It didn’t seem to occur to him to go home, and still Butterwick didn’t come up.  The next day I loaded a shot-gun and determined to kill him at any sacrifice.  I aimed carefully at him, but at the critical moment he dodged, and two handfuls of bird-shot went into the piano and tore it up badly.  Then I tossed some poisoned meat’ at him, but he ate all around the poison, and seemed to feel better after the meal than he had done for years.  Finally, Butterwick came home, and he called to get his dog.  He entered the parlor bravely and attempted to seize the animal, when it bit him.  I was never so glad in my life.  Then Butterwick got mad; and seizing the dog by the tail, he smashed him through my French glass window into the street.  Then I was not so very glad.  Then the dog went mad and a policeman killed him.  The next time I am asked to take a strange dog home I will kill him to begin with.

When I explained to Colonel Coffin the unpleasant nature of my experience with Mr. Butterwick’s dog, the colonel said that he had had a good deal to do lately, in a legal way, with dogs; and he gave me the facts respecting two interesting cases.  The first was Tompkins’ case.

A man called at the colonel’s law-office one day and said,

“Colonel, my name is Tompkins.  I called to see you about a dog difficulty that bewilders me, and I thought maybe you might throw some light on it—­might give me the law points, so’s I’d know whether it was worth while suing or not.

“Well, colonel, you see me and Potts went into partnership on a dog; we bought him.  He was a setter; and me and Potts went shares on him, so’s to take him out a-hunting.  It was never exactly settled which half of him I owned and which half belonged to Potts; but I formed an idea in my own mind that the hind end was Tompkins’ and the front end Potts’.  Consequence was that when the dog barked I always said, ’There goes Potts half exercising himself;’ and when the dog’s tail wagged, I always considered that my end was being agitated.  And, of course, when one of my hind legs scratched one of Potts’ ears or one of his shoulders, I was perfectly satisfied—­first, because that sort of thing was good for the whole dog; and, second, because the thing would get about even when Potts’ head would reach around and bite a flea off my hind legs or snap at a fly.

“Well, things went along smooth enough for a while, until one day that dog began to get into the habit of running around after his tail.  He was the foolishest dog about that I ever saw.  Used to chase his tail round and round until he’d get so giddy he couldn’t bark.  And you know I was scared lest it might hurt the dog’s health; and as Potts didn’t seem to be willing to keep his end from circulating in pursuit of my end, I made up my mind to chop the dog’s tail off, so’s to make him reform and behave.  So last Saturday I caused the dog to back up agin a log, and then I suddenly dropped the axe on his tail pretty close up, and the next minute he was running around that yard howling like a boat-load of wild-cats.  Just then Potts came up, and he let on to be mad because I’d cut off that tail.  One word brought on another; and pretty soon Potts set that dog on me—­my own half too, mind you—­and the dog bit me in the leg.  See that! look at that leg!  About half a pound gone; et up by that dog.