Soon or late, every dog's master's memory becomes a graveyard peopled by wistful little furry ghosts that creep back unbidden, at times, to a semblance of their olden lives.

No breeder is above catering to intelligent praise of his dog.

When a puppy takes fifty catnaps in the course of the day, he cannot always be expected to sleep the night through.

Win without boasting. Lose without excuse.

The dog was cold and in pain. But being only a dog it did not occur to him to trot off home to the comfort of the library fire and leave his master to fend for himself.

Any man with money to make the purchase may become a dog's owner. But no man --spend he ever so much coin and food and tact in the effort-- may become a dog's Master without consent of the dog. Do you get the difference? And he whom a dog once unreservedly accepts as Master is forever that dog's God.

Dogs, the foremost snobs in creation, are quick to notice the difference between a well-clad and a disreputable stranger.