“ Tussle ”

Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 113, 6 February 1937, Page 25

“ Tussle ”

Tussle is an all-white, wire-haired ; terrier. When he’s newly come from his bath he looks rather like Mary’s little lamb, but he doesn’t care to be reminded of the resemblance. It is difficult to keep a snow-white dog in Wellington town, and, after a while, Tussle begins to look like a baa, baa, black sheep. Then he has another bath, an ordeal lie bears with quite lamb-like patience. Tussle has charming manners. He wouldn’t dream of begging at meal times. He merely stands very close to the visitor to the dinner table and puts his head on her knees. If no titbit is forthcoming, the small chin presses more firmly on to her knees, the eyes become reproachful, and Tussle begins to snore gently. He also has an ingratiating way of begging for a game. He appears in the doorway of a room and stands like a small statue, a stick in his mouth, and only the stump of tail, asking—- “ Hasn’t anyone time to coins and play with a little dog like me?” Sometimes he comes to the low-set kitchen window. stands upright with his forepaws on the pane, and the stick in his teeth, knocking on the glass. Any grown up would be glad to drop her pots and pans and go for a romp in the garden after that invitation.

Tussle is delightfully hospitable. He greets visitors with rapture and hates to see them go. He knows perfectly well when a suitease is being packed for departure. He hangs' about, utterly dejected. ' The ease is locked, hat and gloves are on, farewells said, and Tussle begins to leap and bark. “Can’t, anyone stop this? It’s awful!” he clamours. For quietness sake he is hustled into the back garden, whence his barks tire still heard. When the visitor is in the taxi, he is freed, and one’s last sight is of the little white dog rushing up and down the fence, imploring the car to stop. But I always suspect that afterwards Tussle trots back to his mistress, and says, with a grin: “After all. it’s nice to have the house to ourselves again! What about me licking that custard basin?” —M.N.W.