“In the ringed and shadowy eyes of animals, more clearly than in the secretive countenance of man, is expressed the mystery, the dark sorrow of existence. Of all beasts, dogs are perhaps the most melancholy in their looks; of all dogs, the slouching basset hound is the most sad. Of all basset hounds, none is more woebegone, more tragic than a certain basset hound puppy. Last week he sat nuzzling his weak chin into the loose bib of flesh which an arbitrary heredity has draped around his neck. In the kennels, at Huntington, L.I., of Gerald M. Livingston, his forlorn yapping roused to dreary derision a crow in the near woods. Perhaps the basset hound puppy heard a prophecy in the dismal utterances of the black bird; what, he wondered, did the future hold for him, a prince of basset hounds, by Walhampton Andrew (titles: International Champion, English Champion, American Champion), out of Walhampton Dainty? The puppy yelped and whined, for he did not know.” (Feb. 27, 1928) |
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