hoping for the best. If times are bad, we go a little hungry. The pony can always eat grass by the wayside, but the dogs and I must have meat and porridge. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always give up showing my dogs and go to work for a farmer to earn our living.”
“But couldn’t the dogs hunt?” asked Willie. “If they could catch rabbits and squirrels, they’d get enough to eat.”
“I have thought of that,” said Professor Petit. “Liddy, the fox terrier, is very good at catching rats and mice. But rats and mice are destructive creatures whereas rabbits and squirrels are generally good and gentle animals. My dogs have been highly educated. I think it would be disagreeable to them to live by killing their fellow creatures.”
“Rats and mice,” said Willie thoughtfully. “The miller could use—”
“Of course,” said Professor Petit sadly, “one learns to overcome his scruples in a hard world, I find. But it would break my heart to see my highly trained dogs wasting their education by returning to a state of savagery.”
The thought of the miller had reminded Willie that he had better hurry back to Puddling Center. But it was very hard to tear himself away.
The dogs had polished off the last morsel of food in their pan, and they came and stood around Professor Petit as if they would enjoy eating a little more.
“I’m sorry, my friends,” said Professor Petit. “At present there is no more, but have courage, for perhaps today our fortunes may take a better turn.”
Willie was sorry that he had eaten any part of the breakfast now that he knew it to be their last. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a couple of shillings.
“I would like you to have these, sir, to buy food for the dogs. My trouble is just the opposite from yours. For you have education and no work or money, whilst I have a little money and so much work that I don’t find any time to go to school and get an education.”
“How strange!” said Professor Petit. “But, my dear lad, I cannot accept your money unless you will let us give you a show.”
At the word “show,” the dogs began to leap about and bark. The largest dog, whose name was Prince, ran to the clothesline, and, jumping up, caught it in his teeth and shook it, so that all of the strange and brightly colored garments fell onto the grass. Each dog ran and caught up a jacket or a pair of trousers in his mouth. They crowded around Professor Petit, wagging their tails and begging to begin.
Professor Petit put on his scarlet coat and helped the five dogs into their costumes. Willie had never seen such an amazing sight in his life.
Sancho, the black, shaggy dog with the curly tail, wore a scarlet jacket and yellow trousers. Prince, the large brindle boxer, wore orange and green. Grushenka, who was also a boxer, but smaller than Prince and of a beautiful fawn color, wore a light-blue jacket and a ballerina skirt. Liddy, the fox terrier, also wore a ballerina skirt and a little purple jacket with a plumed bonnet on her head. Her sharp, pointed nose stuck out of the bonnet in a very comical way. The fifth dog, Tip, was the one who had pulled Willie’s handkerchief out of his pocket. He was very short in the legs and long in the body. He was yellow with a black spot over one eye and a black tip on the end of his tail. He wore a clown suit with a ruffle about his neck. The dunce cap seemed to belong to him.
Willie sat on the grass beside the caravan and watched the highly trained dogs of Professor Petit perform their tricks.
Professor Petit did not use a whip, but only spoke to his dogs in a reasonable tone of voice, and they seemed to delight in giving a performance.
In several numbers the dogs all performed together. Standing on their hind legs, they waltzed in couples to a tune which the professor played on a jaw harp. Liddy and Sancho waltzed together, and so did the two boxers. Then they sat on their hind legs and sang together to the professor’s music. Willie realized that the sound he had heard coming from the caravan earlier in the morning had been a rehearsal for their singing.
Each dog, however, had his or her own special skill. Prince was very strong. He could carry Liddy in a basket in his mouth. He could parade on his hind legs with a wooden gun on his shoulder. He could jump over hurdles or a stick held as high as the professor’s head.
Grushenka was clever with a ball. She could balance it on her nose, toss it up into the air, and catch it in her mouth as it came down.
Liddy could climb a small ladder on her hind legs, walk across a tightrope that was stretched between two ladders, and go down the other ladder on her front legs with her hind legs up in the air.
But Sancho was the most sagacious of all the dogs. He not only knew how to speak, but he had learned to spell. Professor Petit put before him a row of twenty-six little wooden blocks on each of which was printed a letter of the alphabet.
“What is your name?” he asked, and the black dog quickly picked out six letters with his paw, took them in his mouth, and arranged them in order so that they spelled S A N C H O. He could also spell D O G and C A T and M A N. There were numbers on the other side of some of the blocks, and, when Professor Petit asked Sancho how old he was, the dog pulled out the block with the number 3 on it.
“How many highly trained dogs do I have?” asked the professor.
Sancho picked out the number 5.
“Now, let us see if you can add,” said Professor Petit. “Add two and two, and how many will you have?”
The block that Sancho chose said 4.
“Very well. Then subtract 3 from 4. How
many are left?”
Sancho selected the number 1.
Willie was perfectly amazed. “Does he really understand what he is doing, Professor?”
“Well,” said Professor Petit, “I think that he does. I have taught him, of course, just which block belongs with which question. He understands the tone of my voice and the position of the block. But I often wonder, if I should ask him a question that we have never rehearsed, wouldn’t he be able to answer it? He is an extremely sagacious dog. I have often wondered.”
“And when he speaks—?” continued Willie.
At the sound of the word speak, Sancho said, “How are you, my friend?”
It was not, perhaps, as clear as the first time Willie had heard him say it. Professor Petit explained that this was because Sancho had said it alone, without any help. “You see,” said the professor, “when I put my fingers on his throat, I can manipulate the vocal cords in such a way that the sound comes out quite clearly. But he has learned to make the sounds almost as well by himself. Every day he does it better.”
“How did you ever think of teaching him to talk?” asked Willie.
“It has always been an ambition of mine,” replied the professor, “to find an animal who would be intelligent enough to cooperate with me in this way. A few years ago, I was told that Mr. Ruskin, who is a well-known English author, had trained his pet dog to say, ‘How are you, Grandmama?’ He did so by pressing gently on the dog’s vocal cords when the dog whined or barked. Sancho was a puppy at that time, and I saw that he was intelligent and eager to learn. I thought that whatever Mr. Ruskin could do with a dog, Professor Petit could also do. However, since we had no grandmama in our troupe, I thought it better to teach him to ask after the health of a friend. So there you have it!”
“Can he say anything else?” asked Willie.
“No, but he can sing and he can yodel. A truly remarkable dog!”
Now, throughout this performance, Willie had noticed that the little yellow dog named Tip was very cheerful and active, but that he never seemed to do things in exactly the right way. When the other dogs waltzed, Tip walked on his front feet with his hind legs in the air. When the other dogs jumped hurdles, he ran under the hurdles instead of leaping over them. When the other dogs climbed ladders, Tip lay down and pretended to be dead. Professor Petit put Tip upon a stool with a dunce cap on his head; but, when they were not looking, he jumped down and began to roll over.
“What is Tip’s special trick?” Willie asked.
“Alas!” said Professor Petit. “Tip is our dunce and our clown. He has resisted all of my instruction. He is an ignorant and a naughty dog.”
Tip came up and licked Professor Petit’s hand, wagging his tail cheerfully. “I can’t even teach him to be ashamed,” said the professor sadly.
3
INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE
On the way back to Puddling Center, Willie could think of nothing but Professor Petit’s Highly Trained Dogs. Life had suddenly become very interesting for Willie. He whistled as he ran, took several shortcuts across fields, and when he came to a fence, he vaulted over it, almost as beautifully as Prince would have done.
Willie had promised the professor that he would tell everyone in town about the dogs and try to get a good crowd out to see the show the next afternoon. He had forgotten how late he must be until he saw the post office looming up ahead of him. In the doorway stood Uncle Scrivens, with a face like a thundercloud.
“Late!” Uncle Scrivens said. “Late again! Now you will have to run all day to catch up. No time for school today.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” said Willie, “but I have just seen a most wonderful sight. I couldn’t hurry. Five educated dogs, I saw. And, would you believe it? One of them can speak words. They are going to give a show here in town tomorrow afternoon. You must go, Uncle Scrivens. You really must.”
“You have been wasting your time, Willie,” said Uncle Scrivens severely. “And, as for shows, anyone can see dogs, but I shall wait for the tiger.”
Willie had much the same response from the baker, the farmer, the weaver, and the miller. They had all seen the posters of Hoskins’s Circus, and they were determined to save their money and wait for the tiger.
Willie rushed through his work as fast as he could. He hurried to the schoolhouse, just as the children were being dismissed for the day. Most of the pupils were girls, or boys too small to do errands, but all of them liked Willie and were sorry that he could not find time to go to school. They crowded around him now and listened while he told them about Professor Petit’s dogs. “We will ask our parents if we may go to see Professor Petit’s show,” they said.
“And you are sure you wouldn’t rather see the tiger?” Willie asked. Because he did not want them to feel cheated later.
The children thought about this. They talked it over among themselves. “A tiger? Or five highly trained dogs?” It was a hard decision to make. “Perhaps we can see both,” someone said. Someone else said, “Even if we can’t see both, dogs are more fun than tigers.” It is true that children are always partial to dogs.
That evening before sundown, the green caravan came driving into town. The red roan pony trotted proudly, pulling the caravan. Professor Petit sat upon the driver’s seat, resplendent in his scarlet coat. Inside the caravan, the dogs barked.
There was a large public square in Puddling Center with trees and benches. On one side of the square was the church, on another was the courthouse, on another were the post office and the shops. The fourth side looked out toward the river and the mill. Professor Petit and his dogs made their camp for the night on the edge of the square beside the river. With Willie’s shillings they bought four large loaves of bread from the baker, and so they were not hungry.
Until their mothers called them to bed, the school children came and stood around to watch the green caravan and the wonderful dogs. Willie was there, too, of course, for the dogs already considered him an old friend.
Even Uncle Scrivens came down to look the caravan over. But he was not very polite. He sniffed at the antics of the dogs, and he said to Professor Petit, “Where is your tiger?”
“Nevertheless,” Willie told the professor, “I believe that you will have a pretty good crowd tomorrow. The children have promised to come. I wish that I could come, too. But I am afraid I’ll never get through with all of my work in time.”
“My dear boy,” said Professor Petit, “do you mean to say that you cannot hurry through your work by noon on one special day of the year? Won’t your uncle excuse you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Willie said. “He never has. And there is so much to do that as soon as I finish one job, they’ve got another ready for me.”
“Well, in that case,” said the professor, “there is only one thing to do. My highly trained dogs must help you. If you all work together, the work will be done in a twinkle, eh, friends?” Thus appealed to, the dogs all began to bark in joyous assent.
It was a perfectly wonderful morning for Willie. Prince pulled the baker’s cart for him, and Willie did not even have to go into the houses with the loaves of bread. The children and the housewives all came running out to get their bread from the cart, so that they could see the wonderful dog that pulled it.
Sancho went with Willie to the farmer’s, and he was so skillful at herding the sheep and driving the cows that they were driven to pasture in half the time it usually took for Willie to do it. “I believe that Sancho could do it all alone,” Willie said to himself, “now that he knows the way.”
In the meantime Grushenka had gone to the weaver’s, where she caught the balls of yarn when they fell from the bench or the loom, and tossed them back to the weaver before he had begun to miss them. The flying shuttles filled her with excitement, and if one happened to slip out of the weaver’s hand, Grushenka caught it and instantly brought it back to him. The weaver was delighted.
Liddy had been sent to the miller’s, where she spent a lively morning chasing t
he rats and mice. “My faith!” said the miller, “a dog is better than a boy at this business! Had I such a dog as Liddy, there would be no more varmints within a half mile of my mill.”
Tip was the only dog who did not spend a useful morning. He lay in the sun with his nose on his paws. Whenever a fly came near him, he waved it away with his black-tipped tail, but without opening his eyes. “Alas!” said Professor Petit. He shook his head sadly at the sight of Tip’s laziness. Just before dinner, however, Tip disappeared for a few moments on business of his own. When he returned he was carrying by the neck a nicely dressed fowl, which he laid with pride at his master’s feet.
“Tip! Tip!” cried Professor Petit in a despairing voice, “how often must I warn you against taking what does not belong to you? I shall have to return this fowl to the butcher myself. Tip is the only one of my dogs who does not understand that a highly trained dog respects other people’s property.”
“Do you mean to say that he is a thief?” asked Willie.
“That is putting it a trifle harshly,” said the professor. “The truth is that uneducated dogs have no sense of property. They take whatever they want whenever they can get it. I regret that Tip, in spite of my training, often behaves like an uneducated dog.”
Besides introducing the dogs to their work, Willie had a number of letters to deliver. But by afternoon even Uncle Scrivens could not think of a thing for Willie to do that had not been done.
“Yes, Willie,” Uncle Scrivens said reluctantly, “you may go to the dog show if your heart is set on it. But personally I think you are foolish not to save your money for the tiger.”
Professor Petit had been busy in the square that morning setting up the ladders and the tightrope, the hurdles and the hoops. He had also set up a small house with windows and doors and a wide red chimney. It was something like a doll’s house, but larger. In fact, it was of a perfect size for dogs, walking on their hind legs, to occupy.
The Highly Trained Dogs of Professor Petit (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries) Page 2
