Dorgs are pugnacious critters. I had one that set on every fellow of its
kind he came across, and took such an affectionate grab of his foe, that
nothing would divide them till death did them part.

I noticed, however, that this dorg of mine was mostly fond of the
smaller fry, attacking them most vigorously, and barking from the
door-steps at the larger.

I once had a dorgy (diminutive of dorg, _alias_ puppy,) which was very
fond of me, especially when I gave it something nice--which is nothing
but human nature in the third degree. It got knocked about a good deal,
especially its legs, so that it contracted a sort of hopping movement. I
could not get it to catch mice; it seemed to think them third cousins,
or something of the kind, and was very fond of playing with them; while,
on the other hand, I had a large dorg which we kept by us when we took
grain from the rick--I think he managed about 30 per minute. I never
could follow them down his throat, but his increased bulk was a kind of
index to the number. He generally lay by the kitchen fire twenty-four
hours after his banquet, to recover himself.

I once tried my small dorg at the swimming business, by throwing him
into a shallow pond. I had to go in after the beast pretty smart, boots,
trowsers, socks, and all. He and I had a roast by the fire that evening.
My trowsers, however, getting overdone in the operation, I lost $4 by
this experiment.

Dorgs are very fond of coat-tails and back-pockets, when some unseen
attraction lies there. They don't believe in appetite-assuagers "wasting
their fragrance on the desert air;" and will make vigorous efforts to