What made the little dog expire

The event I’m going to tell you about occurred in England shortly after World War II. A certain English lady intended to give a party. Her intention was to invite a number of friends for dinner and a game of bridge. It was easy enough to ask people to come, but far more difficult to provide a meal for them, for food rationing had not yet been abolished in Great Britain at that time. However, on the very morning of the party the problem was unexpectedly solved.

“There is a man, Ma’am, at the back door offering to sell mushrooms,” the maid-servant announced.

The lady, accompanied by her little terrier, came down to the kitchen and found there a rather disreputable-looking stranger with a basket over his arm. The lady knew nothing about mushrooms and inquired of the man if they were not poisonous. The man reassured her and named such a moderate price for the whole lot that the lady readily paid the money at once, ordering her servant to empty the basket and return it to its owner. While the servant was emptying the basket she dropped a mushroom, and the fox-terrier immediately gobbled it.

“There, that dog knows what’s good,” the stranger said. Pocketing the money, he laughed a malicious laugh and left the kitchen.

The guests duly arrived at the appointed hour and were served a dish of mushrooms, which they thought a treat. While the usual clattering of forks and knives was in progress, the hostess noticed that the servant’s eyes were red with recent weeping. Calling her aside, the lady asked her what was the cause of her untimely tears.

“Oh, Ma’am, I didn’t want to upset you… the little dog … the poor thing has died…,” the girl uttered between sobs.

The terrible truth flashed through the lady’s brain. She saw her duty clearly and addressed her guests:

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I’m sorry to say that, but the mushrooms I’ve offered you proved poisonous. We must act and act quickly, if we wish to save our lives.”

There was a general outburst of emotions. Some of the gentlemen swore, some of the ladies cried. But there was one among the company who was a man of infinite resource and sagacity. He suggested going to the nearest hospital to have the contents of their stomachs pumped out. All rushed for their dear lives. The staff of the hospital were surprised to have suddenly to do with a group of patients in evening dress. Naturally, no one thought of playing cards after this lamentable occurrence.

On arriving home the lady wanted to know where the terrier’s body was.

“Oh,” said the servant, still sobbing, “the gardener has buried it, for it was so badly smashed; and we didn’t even have time enough to put down the number of the car that so cruelly ran over the poor little pet!”

(The story may be suggested for reproduction writing)

George Mikes

1912 - 1987 Beware of love

By means of posters, advertisements, lectures and serious scientific books, people are taught how to avoid or cure flu, smallpox, a broken ankle and mumps; at the same time the major part of the world’s literature (which is not to be confused with world literature), almost all the films, magazine stories and radio plays persuade you in an indirect way to catch a much more dangerous disease than any illness, universally known under the name of love.

The main symptoms of the disease are those:

1. The germ – a charming young lady in some cases, not so charming and not so young in others – makes the silliest and most commonplace remarks and you consider her wittier than Oscar Wilde, deeper than Pascal and more original than Bernard Shaw.

2. She calls you Pootsie, Angelface and other stupid and humiliating names; you are enchanted and coo with delight.

3. She has no idea what is the difference between UNESCO and LCC¹ and you find this disarmingly innocent.

4. Whenever she flirts with others and is rude and cruel to you, you buy her a bunch of flowers and apologize to her. If she misbehaves seriously, you buy her jewelry.

The overwhelming majority of novels, short stories, films, etc. teach you that this dangerous mental and physical ailment is something glorious, desirable and romantic. Who are you to question the wisdom of this teaching? You are expected to take the lesson of these high authorities to heart and believe that the world is mostly inhabited by lovers who commit murders and murderers who fall in love.

The least intelligible thing of all is the fact that love is constantly confused with marriage. Even if we accept the thesis that love is alright because it is a “natural thing” we should, I think, insist that it should be kept out of marriage. You are supposed to choose your future spouse when you are absolutely incapable of so doing. You have to choose her or him when you are in love, i.e. when you think silliness wisdom, affectation real charm, selfishness a good joke and a pretty face the most desirable of all human attributes. You would never send a deaf man to buy gramophone records, a blind man to buy you paintings and an illiterate man to choose your books; but you are expected to choose the person whom you are going to hear more than your favourite records, see oftener than any of your pictures and whose remarks will be more familiar to you than the pages of your most treasured book – in a state of deafness, blindness and illiteracy. You may be fortunate: there are a great number of good records, pictures and books around and even the deaf, blind and the illiterate may make a lucky shot. You may discover that there is nothing much in your choice, except that you bought a rousing march² instead of a pastorale, an impressive battle scene instead of a still life, and a copy of War and Peace instead of The Ideal Husband. Or else, in two years time, you may realize that silk stockings and the films she likes – or the game of billiards he is so terribly fond of – are not the only things that excite you and that to be called “Pootsie” over the age of thirty-five is slightly inappropriate. You may wish your wife knew that Vladivostok is not an illness of which Napoleon died after the siege of Sebastopol. But then it is too late.

I suggest:

1. Any propaganda inciting to love (in films, short stories, novels, paintings, etc.) should be made a criminal offence. The author of such a piece should be sent to a desert island with his beloved for five years.

2. Any person falling in love should be sent to quarantine in a similar way.

3. Love should be abolished altogether.

Assignment:

Comment on the author’s view of love and marriage.