the next day my mouth and tongue were quite well once more, but it was more than a week before i got brave enough to hunt frogs again. in fact, i have never cared for frog-hunting very much since, and i only did it after that just to show freya that i wasn’t afraid to. but i couldn’t get her to go with me. she’s rather a coward, freya is. just look at the time i scared the duck! the way she acted then made me quite ashamed of her!
that was months before i made the mistake about the toad and i was younger and sillier. i told you that there were ducks on our place. well, they lived in a house next door to where the chickens were, and in the day time they all waddled out as soon as william opened the gate for them and went down to the pond. they are stupid things, ducks. they don’t do anything all day long but waddle around and wag their tails and eat and swim and say “quack!” i don’t know what “quack” means and i don’t believe they do, for they always say it just the same way and no matter what happens. if they see william with their dinner they say “quack” and if they see a chicken-hawk sailing about they say “quack” and if i so much as look at them—from a distance—they say “quack” just the same. i don’t believe “quack” means a thing. they just want you to think it does.
well, one day i was trotting around by myself looking for something to do when i caught sight of a duck sitting in the grass on the side of the brook quite a ways beyond the pond. she didn’t see me because she had her head hidden under her wing in the silly way ducks have. it had been a very dull day so far and i wanted some fun. so i thought it would be a good joke to creep up on mrs. duck and give her a good scare and see if she would say anything more than just “quack!”
well, i did. i crept up very, very softly and when i was about two feet away i said “bow-wow!” as loudly as i could. mrs. duck gave a start, pulled her head out and said “quack!” much louder than i had said “bow-wow!” and then, before i knew what she was up to, she spread her wings very wide and jumped right at me!
it—well, it sort of surprised me, because i didn’t know ducks did that. besides, with her wings all spread open like that and her mouth very wide open, too, she looked almost as big as ten ducks! so—so i sort of backed away, not because i was afraid of her but just because i was so surprised. besides, i’d had my fun and was ready to go away, anyhow. but she didn’t seem to understand that it was all just a joke and she came right at me, saying “quack! quack! quack!” quite crossly. so i kept on backing away, and the faster i backed the faster she came for me and the louder she “quacked!”
i don’t know exactly how it happened, but i got between mrs. duck and the brook. i didn’t know it, of course, or i should have backed another way. another thing i didn’t know—and i wished i had known it—was that she had a nest full of eggs there and was hatching out some little ducks. if i had known that i would not have gone near her. but i didn’t know it until afterwards. so i kept on backing and she kept on “quacking” and making dabs at me with her yellow bill and flapping her wings and all of a sudden i backed right over the side of the bank into the brook!
there was not much water in the brook and i sat right down in a lot of soft, sticky mud. of course i tried to get out, but the more i tried the faster i stuck in that nasty mud. and all the time that horrid, quarrelsome duck stood on the bank and said “quack!” and scolded me. i was afraid she might come in after me, and that is why i tried so very hard to get out. but she didn’t. she just stood there and said a lot of mean things to me while the mud got stickier and stickier. and then i howled. any one would have howled. i didn’t howl because i was afraid. i howled because i couldn’t get my feet out of the mud. no dog likes to be stuck in horrid black mud. pretty soon freya came and looked over the edge of the bank at me. but she didn’t come very near where mrs. duck stood.
“why,” she said, “what are you doing down there, fritz? william will be very angry with you for getting so dirty. you’d better come right out and take a bath in the pond before you go home.”
“i can’t get out!” i howled. “i’m stuck in this mud. help me!”
but freya looked at the duck, who was still “quacking” at a great rate, and shook her head.
“i—i’m afraid of her,” said freya.
“afraid of a duck!” i said. “well, i’d be ashamed to own it!” but i kept a watch on the duck because i was afraid she might understand what i said. she didn’t though. “bark at her and scare her away,” i told freya. “she—she won’t hurt you. ducks are great cowards.”
but freya shook her head again. “i—i don’t like her looks,” she said. “couldn’t you—couldn’t you pull yourself out if you tried very hard?”
“no, i couldn’t,” i snapped. “if i could i wouldn’t be here now. if you can’t help me out of here you’d better run home and tell mother. you’re an awful scare-baby!”
so freya walked two or three steps toward the duck and said “bow-wow!” just as if she was frightened to death, which she was, and the duck paid no attention to her at all. then freya went a little nearer and barked again. that time mrs. duck heard her and turned around and made straight for her. freya gave one awful yelp, tucked her tail between her legs and flew. and the duck went after her, flapping her wings and “quacking!” and somehow just then i managed to get a front paw on a stone at the side of the brook and dragged myself out. and when i got to the top of the bank freya was half-way across the meadow, still yelping, and mrs. duck was waddling back again.
i didn’t stay there long, i can tell you. not that i was afraid of that stupid old duck, but i wanted to get the mud off me before it dried on. so i hurried back to the pond. but when i got there it was full of other ducks and they looked at me so queerly that i thought i’d better not go into the pond after all. so i sneaked back to the stable, thinking i’d get behind the flower-pots before any one could see me. but just as i came to the door who should come out but william!
“well!” he said, just like that; “well!” i made a dash for the corner where the flower-pots were and got there, but he hauled me right out by my neck and held me at arm’s length and looked at me. “i never see a dirtier pup,” he said. “where have you been?” of course i didn’t tell him and he said: “well, wherever you’ve been i know where you’re going. you’re going into the tub!”
what followed was awful. william filled the tub in the stable half-full of cold water and put me in it. i thought at first i would drown, but he held me up with one hand and lathered me all over with harness soap with the other. and then he took a horrid, stiff brush and scrubbed me until it hurt. the soap[58] got in my eyes and smarted and it got into my mouth and tasted badly, and all the time william scolded.
i had to cry a little. you’d have cried too. i’ve heard you cry when nurse got soap in your eyes, and you needn’t pretend you haven’t. besides, it was all very unfair. i didn’t want to fall in the mud and get dirty. it was all that duck’s fault. but william just blamed it all on me without trying to find out how it really happened, and i had to suffer. once i caught sight of freya peeking around the corner of the door and i said to myself: “just you wait till i get out of here, if i ever do, and see what will happen to you, miss!”
but when, after a long, long time, william thought he could not get any more dirt off me and so put me out on the floor, and when i had shaken myself half a dozen times, felt so good that i forgot all about the way freya had behaved and ran circles and barked until i was almost dry. then i found a nice warm spot against the side of the stable and went to sleep.
but even if i did forgive freya that time you can see that she behaved very badly and is not at all brave. still, i suppose that being a girl dog has a lot to do with it. you mustn’t expect a girl-dog to be as brave as a boy-dog.
that was my first real bath. i’ve had many since then and i’ve grown to put up with them just as one must put up with castor-oil and pills. but i’m sure i shall never get fond of them. i don’t mind wading in the pond or even swimming a little, but baths are quite different. besides, i am not a water-dog, like a spaniel or a retriever, and folks ought to think of that. they don’t, though. about once a month i have to go through with it, and the mere sight of a cake of soap quite takes my appetite away for hours. i once heard the mistress tell the man who comes for the laundry that she wanted something “dry-cleaned.” i wonder why dogs can’t be dry-cleaned too!
