Dogs take a great interest in what any one gets to eat.  It was quite exciting to see the Morrises passing each other different dishes, and to smell the nice, hot food.  Billy often wished that he could get up on the table.  He said that he would make things fly.  When he was growing, he hardly ever got enough to eat.  I used to tell him that he would kill himself if he could eat all he wanted to.

As soon as meals were over, Billy and I scampered after Miss Laura to the kitchen.  We each had our own plate for food.  Mary the cook often laughed at Miss Laura, because she would not let her dogs “dish” together.  Miss Laura said that if she did, the larger one would get more than his share, and the little one would starve.

It was quite a sight to see Billy eat.  He spread his legs apart to steady himself, and gobbled at his food like a duck.  When he finished he always looked up for more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and say “No, Billy; better longing than loathing.  I believe that a great many little dogs are killed by over feeding.”

I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish way in which some people stuffed their pets with food, and either kill them by it or keep them in continual ill health.  A case occurred in our neighborhood while Billy was a puppy.  Some people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors from the Morrises, had a fine bay mare and a little colt called Sam.  They were very proud of this colt, and Mr. Dobson had promised it to his son James.  One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr. Morris to come in and see the colt, and I went, too.  I watched Mr. Morris while he examined it.  It was a pretty little creature, and I did not wonder that they thought so much of it.

“When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked him what he thought of it.

“I think,” he said, “that it won’t live long.”

“Why, papa!” exclaimed Jack, who overheard the remark, “it is as fat as a seal.”

“It would have a better chance for its life if it were lean and scrawny,” said Mr. Morris.  “They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson so, but he wasn’t inclined to believe me.”

Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a great deal about animals, so I was inclined to think he was right.  And sure enough, in a few days, we heard that the colt was dead.

Poor James Dobson felt very badly.  A number of the neighbors’ boys went into see him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking as if he wanted to cry.  Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though he said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for sacrificing the colt’s life.  Presently he said, “You won’t need to have that colt stuffed now he’s dead, Dobson.”

“What do you mean?  Why do you say that?” asked the boy, peevishly.

“Because you stuffed him while he was alive,” said Jack, saucily.

Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was after us, and as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.