The Dog MEGAPACK ®: 25 Curly Canine Tales, Old and New

Language: English

Pages: 288


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Almost everyone likes dogs, even those who prefer cats as pets. So it's not surprising that writers have devoted a great deal of verbiage indeed to describe their ongoing love affair with the canine breed. You'll find herein all kinds of tales focusing on dogs: science fiction stories, mysteries, horror tales, westerns, memoirs, humorous accounts, and first-person doggie narratives. There are well-known pieces by writers such as Jack London, James Oliver Curwood, Washington Irving, Saki, E. C. Tubb, John Gregory Betancourt, Robert Hood, and Jack Dann--and stories by authors who are relatively unknown today.

Here are twenty-five marvelous tales of dogs and their interactions with humans, plus five bonus poems:

"The Call of the Wild," by Jack London

"My Friend Bobby," by Alan E. Nourse

"Neb," by Robert Reginald

"My Friend," by Anonymous [poem]

"Kerfol," by Edith Wharton

"The Monster," by S. M. Tenneshaw

"Tinker," by E. Nesbit

"Phantom Dogs," by Elliott O'Donnell

"The Dogs of Hannoie," by E. C. Tubb

"Warlock," by Gordon Stables [poem]

"Spaniel and Newfoundland Dogs," by Edward Jesse

"A Dog of Flanders," by Ouida

"Guard Dog," by Robert Hood

"Rip Van Winkle," by Washington Irving

"Stories of Dog Sagacity," by W. H. G. Kingston

"The Best Friend," by Meribah Philbrick Abbott [poem]

"Grab a Knife and Save a Life," by Mark E. Burgess

"Kazan," by James Oliver Curwood

"Mercy's Reward," by Sir Edwin Arnold [poem]

"Snap: The Story of a Bull-Terrier," by Ernest Thompson Seton

"Dogs Questing," by John Gregory Betancourt

"The Widow's Dog," by Mary Russell Mitford

"The Beast of Space," by F. E. Hardart

"Oil of Dog," by Ambrose Bierce

"Spirit Dog," by Jack Dann

"Little Doggerel," by Robert Reginald [poem]

"A Pilgrim," by Robert W. Chambers

"The Open Window," by Saki

"Memoirs of a Yellow Dog," by O. Henry

"The Sound of the Barkervilles," by Robert Reginald.

And don't forget to search this ebook store for "Wildside Megapack" to see more volumes in the series, including more animal stories (like Cats), plus mysteries, adventure stories, westerns, ghost stories, science fiction -- and much, much more!

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face was red with blood. But he had the club! He would beat him again—beat him terribly for hurting McCready; so Kazan slipped quietly under the tent-flap and stole off into the shadows. From out the gloom of the thick spruce he looked back, and a low whine of love and grief rose and died softly in his throat. They would beat him always now—after that. Even she would beat him. They would hunt him down, and beat him when they found him. From out of the glow of the fire he turned his wolfish head

blankets, food, and the furry nest for baby Joan. Then he harnessed himself in the traces and dragged the sledge over the snow. He coughed incessantly. “It’s a cough I’ve had half the winter,” lied Pierre, careful that Joan saw no sign of blood on his lips or beard. “I’ll keep in the cabin for a week when we get home.” Even Kazan, with that strange beast knowledge which man, unable to explain, calls instinct, knew that what he said was not the truth. Perhaps it was largely because he had heard

windfall. All that night Gray Wolf watched and waited. And when at last the moon was sinking into the south and west, she settled back on her haunches, turned her blind face to the sky, and sent forth her first howl since the day Ba-ree was born. Nature had come into her own. Far away Ba-ree heard, but he did not answer. A new world was his. He had said goodby to the windfall—and home. Chapter XIX: The Usurpers It was that glorious season between spring and summer, when the northern nights

errand, and the whole story of poor Chloe. How often, without being particularly uncharitable in judging of our neighbors, we have the gratification of finding them even better than we had supposed! He blamed us for not having thought well enough of him to put the whole affair into his management from the first, and exclaimed against us for fearing that he would compare the preserves and the pheasant-shooting with such an attachment as had subsisted between his good old tenant and her faithful

shoulders of a girl. Her attractiveness plainly distinguishable through her helmet; for a moment he forgot that he disliked women. The call for help, cut short…but not before he had learned that apparently she was being held prisoner on Asteroid Moira. He knew he’d have to do what he could, even if it meant unwanted company for an indefinite length of time. The spell was gone soon after her face vanished; he remembered former experiences with attractive-looking girls. Damn traditions! A change

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