Judge — June 4, 1932 — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

What Every Young Dog Should Know DON’T know what to do about my Ping Pong and I don’t mean the nervous game with the frisky pellet. I mean my short haired sealyham. (At least she tells me that’s what she is even if she didn’t have her birth certificate with her when picked up on a lonely road near Bellyacres.) You see, there a you can send a girl who goes astray and have wisdom brought her. But Ping Pong has done the melodramatic trick three times I’m afraid she’s just not corrigible. And it isn’t I haven't tried with the Little Mother. The first time I locked her closely in the cellar. But she broke out and I broke down, striding back and forth waiting for that terrible hour when she would return—the Hour Every ather Knows. I dreaded what I had to say to her but the Bernarr Macfad- den in me demanded she be lectured on eugenics and it pays to listen to your father. there Finally furtive SHAT ‘B55 ABOUT = PING Pong! came a PING TONG, WHO \S Lovesick! JUDGE scratching on the door. I opened it and there stood a cowering little beast. A great flood of melodrama overwhelmed dT thund se Payton house, you—you— my Take your baggage and go!” Only I noticed there driven and you was no around snow just HAT — WAITING FOR “THAT TERRIBLE HOUR -_~ PROBUY our =, WITH AT MACHAMER RLICE Dog” can't order anyone out RETUR, into the blinding sun- Hour ENERy shine. It isn’t done. FATHER Anyway, Ping Pong kKnowS!/ finally became the * mother of a small bat- talion of tiny hunks of fur. Why she wasn’t content to emulate her human friends and have a couple I wouldn't know. Even triplets wouldn't have been so might have forgiven quintuplets. But a deluge of seven I considered pure ingratitude. And not that I'm a kennel snob but her stalwart sons and daugh- ters represented seven breeds not known to man or beast. I cooled off soon after and helped the little mother with her cute brats for the next few weeks till she was able to get around. I'd look around from time to time expecting the papa to turn up bearing soft milk fed bones or boxes of Spratt’s puppy t cuits or to help me with a payment on Ping Pong’s National City Loan but did he? C tainly he did. That a half dozen different gents called to have a look-in but everytime Ping Pong spotted them, she would snarl so firmly, they’d do a bad and 1 a rash set of 20 nappy Ben Eastman in any direc- tion from those gentle motherly teeth. The Mystic Seven (their long tails and their 28 ‘pattering large feet) went out to earn their loving amony working classes and I decided e bitten pound foolish or some- g like that. I would ces When Love ne sed a cunning cont cks, shackles, hawsers and and lost the combination in a But did Ping Pong cape ag Did she bless me with eight, entirely new breeds? Did the earth r once yesterday? All I got bes headaches was the brilliant notion to book Ping Pong as the Only Canine Escape Artist in stence but vaudeville didn’t see eye to eye with my whim: Incidentally all during her mother- hood I took Ping Pong around to the best kennels to try to impress her psychologically with Puppy Beauti- ful Consciousness. But what I'm getting at is just the other day (Mother’s Day I be- lieve) I decided I'd get Ping Pong a husband. Fathers often did and of bolts aption comicbooks.com