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Show Hurrah! Man Do you own the smariest dog in the world? Strange— By GOODMAN ACE sthor of “Book of tittle Knowledge,” “Fine Art of Hypochondria” ET IT be shown for the record that I y love dogs. It’s dog lovers I can’t abide —the owners of “the smartest dog in the world.” You! And, once upon a time, me! But I kicked the habit after 12 years, during which time I was the proud owner of a West Highland terrier. During those years I could stand for hours and talk to anyone who would listen about my dog’s powers of human logic, far beyond the understanding of man. Worstofall, I insisted on displaying a folder of snapshots which, anyone could see, set my dog apart from all other dogs. We never had a dog before, but my wife had planned on it for some years. She had even planned to name it Janie, after herself. One day she visited a kennel club show, and, after she and this West Send FREE new Fashion Book of Half-Sizes. (please print) post office state YOUR CHILD MAY HAVE Sleep Away Dry Skim nso,202 ap Fidgeting,loss of sleep and a tormenting iteh are often, telltale Malesigns of mea Pin. experts my infestreout ot examined. dry and cracked that nothing seemsto help, try this simple treatment. Each night at bed: | time, massage a dab of Cuti cura Ointment into the skin. | Next morning, wash thoroughly and most beautiful dog in the world, so | with Cuticura medicated soap. You'll be amazed how quickly your skin be comes soft and Cutiours Lown smooth, JOIN “MARCH OF DIMES Highland terrier had gazed soulfully into each other’s eyes, they both knew this was it. She brought Janie home that afternoon. Although I had known that Jane would one day bring home a dog, I found myself mentally unprepared. She simply showered the animal with affection. “Who is the cutest dog in the world?” she asked the dog. “You are,” she answered quickly. “You are the cutest, the most beautiful, and the smartest dog in the world. Isn’t she, dear?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well, tell her she is. Let her know how much we love her and that this is going to be her home. Tell Janie she’s the cutest highly cont which infect enti ii Get genuine Jayne's P-W Vermifuge .. small eany-to-take tablets. special sizes for children and adults. PHOTO CREDITS Cover: Stanley Einzig, Pix Lid. Poge 2: eeTLeee MOREEnduranceVigor and Stamina 0 4 balieve it? she'll feel wanted.” Weil, unaccustomed as I was to speaking to dogs who don’t feel wanted, I made a stab atit. “Janie,” I said, “you are the cutest and most beautiful dog in the world.” “See?” said Jane. “We both love you.” I am obliged to report that Janie was not responsive. It was later that afternoon we discovered that, biologically, Janie was not a suitable name for him. Seeing a quick way out, I voted that since Jane had made this purchase without asking at least the basic question, we take him back and try again. I lost that vote, 2 to 1—Jane counted his vote, Jane was a little heartsick that he couldn't be named after her. I suggested Jane change her name to John or Rover. She didn’t think too much of that but 17 years University Tests — 2 Family Weekly, January 7, 1968 set herself to finding a suitable name. “A name that is differwnt,” she said. West Highland terriers, as you know, are all white, so Jane came up with a name that was different. She called him Blackie. It took Blackie only a few weeks to establish the credibility of the blue ribbons that Jane had brought home with him. He was roysity, we were peasants, and the apartment revolved about him and his habits and his mealtimes. | walked Blackie three times a day. Through rain and sleet, through streets and alleys, I walked Blackie. Strangers stopped us and exclaimed, “Oh, what a beautiful dog!” I must admit to a feeling of pride. I began to look forward to our walks, preening myself with each adulation. Until one night when an American Legion convention was in town, we were stopped by a party of three men and three women whowere filled with the spirits of their gathering. “Oh, isn’t he a beautiful dog,” the women exclaimed in chorus. “And so white,” added one. “What's his name?” asked another. I replied, “Blackie.” The men moved in. “What are you—a wise guy?”they said in unison. “Tell the lady the dog’s name.” Well, brooking no quarrel with the American Legion, especially in conven- tion, and being chicken with no cop around, I replied quickly, “His name is Fido.” From that night on, Blackie was Fido to any belligerent passers-by. Not a day went by that I didn’t bring home some small trinket for Blackie. Treated bones, a soft rubber cat thatmeowed when he bit into it, rubber rings, rubber balls—you nameit. Blackie collected his toys in a box under the piano. Every day he counted them, Jane told me, to make sure the maid hadn’t taken any. He held every toy between his paws— excuse me, hands—and he gnawed with relish. The rubber balls, the rubber rings, the rubber cat which no longer meowed —all were fair game. He favored the rubber toys. The treated bones were secretly buried under drapes, in the couch, in overstuffed chairs. It was his apartment—we had only squatters’ rights. One day, late in Blackie’s autocratic reign, I came home and Jane met me with: “Well, dear, what do you think Blackie said to me today?” That's when I realized we had had it. “What did Blackie say?” I asked. “He said he was sick,” she replied. “Sick as a man?”I asked her. “There is a time for jokes and a time not. And this is not,” she replied in tears. “Blackie is in his bed, and he’s sick.” |