My Dog Tulip Read Online Free PDF Page B

Bertrand describes. But apart from my interest in the results, it always pleases me to see her perform this physical act. She lowers herself carefully and gradually to a tripodal attitude with her hind legs splayed and her heels as far apart as she can get them so as not to soil her fur or her feet. Her long tail, usually carried aloft in a curve, stretches rigidly out parallel with the ground; her ears lie back, her head cranes forward, and a mild, meditative look settles on her face.
    While we were thus harmlessly engaged in the otherwise empty road, a cyclist shot round the corner of the Star and Garter Hotel towards us, pedaling rapidly. He was a youngish man, wearing a rather dirty raincoat. Since Tulip was safely on the sidewalk, I don’t suppose I should have noticed this person at all if he had not addressed me as he flew past:
    â€œTry taking your dog off the sidewalk to mess!”
    One should not lose one’s temper, I know, but the remark stung me.
    â€œWhat, to be run over by you? Try minding your own business!”
    â€œI am an’ all,” he bawled over his shoulder. “What’s the bleeding street for?”
    â€œFor turds like you!” I retorted.
    â€œBleeding dogs!” he screamed, almost falling off his bicycle in his rage and excitement as he swiveled his body round to hurl the denunciation at me.
    â€œArseholes!” I replied.
    He made some further comment before he disappeared, wobbling into the mist, but I did not catch it. Nor could it have signified. There was no more to be said. I had had the last word.
    It will be seen then that this is a subject which arouses strong passions in the human breast. And my accuser had authority on his side. It is an offense for dogs to foul the sidewalk. But only if they are on the lead and therefore (as it is quaintly phrased) under control. Multitudes of urban dogs roam the streets by themselves, lifting their legs or tails upon the man-made world as necessity or fancy takes them, and can hardly be brought to court. The answer would seem to be: Don’t put your dog on the lead.
    I never had a moment’s doubt in this matter myself. Having spent an anxious year at the beginning of my relationship with Tulip in persuading her that the sidewalks were safer than the streets, and having fixed this prime rule of conduct firmly in her flighty head, I had no intention of confusing her with exceptions. The official notion seemed to be that one should train one’s dog to squat in the gutter, but I did not need the cautionary tale told me by a sad young man in a public house to perceive the folly of that.
    A model citizen, he had conscientiously taught his own animal this public-spirited practice. One day when, unobserved by him, for his attention was modestly averted, the dog was obediently crouching in the gutter of Tooting Broadway, a truck, drawing into the curb, ran over it and broke its back. That was six months ago, he said, gulping down his drink, but the creature’s screams still haunted his sleep. Besides, I live and shop in the Lower Richmond Road, which with its concealing curves and flashing traffic is one of the most dangerous streets in Southwest London. Even upon the narrower stretches of its sidewalk one feels scarcely safe, for the vehicles whizz by within a foot or so of the curb. So I had already come to my own independent conclusion that the alternative to Tulip fouling the sidewalk was that she ran the risk of being killed, and that however strongly certain pedestrians and shopkeepers might hold the view that the latter would be preferable, she should never receive instructions from me to go into the street for any purpose whatever.
    Nevertheless I have a considerate mind. I am able to see other people’s points of view. I know that there are few things upon which it is a positive pleasure to tread. Whenever I take Tulip out, therefore, I always offer her opportunities to relieve herself in places