A DOG’S TALE

by Mark Twain

CHAPTER I

My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice distinctions myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got somuch education. But, indeed, it was not real education; it was onlyshow: she got the words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-roomwhen there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-schooland listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said it overto herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there was adogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off, andsurprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, whichrewarded her for all her trouble. If there was a stranger he was nearlysure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask herwhat it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this but…