A LETTER FROM ALICE

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 79, 29 September 1944, Page 3

A LETTER FROM ALICE

808 AND THE CHICKENS Dear Boys and Girls, — Bob was a beautiful Irish setter belonging to a little girl called Mary, who loved him very much. Bob loved Mary, too, and lie was a very good dog, but he had one bad fault—whenever he saw a chicken —and he saw plenty, for he lived in the country—he would chase it, and if lie got the chance lie would catch it and kill it. Naturally, all the neighbours who kept chickens were very annoyed with Bob, and they threatened to shoot him if they saw him chasing chickens again. Mary was very upset, and she tried and tried to cure Bob of his bad habit, and at last he did really seem to understand that chasing chickens was not done by the best dogs. One day in early spring someone brought for Mary’s father a number of baby chicks just out of their shells. Mary’s father was out, so the chicks were put in their box on the hearth before the lire to keep them warm. Baby chicks, you see, spend most of their time when they are with their mother hen under her wings, where it is as snug and warm as you are under your eiderdown quilt. Mary thought of a better idea than leaving them in the box. She remembered that there was some old cotton-wool in a cupboard upstairs, and a little covered basket, so away she ran to fetch them, saying to herself, “That will be just the thing for the chicks. It will make them a lovely bed.” She soon returned with a hamper padded with warm colton-wool. Imagine her horror, however, when, upon entering the room, she discovered Bob lying lazily in front of the fire and not a chicken in sight. The little girl was sick with fright for she knew the chickens had been hatched from very expensive eggs of a particular breed and that her father would scold her for her carelessness. “Bob,” she cried severely, “what have you done with those chickens?” Bob merely wagged his tail and looked at her with one ear cocked. “If you have eaten those chickens your master will have to shoot you,” she said. At this terrible threat the dog only wagged his tail all the harder and cocked both ears. Just then came faint “Peep! peep!” from somewhere near the fire. Where do you suppose those baby chickens were hiding? Between the setter’s two great forepaws, and all up under his soft, silky hair. When Mary ran out of the room. Bob evidently thought they needed care so he stretched himself in front of the fire and the little fluffy chicks fluttered to him and snuggled together under his warm fur just as they would have done under their mother’s feathers. Now and again a tiny yellow head was thrust forth lor a minute, to be withdrawn and tucked out of sight. Bob seemed to enjoy playing the part of nurse to the chickens, and never again did he attempt to chase and kill a bird of any kind. With love until next week from— Your friend, ALICE.