The Dog with the Wooden Leg

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The dog lay stretched out on the dingy tenement floor, muzzle between paws, ears sensitively erect, watching the girl move about. Its fine intelligent eyes followed each turn she made with mute devotion. One paw, the left front one, seemed to be tucked under its body; it was hidden from the joint down.

Celia Campbell spoke to it as she busied herself about the cramped, stuffy little room, moving back and forth between the gas range and the table. She was about twenty years old, golden-haired and blue-eyed, neatly but poorly dressed.

“Hungry, Dick? Go in and fetch gramp; breakfast is ready.”

The dog, a fine specimen of German shepherd, immediately got up, but with a slight awkwardness in gaining its balance that was noticeable in so fine an animal. It was only when it was clear of the floor that the reason for it could be seen. The left front paw ended at the joint, evidently amputated just like a human being’s. Attached to the stump was a leather cup and below this there was a miniature wooden leg.

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