Then Sam ud tak it in his hands, an after strokin’ it an smellin’ at its breath, he’d give it a nip ’at ud mak it yelp aght ten thaasand murders, then he’d shake his heead an say, “Aw thowt what wor th’ matter as sooin as aw saw it, mum; yo see it’s soa varry tender it can hardly bide touchin’.  It’s sufferin wi’ enflimashun ov its liver.  It’s a strange thing, but it’s a disease ’at’s gooin abaat amang dogs just at present.  Ther’s monny a scoor dee ivvery wick, for yo see ther’s net monny ’at know hah to doctor ’em for it.  It’s a pratty little thing.  It’ll have to have some castor hoil an a paather, mum.  Aw think aw can cure it in a wick, mum.”

“Well, then, I must leave it with you, and be sure to treat the little thing kindly.”

“Kindly!  Why, mum, awd give it th’ bit aght o’ mi maath.  It owt to have some warm milk an a paather th’ furst thing, but aw dooant happen to have onny ith haase, an my lad willn’t be hooam befoor dark, an it’s been awr rent day to-day, but as sooin:  as ivver he comes wi his wage awl get it some, tho’ it’s a pity, poor thing, ’at it connot have it nah, but yo see aw didn’t know ’at it wor comin’.”

After this speech he wor sewer to get a shillin’, an sometimes hauf-a-craan, an as he nivver reckoned owt off his doctor’s bill, he called that “extra bunce.”

As sooin as shoo’d getten nicely aght oth gate he’d give it a claat oth side oth heead, to let it know at th’ beginnin’ what it might expect if it didn’t behave, an then he’d tak it into th’ cellar an tee some band raand it neck an festen it to th’ wall, an throw it a bit o’ strea to lig on, an after chuckin’ it a crust o’ breead an’ givin’ it some watter, he’d leeav it tellin’ it ’at as sooin as it had browt its stummack daan to that it ud noa daat feel better.  It ud be pratty sewer to freat a bit but Sam ud tak noa noatice wol th’ next day, an when he went to luk at it, if he fan th’ breead an waiter untouched he’d leeav it agean.  Abaht th’ third day he says they generally begin to nibble a bit, an as sooin as he saw that he used to give ’em a bit o’ sop or summat, but he took gooid care net to give ’em too mich.  Bi th’ end oth wick they wor cured, an’ he used to wesh ’em an cooam ’em, an tee a bit a blue ribbon raand ther neck, an’ tak ’em hooam, an’ when ther mistresses saw ’em jumpin’ an’ caperin’ abaat, an ommost fit to ait th’ fire iron’s, they paid him what he charged withaat a word, an gave him credit for being th’ best dog doctor ith country.

He made a gooid deal o’ brass i’ that way, but that didn’t pay him as weel as ratcatchin’.  Ther wor nivver onnybody could equal Sam at catch in’ a rat, for he wor nivver known to fail.  At all th’ big haases ith district he wor as weel known! as th’ pooastman.  He’s gien up th’ trade nah, or else aw wodn’t let yo into th’ saycret.  This is th’ way he used to do.  Th’ cooachman or th’ buttler throo Some hall wod come to tell Sam ’at he wor wanted as sooin as ivver he could spare time, to goa up to th’ hall to catch a rat ’at one oth sarvents had seen ith pantry, for they wor all soa freetened ’at they darn’t goa in.