Boost had spirit--I grant him that--and one
day he evidently forgot that he wasn't a full-sized bird, and was
reproved by the Sultan of the poultry-yard in such a way that he was
found almost dead of his wounds. Dear Miss W----'s heart was quite
broken. She fed him brandy and anointed him with healing lotions, but
to no avail. He died. I had felt much torn and rather doublefaced in
my inquiries for the sufferer, because I was so terribly afraid he
might get well, so it was a great relief when he was safely buried
in the back lot.
Though I love animals I have had bloodthirsty moments of feeling that
the only possible way to enjoy pets was to have them like those wooden
Japanese eggs which fit into each other. If you have white mice or a
canary, have a cat to contain the canary, and a dog to reckon with the
cat. Further up in the scale the matter is more difficult, of course.
One of our "best seller" manufacturers, in his early original days,
wrote a delightful tale. In it he said: "A Cheetah is a yellow streak
full of people's pet dogs," so perhaps that is the answer. The ultimate
cheetah would, of course, have to be shot and stuffed, as it would
hardly be possible to have a wild-cat lounging about the place.
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