Penny by Hal; Borland

to run. Penny continued to chase them. I chased Penny.
    I don’t know how long I chased her, more angry every minute. She didn’t stop, but finally I got close enough to make a flying leap and catch her by one hind leg. Luckily, I had brought the leash. I got it on her and told her firmly that we were going home. She insisted she was going to continue chasing those big black and white cows. I was bigger than she was. We went home, Penny holding back and complaining almost every foot of the way.
    I tethered her to a ring on the front porch and sat down to catch my breath. If I had half the stamina of that dog I could build an Egyptian pyramid single-handed.
    â€œWell,” Barbara said, “you two had a nice little jog, didn’t you? Do that every day and—”
    â€œAnd you will be a widow.”
    â€œWhat do we do now?”
    â€œLock her up for the night.”
    â€œAnd tomorrow?”
    â€œI can’t think that far ahead.”
    â€œMaybe she’ll have forgotten all about the cows by tomorrow.”
    â€œWant to bet? When it comes to deviltry, that dog has a memory that makes an elephant look absent-minded.”
    As soon as I stopped puffing I took Penny to her house and locked her in, two hours early. She didn’t like it. But she must have known she wasn’t in high favor, because her heart really wasn’t in her complaints. She yowled for twenty minutes, then shut up.
    The next morning she seemed to be her usual self, greeted me happily when I let her out, ate her breakfast, went out for a little while, came back in, a model of good behavior. When I came up to my study she came along and lay here for an hour while I worked at the typewriter, then went downstairs in midmorning and went outside and lay on the front steps. The cows were in the pasture, and soon after she went outdoors they came to the watering trough to drink. I watched and saw Penny give them one uninterested look, then pay no more attention. She seemed to be thinking, Cows? So what? And I wondered if what happened the evening before had been just one of those things, a sudden impulse that wouldn’t be repeated.
    I went back to work. Nothing happened. The day passed peacefully. Late afternoon and we were on the porch again, and at five o’clock the cows began lining out for home and milking. Penny saw them, watched for a minute, got to her feet.
    â€œPenny,” I warned.
    She glanced at me and turned toward the steps.
    â€œPenny, come back here!”
    I grabbed at her, but too late. She scuttled down the steps and raced across the yard toward the pasture. I picked up the leash and ran after her. The cows saw her coming and turned and loped away. Penny yelped in high triumph and took off after them. I crawled through the wire fence and followed.
    It didn’t take quite as long to catch her that time. The cows didn’t run quite as fast. I kept hoping one of them would give Penny a kick that would send her sprawling, but it didn’t happen. It might have made her all the more determined, though. I finally caught her, snapped the leash on her collar and headed for home. She didn’t make half the struggle that she had the evening before. I took her home and locked her up and let her yowl. An hour later I took a can of dog food out there and gave her her supper in jail. She didn’t appreciate it.
    While Barbara and I ate our supper we discussed the problem.
    â€œThere must be some way,” Barbara said, “to break her of chasing cows. You can break a dog of chasing cars, can’t you?”
    â€œSome dogs. Some are slow learners. They get killed.”
    â€œPenny is bright.”
    â€œToo bright for her own good.”
    â€œShe should be a quick learner.”
    â€œWant to try teaching her?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know where to start.”
    â€œWell, first you learn to talk dog.”
    â€œUmm-hm. Second?”
    â€œGet Penny to listen while you