The Black-eyed Puppy
Copyright© 2026 by Katharine Pyle
Chapter 7
EVERY day Mr. Bonelli took all of us down into a big cellar under the house.
There was a raised part at one end that he called a stage, and we had to get up on the stage and go through our tricks every day. If any dog made a mistake he had to go through his tricks all over again.
We all had sort of fancy things to wear when we were on the stage.
The other dogs wore cloth collars that came down over their breasts and a kind of saddle strapped around them. The collars and saddles were red, and had trimming around the edges.
I was dressed differently, because I was the clown dog. I wore a red cap that was cut so that it came round and fastened under my chin, and a big white thing round my neck that they called a ruff. I wore a little coat with my front legs put through the sleeves of it, and little striped trousers with my tail coming through at the back.
At first, when they dressed me that way, I felt so foolish I wanted to get down under a chair or sofa and hide, but afterwards I became used to it, and then I felt quite proud, and liked to be dressed in them.
Mr. Bonelli made me the clown dog because I could grin. The first thing he taught me was to grin whenever he made a certain sign with a little whip he always carried.
When he was teaching me he used to give me a bit of cake or sugar every time I grinned, so I was always glad when he made the sign for me to do it. But afterwards he stopped giving me the cake and sugar, but I had to grin just the same.
As soon as we were on the stage we had to run over to a row of chairs and jump up on them. There was a chair for each dog, and each dog had his own particular chair. We were never allowed to sit on any but our own chairs.
All the dogs except me sat with their backs against the backs of the chairs and their tails hanging down, but when I got up in my chair I turned with my head to the back of it and my tail toward the front. That was what I had been taught to do.
Mr. Bonelli would call to me and tell me to turn around, but I wouldn’t stir. He would call to me louder and louder, as if he was getting angry, but I wouldn’t pay any attention. At last he would come over and lift me up and set me down the right way, but as soon as he went away I would turn around again. We would do this several times, and at last he would say, “All right, Master Grineo, suit yourself then,” and would walk away and leave me.
Then I would turn round and sit the right way and grin at him, and he would seem very much surprised when he looked round and saw me sitting that way.
Later, when we acted in a theatre with people looking on, I found this trick always made the people laugh.
(Mr. Bonelli didn’t call it a trick, though; he called it an “act.”)
Another “act” we did was the Jumping Act.
A long board would be put on the stage with one end resting on something high so that it stuck up in the air. A mattress was always laid on the stage down below the high end. The dogs would run up the board and jump off on the mattress. The mattress was put there so they wouldn’t hurt their legs when they came down.
All the dogs would jump except me, but I would just sit and look on.
Then the mattress would be moved further off, and a chair would be put between it and the board. The dogs would run up the board and jump off the end and out over the chair and light on the mattress as before. Then the mattress would be moved further and two chairs put there. The little dogs would stop jumping then. But most of the larger dogs kept on.
Then two chairs and a table would be put there for them to jump over, and then two chairs and two tables, and so on. After a while the jumps would be so long that only Graceful and Punch could do them. They were both fine jumpers, but Graceful was the best.
Now I would get down from my chair and trot over to Mr. Bonelli and stand up on my hind legs in front of him and bark: “Bow-wow-wow-wow!”
“What, Grineo!” he would say. “You want to try it, too?”
“Bow-wow!”
“But that’s too long a jump for you.”
“Bow-wow-wow!”
“You think you can do it?”
“Bow-wow.”
“Very well! Then go ahead, but I’m afraid you can’t do it, and you may hurt yourself, too.”
Then I would go back to the furthest edge of the stage, and run as hard as I could across the stage and up the board, and just as I got to the edge I would stop short and stand there with all my feet together and not jump at all. Then I would look round at Mr. Bonelli and grin.
“There!” he would say. “I knew you couldn’t do it. Come down now and let Graceful jump.” But I wouldn’t come down.
“Come, come!” he would cry impatiently. “You’re keeping everybody waiting. Come down, I say.”
Still I wouldn’t move, and then Graceful would run up the board and jump right over me and far out over the chairs and tables, and land on the mattress so lightly you scarcely knew when he touched it. Even Punch was not able to make that last long jump, only Graceful. After that last jump I would come down from the board and go back to my chair again.
Then we would play ball. Mr. Bonelli would toss a big bright ball to one after another of the dogs, and each dog would jump up in the air and catch it and bring it back to him.
After they had played for a while I would jump down from my chair and run over in front of him, and stand up on my hind legs and wave my paws.
“So!” he would cry. “You want to play, too, do you?”
“Bow-wow-wow!” I would bark.
“Very well,” he would say; “then catch.”
He would throw the ball to me, and I would catch it as the others had done, but instead of bringing it back to him I would run away with it, and he would chase me all around the stage and pretend to get very angry.
At last he would cry, “Police! Police!”
Then Frolic, who had jumped down from his chair and had run out a little while before, would come in walking on his hind legs and dressed like a policeman. A black stick was strapped to his paw, and he would come hopping over toward me and wave the stick as if he meant to hit me, and I would pretend to be frightened and would drop the ball and run and hide under a chair.
Frolic would go out again, and after he had gone I would come out from under the chair and sit down in front of Mr. Bonelli, and beg again and wave my paws up and down.
Mr. Bonelli would say, “So you want to play again. Sure you won’t run away with the ball this time?”
I would wave my paws harder.
“Very well, we’ll try once more, but remember! If you play any more of your tricks I’ll call the policeman again, and then he’ll take you away and shut you in the lock-up.”
And now would come the most difficult trick I ever had to learn. It was one that none of the other dogs could do. I don’t know whether any other dog ever did it or not. When Mr. Bonelli threw the ball to me this time, I would catch it and throw it back to him. This I would do by jerking my head forward and letting go of the ball at the same time. We would throw it backward and forward three or four times, and then we would stop, for it was hard for me to do this, and after doing it three or four times I was tired.
After that I would rest awhile, and some of the other dogs would do their tricks. A long red carpet would be unrolled across the stage, and Frisco, and Snaps, and Diamond and Sancho would turn somersaults across it from one side of the stage to the other.
After they had done this for a while they would stop and go back to their chairs, and three little round barrels painted with stripes of red, white and blue would be brought in.
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