Dog aristocrats2 have two names; one whereby they are registered in the American Kennel3 Club’s immortal4 studbook and one by which they are known at home. The first of these is called the “pedigree name.” The second is the “kennel name.” Few dogs know or answer to their own high-sounding pedigree names. In speaking to them their kennel names alone are used.
For example, my grand old Bruce’s pedigree name was Sunnybank Goldsmith;—a term that meant nothing to him. My Champion Sunnybank Sigurdson (greatest of Treve’s sons), responds only to the name of “Squire.” Sunnybank Lochinvar is “Roy.”
206Treve’s pedigree name was “Sunnybank Sigurd.” And in time he won his right to the hard-sought and harder-earned prefix5 of “CHAMPION”;—the supreme6 crown of dogdom.
We named him Sigurd—the Mistress and I—in honour of the collie of Katharine Lee Bates; a dog made famous the world over by his owner’s exquisite7 book, “Sigurd, Our Golden Collie.”
But here difficulties set in.
It is all very well to shout “Sigurd!” to a collie when he is the only dog in sight. But when there is a rackety and swirling8 and excited throng10 of them, the call of “Sigurd!” has an unlucky sibilant resemblance to the exhortation11, “Sic ’im!” And misunderstandings—not to say strife—are prone13 to follow. So we sought a one-syllable kennel name for our golden collie pup. My English superintendent14, Robert Friend, suggested “Treve.”
The pup took to it at once.
He was red-gold-and-snow of coat; a big slender youngster, with the true “look of eagles” in his deepset dark eyes. In those eyes, too, burned an eternal imp15 of mischief16.
I have bred or otherwise acquired hundreds of collies in my time. No two of them were alike. That is the joy of collies. But most of them had certain well-defined collie characteristics in common with their blood-brethren. Treve had practically none. He was not like other collies or like a dog of any breed.
Gloriously beautiful, madly alive in every inch of him, he combined the widest and most irreconcilable17 range of traits.
For him there were but three people on earth;—the Mistress, myself and Robert Friend. To us he gave complete 207allegiance, if in queer form. The rest of mankind, with one exception—a girl—did not exist, so far as he was concerned; unless the rest of mankind undertook to speak to him or to pat him. Then, instantly, such familiarity was rewarded by a murderous growl18 and a most terrifying bite.
The bite was delivered with a frightful19 show of ferocity. And it had not the force to crush the wing of a fly.
Strangers, assailed20 thus, were startled. Some were frankly21 scared. They would stare down in amaze at the bitten surface, marvelling22 that there was neither blood nor teeth-mark nor pain. For the attack always had an appearance of man-eating fury.
Treve would allow the Mistress to pat him—in moderation. But if I touched him, in friendliness23, he would toss his beautiful head and dart24 out of reach, barking angrily back at me. It was the same when Robert tried to pet him.
Once or twice a day he would come up to me, laying his head across my arm or knee; growling25 with the utmost vehemence26 and gnawing27 at my sleeve for a minute at a time. I gather that this was a form of affection. He did it to nobody else.
Also, when I went to town for the day, he would mope around for awhile; then would take my cap from the hall table and carry it into my study. All day long he would lie there, one paw on the cap, and growl fierce menace to all who ventured near. On my return home at night, he gave me scarcely a glance and drew disgustedly away as usual when I held out my hand to pat him.
In the evenings, on the porch or in front of the living room fire, he would stroll unconcernedly about until he made sure I was not noticing. Then he would curl himself 208on the floor in front of me, pressing his furry28 body close to my ankles; and would lie there for hours.
The Mistress alone he forbore to bite. He loved her. But she was a grievous disappointment to him. From the first, she saw through his vehement29 show of ferocity and took it at its true value. Try as he would he could not frighten her. Try as he would, he could not mask his adoration30 for her.
Again and again he would lie down for a nap at her feet; only to waken presently with a thundrous growl and a snarl31, and with a lunge of bared teeth at her caressing33 hand. The hand would continue to caress32; and his show of fury was met with a laugh and with the comment:
“You’ve had a good sleep, and now you’ve waked up in a nice homicidal rage.”
Failing to alarm her, the dog would look sheepishly at the laughing face and then cuddle down again at her feet to be petted.
There was another side to his play of indifference34 and of wrath35. True, he would toss his head and back away, barking, when Robert or myself tried to pat him. But at the quietly spoken word, “Treve!”, he would come straight up to us and, if need be, stand statue-like for an hour at a time, while he was groomed37 or otherwise handled.
In brief, he was the naughtiest and at the same time the most unfailingly obedient dog I have owned. No matter how far away he might be, the single voicing of his name would bring him to me in a swirling rush.
In the show-ring he was a problem. At times he showed as proudly and as spectacularly as any attitude-striking tragedian. Again, if he did not chance to like his surroundings or if the ring-side crowd displeased38 him, he prepared to loaf in slovenly39 fashion through his paces on the block and in the parade. At such times the showing 209of Treve became as much an art as is the guiding of a temperamental race-horse to victory. It called for tact40; even for trickery.
In the first place, during these fits of ill-humour, he would start around the ring, in the preliminary parade, with his tail arched high over his back; although he knew, as well as did I, that a collie’s tail should be carried low, in the ring.
I commanded: “Tail down!” Down would come the tail. But at the same time would come a savage41 growl and a sensational42 snap at my wrist. The spectators pointed43 out to one another the incurably44 fierce collie. Fellow-exhibitors in the ring would edge away. The judge—if he were an outsider—would eye Treve with strong apprehension45.
It was the same when I whispered, “Foot out!” as he deliberately46 turned one white front toe inward in coming to a halt on the judging block. A similar snarl and feather-light snap followed the command.
The worst part of the ordeal47 came when the judge began to “go over” him with expert hands, to test the levelness of his mouth, the spring of his ribs48, his general soundness and the texture49 of his coat. An exhibitor is not supposed to speak to a judge in the ring except to answer a question. But if the judge were inspecting Treve for the first time, I used to mumble50 conciliatingly, the while:
“He’s only in play, Judge. The dog’s perfectly51 gentle.”
This, as Treve resented the stranger’s handling, by growl-fringed bites at the nearest part of the judicial52 anatomy53.
A savage dog does not make a hit with the average judge. There is scant54 joyance in being chewed, in the pursuit of one’s judging-duties. Yet, as a rule, judges took 210my word as to Treve’s gentleness; especially after one sample of his biteless biting. Said Vinton Breese, the famed “all-rounder” dog-judge, after an Interstate show:
“I feel slighted. Sigurd forgot to bite me to-day. It’s the first time.”
The Mistress made up a little song, in which Treve’s name occurred oftener than almost all its other words. Treve was inordinately55 proud of this song. He would stand, growling softly, with his head on his side, for an indefinite time, listening to her sing it. He used to lure56 her into chanting this super-personal ditty by trotting57 to the piano and then running back to her.
Nature intended him for a staunch, clever, implicitly58 obedient, gentle collie, without a single bad trait, and possessed59 of rare sweetness. He tried his best to make himself thoroughly60 mean and savage and treacherous61. He met with pitifully poor success in his chosen rôle. The sweetness and the obedient gentleness stuck forth62, past all his best efforts to mask them in ferocity.
Once, when he bit with overmuch unction at a guest who tried to pat him, I spoke36 sharply to him and emphasised my rebuke63 by a slight slap on the shoulder. The dog was heart-broken. Crouching64 at my feet, his head on my boot, he sobbed65 exactly like a frightened child. He spent hours trying pitifully to make friends with me again.
It was so when his snarl and his nip at the legs of one of the other dogs led to warlike retaliation66. At once Treve would rush to me for protection and for comfort. From the safe haven67 of my knees he would hurl68 threats at his assailant and defy him to carry the quarrel further. There was no fight in him. At the same time there was no taint69 of cowardice70. He bore pain or discomfort71 or real danger unflinchingly.
211One of his chief joys was to ransack72 the garage and stables for sponges and rags which were stored there for cleaning the cars. These he would carry, one by one, to the long grass or to the lake, and deposit them there. When the men hid these choice playthings out of his way he would stand on his hindlegs and explore the shelves and low beam-corners in search of them; never resting till he found one or more to bear off.
He would lug73 away porch cushions and carelessly-deserted hats and wraps, and deposit them in all sorts of impossible places; never by any chance bringing them back.
From puppyhood, he did not once eat a whole meal of his own accord. Always he must be fed by hand. Even then he would not touch any food but cooked meat.
Normally, the solution to this would have been to let him go hungry until he was ready to eat. But a valuable show-and-stud collie cannot be allowed to become a skeleton and lifeless for lack of food, any more than a winning race-horse can be permitted to starve away his strength and speed.
Treve’s daily pound-and-a-half of broiled74 chuck steak was cut in small pieces and set before him on a plate. Then began the eternal task of making him eat it. Did we turn our backs on him for a single minute—the food had vanished when next we looked.
But it had not vanished down Treve’s dainty throat. Casual search revealed every missing morsel75 of meat shoved neatly76 out of sight under the edges of the plate or else hidden in the grass or under nearby boards or handfuls of straw.
This daily meal was a game. Treve enjoyed it immensely. Not being blessed with patience, I abhorred77 it. So Robert Friend took the duty of feeding him. At sound of Robert’s distant knife, whetted78 to cut up the 212meat, Treve would come flying to the hammock where I sat writing. At a bound he was in my lap, all fours and all fur—the entire sixty pounds of him—and with his head thrust under one of the hammock cushions.
Thence, at Robert’s call, and at my own exhortation, he would come forth with mincing79 reluctance80 and approach the tempting81 dish of broiled steak. Looking coldly upon the food, he would lie down. To all of Robert’s allurements82 to eat, the dog turned a deaf ear. Once in a blue moon, he consented to swallow the steak, piece by piece, if Robert would feed it to him by hand. Oftener it was necessary to call on Wolf to act as stimulant83 to appetite.
"Then I’ll give it to Wolf,“ Robert would threaten. ”Wolf!"
Treve got to his feet with head lowered and teeth bared. Robert called Wolf, who came lazily to play his part in the daily game for a guerdon of one piece of the meat.
Six feet away from the dish, Wolf paused. But his work was done. Growling, barking, roaring, Treve attacked the dish; snatching up and bolting one morsel of meat at a time. Between every two bites he bellowed84 threats and insults at the placidly85 watching Wolf,—Wolf who could thrash his weight in tigers and who, after Lad and Bruce died, was the acknowledged king of all the Place’s dogs.
In this way, mouthful by mouthful and with an accompaniment of raging noise that could be heard across the lake, Treve disposed of his dinner.
Yes, it was a silly thing to humour him in the game. But there was no other method of making him eat the food on which depended his continued show-form and his dynamite86 vitality87. When it came to giving him his two raw eggs a day, there was nothing to that but forcible feeding. 213In solid cash prizes and in fees, Treve paid back, by many hundred per cent., the high cost of his food.
When he was little more than a puppy, he fell dangerously ill with some kind of heart trouble. Dr. Hopper said he must have medicine every half hour, day and night, until he should be better. I sat up with him for two nights.
I got little enough work done, between times, on those two nights. The suffering dog, lay on a rug beside my study desk. But he was uneasy and wanted to be talked to. He was in too much pain to go to sleep. In a corner of my study was a tin biscuit box, which I kept filled with animal crackers89, as occasional titbits for the collies. Every now and then, during our two-night vigil, I took an animal cracker88 from the box and fed it to Treve.
By the second night he was having a beautiful time. I was not.
The study seemed to him a most delightful90 place. Forthwith he adopted it as his lair91. By the third morning he was out of danger and indeed was practically well again. But he had acquired the study-habit; a habit which lasted throughout his short life.
From that time on, it was Treve’s study; not mine. The tin cracker box became his treasure chest; a thing to be guarded as jealously as ever was the Nibelungen Hoard92 or the Koh-i-noor.
If he chanced to be lying in any other room, and a dog unconsciously walked between him and the study, Treve bounded up from the soundest sleep and rushed growlingly93 to the study door, whence he snarled94 defiance95 at the possible intruder. If he were in the study and another dog ventured near, Treve’s teeth were bared and Treve’s fore-feet were planted firmly atop the tin box; as he ordered away the potential despoiler96 of his hoard.
214No human, save only the Mistress and myself, might enter the study unchallenged. Grudgingly97, Treve conceded her right and mine to be there. But a rush at the ankles of any one else discouraged ingress. I remember my daughter stopped in there one day to speak to me; on her way for a swim. As the bathing-dressed figure appeared on the threshold, Treve made a snarling98 rush for it. Alternately and vehemently99 he bit both bare ankles.
“I wish he wouldn’t do that,” complained my daughter, annoyed. “He tickles100 so when he bites!”
No expert trainer has worked more skilfully101 and tirelessly over a Derby winner than did Robert Friend over that dog’s shimmering102 red-gold coat. For an hour or more every day, he groomed Treve, until the burnished103 fur stood out like a Circassian beauty’s coiffure and glowed like molten gold. The dog stood moveless throughout the long and tedious process; except when he obeyed the order to turn to one side or the other or to lift his head or to put up his paws for a brushing of the silken sleeve-ruffles.
It was Robert, too, who hit on the scheme which gave Treve his last show-victory; when the collie already had won fourteen of the needful fifteen points which should make him a Champion of Record.
Perhaps you think it is easy to pilot even the best of dogs through the gruelling ordeals104 that go to make up those fifteen points. Well, it is not.
Many breeders take their dogs on the various show-circuits, keeping them on the bench for three days at a time; and then, week after week, shipping105 them in stuffy106 crates108 from town to town, from show to show. In this way, the championship points sometimes pile up with reasonable speed;—and sometimes never at all. (Sometimes, too, the luckless dog is found dead in his crate107, on 215arriving at the show-hall. Oftener he catches distemper and dies in more painful and leisurely109 fashion.)
I am too foolishly mush-hearted to inflict110 such torture on any of our Sunnybank collies. I never take my dogs to a show that cannot be reached by comfortable motor ride within two or three hours at most; nor to any show whence they cannot return home at the end of a single day. Thus, championship points mount up more slowly at Sunnybank than at some other kennels111. But thus, too, our dogs, for the most part, stay alive and in splendid health. I sleep the sounder at night, for knowing my collie chums are not in misery112 in some distemper-tainted dogshow-building.
In like manner, it is a fixed113 rule with us never to ship a Sunnybank puppy anywhere by express to a purchaser People must come here in person and take home the pups they buy from me. Buyers have motored to Sunnybank for pups from Maine and Ohio and even from California.
These scruples114 of mine have earned me the good-natured guying of more sensible collie breeders.
Well, Treve had picked up fourteen of the fifteen points needed to complete his championship. The last worthwhile show of the spring season—within motor distance—was at Noble, Pa., on June 10, 1922. Incidentally, June 10, 1922, was Treve’s third birthday. His wonderful coat was at the climax115 of its shining fulness. By autumn he would be “out of coat”; and an out-of-coat collie stands small chance of winning.
So Robert and I drove over to Noble with him.
The day was stewingly hot; the drive was long. Show-goers crowded around the splendid dog before the judging began. Bit by bit, Treve’s nerves began to fray116. We kept him off his bench and in the shade, and we did what we could to steer117 admirers away from him. But it was 216no use. By the time the collie division was called into the tented ring, Treve was profoundly unhappy and cranky.
He slouched in, with no more “form” to him than a plough horse. With the rest of his class (“Open, sable-and-white”), he went through the parade. Judge Cooper called the contestants118 one by one up to the block; Treve last of all. My best efforts could not rouse the dog from his sullen119 apathy120.
It was then that Robert Friend played his trump121 card. Standing12 just outside the ring, among the jam of spectators, he called excitedly:
“Wolf! I’ll give it to Wolf!”
I don’t know what the other spectators thought of this outburst. But I know the effect it had on Treve.
In a flash the great dog was alert and tense; his tulip ears up, his whole body at attention, the look of eagles in his eyes as he scanned the ringside for a glimpse of his friend, Wolf.
Judge Cooper took one long look at him. Then, without so much as laying a hand on the magnificently-showing Treve, he awarded him the blue ribbon in his class.
I had sense enough to take the dog into one corner and to keep him there, quieting and steadying him until the Winners’ Class was called. As I led him into the ring, then, to compete with the other classes’ blue ribboners, Robert called once more to the absent Wolf. Again the trick served. The collie moved and stood as if galvanised into sparkling life.
Cooper handed me the Winners’ rosette; the rosette whose acquisition made Treve a Champion of Record!
It was only about a year ago. In that little handful of time, the judge who made him a champion—the new-made champion himself—the dog whose name roused him from 217his apathy in the ring—all three are dead. I don’t think a white sportsman like Cooper would mind my linking his name with two such supreme collies, in this word of necrology. Cooper—Treve—Wolf!
(There’s lots of room in this old earth of ours for the digging of graves, isn’t there?)
Home we came with our champion—Champion Sunnybank Sigurd—who displayed so little championship dignity that, an hour after our return to the Place, he lifted my brand new Panama hat daintily from the hall-table, carried it forth from the house with a loving tenderness; laid it to rest in a patch of lakeside mud; and then rolled on it.
I was too elated over our triumph to scold him for the costly122 sacrilege. I am glad now that I didn’t. For a scolding or a single harsh word ever reduced him to utter heartbreak.
And so for a while, at the Place, our golden champion continued to revel123 in the gay zest124 of life.
He was the livest dog I have known. Wolf alone was his chum among all the Sunnybank collies. Wolf alone, with his mighty125 heart and vast wisdom and his elfin sense of fun and his love for frolic. Wolf and Treve used to play a complicated game whose chief move consisted of a sweeping126 breakneck gallop127, for perhaps a half-mile, to the accompaniment of a fanfare128 of barking. Across the green lawns they would flash, like red-gold meteors; and at a pace none of their fleet-footed brethren could maintain.
One morning they started as usual on this whirlwind dash. But at the end of the first few yards, Treve swayed in his flying stride, faltered129 to a stop and came slowly back to me. He thrust his muzzle130 into my cupped hand—for 218the first time in his undemonstrative life—then stood wearily beside me.
A strange transformation131 had come over him. The best way I can describe it is to say that the glowing inward fire which always had seemed to shine through him—even to the flaming bright mass of coat—was gone. He was all at once old and sedate132 and massive; a dog of elderly dignity—a dignity oddly majestic133. The mischief imp had fled from his eyes; the sheen and sunlight had vanished from his coat. He had ceased to be Treve.
I sent in a rush for the nearest good vet134. The doctor examined the invalid135 with all the skilled attention due a dog whose cash value runs into four figures. Then he gave verdict.
It was the heart;—the heart that had been flighty in puppyhood days, but which two competent vets136 had since pronounced as sound as the traditional bell.
For a day longer the collie lived;—at least a gravely gentle and majestic collie lived in the marvellous body that had been Treve’s. He did not suffer—or so the doctor told us—and he was content to stay very close to me; his paw or his head on my foot.
At last, stretching himself drowsily137 to sleep, he died.
It seemed impossible that such a swirl9 of glad life and mischief and beauty could have been wiped out in twenty-four little hours.
Not for our virtues138 nor for our general worthiness139 are we remembered wistfully by those who stay on. Not for our sterling140 qualities are we cruelly missed when missing is futile141. Worthiness, in its death, does not leave behind it the grinding heartache that comes at memory of some lovably naughty or mischievous142 or delightfully143 perverse144 trait.
219Treve’s entertaining badnesses had woven themselves into the very life of the Place. Their passing left a keen hurt. The more so because, under them, lay bedrock of staunch loyalty145 and gentleness.
I have not the skill to paint our eccentrically lovable chum’s word picture, except in this clumsily written sketch146. If I were to attempt to make a whole book of him, the result would be a daub.
But I have tried at least to make his name remembered by a few readers; by giving it to the hero of the “Treve” collection of stories. Perhaps some one, reading, may like the name, even if not the stories, and may call his or her next collie, “Treve”; in memory of a gallant147 dog that was dear to Sunnybank.
We buried him in the woods, near the house, here. A granite148 boulder149 serves as his headstone.
Alongside that boulder, a few days ago, we buried the Mistress’s hero collie, Wolf; close to his old-time playmate, Treve.
Perhaps you may care to hear a word or two of Wolf’s plucky150 death. Some of you have read his adventures in my other dog stories. More of you read of his passing. For nearly every newspaper in America printed a long account of it.
It is an account worth reading and rereading; as is every tale of clean courage. I am going to quote part of the finely-written story that appeared in the New York Times of June 28, 1923; a story far beyond power of mine to improve on or to equal:
"Wolf, son of Lad, is dead. The shaggy collie, with the eyes that understood and the friendly tail, made famous in the stories of Albert Payson Terhune, died like a thoroughbred. 220So when Wolf joined his father, in the canine151 Beyond, last Sunday night, there was no hanging of heads.
"Wolf died a hero. But yesterday the level lawns of Sunnybank, the Terhune place at Pompton Lakes, N. J., seemed empty and the big house was curiously152 quiet. True, other collies were there; but so, too, was the big boulder out in the woods with just ‘Wolf’ graven across it.
"Ten years ago, when thousands of readers were following Lad’s career as told by his owner, Mr. Terhune, an interesting event took place at Sunnybank. Of all the puppies that had or have come to Sunnybank, that group of newcomers was the most mischievous. Admittedly, Lad was properly proud, but readers will remember his occasional misgivings153 about one of the pups. The cause of parental154 concern was Wolf. He was a good puppy, you know, but a trifle boisterous155; maybe—yes, he was, the littlest bit inclined to wildness.
"In 1918 Lad passed on; and the whole country mourned his departure. Wolf succeeded his famous father in the stories of Mr. Terhune. The son had long since abandoned his harum-scarum ways and had developed into a model member of the Terhune dog circle. Wolf was the property and the pet of Mrs. Terhune.
"He became the cleverest of all the collies. One could talk to Wolf and get understanding and no back talk. One could depend on Wolf and get full loyalty. One could like Wolf and say so; and the soft cool nose would come poking156 around and the tail would begin to wag till it seemed as if Wolf would wag himself off his feet.
"Wolf constituted himself warden157 of the Sunnybank lawns and custodian158 of the driveways. When motoring parties came in and endangered the lives of the puppies playing about the driveways, Wolf, at the first sound of 221the motor, would dash importantly down into the drive and would herd159 or chase every puppy out of harm’s way.
"Each evening it was the habit of Wolf to saunter off on a long ‘walk.’ Three evenings ago he rambled160 away and—
"Down in the darkness at the railroad station some folk were waiting to see the Stroudsburg express flash by. It was a few minutes late. A nondescript dog, with a hunted, homeless droop161 to his tail, trotted162 onto the tracks.
"Far down the line there came the warning screech163 of the express. The canine tramp didn’t pay any attention to it, but sat down to scratch at a flea164.
"The headlight of the express shot a beam glistening165 along the rails. Wolf saw the dog and the danger. With a bark and a snap, the son of Lad thrust the stranger off the track and drove him to safety.
“The express was whistling, for a crossing, far past the station, when they picked up what was Wolf and started for the Terhune home.”
All dogs die too soon. Many humans don’t die soon enough. A dog is only a dog. And a dog is too gorgeously normal, and wholesome166 to be made ridiculous in death by his owner’s sloppy167 sentimentality.
The stories of one’s dogs, like the recital168 of one’s dreams, are of no special interest to others. Perhaps I have talked overlong about these two collie chums of ours. Belatedly, I ask your forgiveness if I have bored you.
Albert Payson Terhune.
“Sunnybank,”
Pompton Lakes,
New Jersey169.
.
The End
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aristocrats
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kennel
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immortal
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prefix
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supreme
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exquisite
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throng
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exhortation
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prone
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superintendent
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imp
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mischief
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irreconcilable
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growl
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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22
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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23
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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24
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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25
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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26
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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27
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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28
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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29
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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30
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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31
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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32
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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33
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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34
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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35
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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36
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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37
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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38
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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39
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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40
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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41
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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42
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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43
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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44
incurably
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| ad.治不好地 | |
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45
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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46
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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47
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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48
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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49
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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50
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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51
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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52
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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53
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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54
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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55
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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56
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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57
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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58
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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59
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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60
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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61
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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62
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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63
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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64
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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65
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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66
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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67
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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68
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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69
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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70
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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71
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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72
ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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73
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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74
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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75
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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76
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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77
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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78
whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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79
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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80
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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81
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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82
allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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83
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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84
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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85
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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86
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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87
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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88
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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89
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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90
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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91
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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92
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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93
growlingly
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| adv.怒吠，吼，咆哮 | |
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94
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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95
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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96
despoiler
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97
grudgingly
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98
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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99
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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100
tickles
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| （使）发痒( tickle的第三人称单数 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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101
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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102
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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103
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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104
ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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105
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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106
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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107
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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108
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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109
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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110
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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111
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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112
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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113
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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114
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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116
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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117
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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118
contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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119
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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120
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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121
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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122
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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123
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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124
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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125
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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126
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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127
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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128
fanfare
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| n.喇叭；号角之声；v.热闹地宣布 | |
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129
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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130
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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131
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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132
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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133
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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134
vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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135
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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136
vets
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| abbr.veterans （复数）老手，退伍军人；veterinaries （复数）兽医n.兽医( vet的名词复数 )；老兵；退伍军人；兽医诊所v.审查（某人过去的记录、资格等）( vet的第三人称单数 )；调查；检查；诊疗 | |
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137
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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138
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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139
worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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140
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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141
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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142
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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143
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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144
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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145
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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146
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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147
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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148
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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149
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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150
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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151
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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152
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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153
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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154
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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155
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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156
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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157
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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158
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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159
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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160
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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161
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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162
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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163
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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164
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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165
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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166
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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167
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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168
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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169
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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