mistake--and deliberately filled my mouth full of nasty fluffy fur.

Of course the woman had to come in at that moment and, instead of
chastising the little monster, she grabbed it up and hugged it,
saying, "Diddums nasty great dog bite um poor ickle Pitti Singums?"
and a lot more silly rot equally at variance with the facts. I wagged
my tail at her to show it wasn't my fault, but she just wouldn't see
reason and told master that I must have a good whipping. Of course
master and I both know that one isn't whipped for a little thing like
that, so we retired into the study, and while master pretended to
whip me I pretended to howl. I was just beginning to howl in a very
lifelike way when the woman rushed in and called master a cruel brute,
and said she didn't mean him to hurt me really.

Women are funny creatures and I'm glad I don't own one. Snap, the
butcher's dog, even went so far as to suggest that we should adopt
anti-feminism as a plank in our platform, but the Irish Wolfhound who
comes from Cavendish Square said that his mistress was driving an
ambulance in France and that, in her absence, anyone who had anything
to say against women would have to see him first. Of course it's very
difficult to argue with that kind of dog, and, though Snap seemed
inclined to press the point, I ruled the proposal out of order. The
value of resource is one of the things you learn in the Army.

I think Snap was rather relieved really, because after the meeting he
asked me to go and help him dig up a nearly new mutton bone that he
had buried under a laurel bush in the Square.

Well, to return to our platform, what we say about these foreign dogs
is "Keep them all out." Of course there are some Allied dogs, like