The Aim Of Life Was Meat. Life

Buck Did Not Read The Newspapers, Or He Would Have Known That Trouble Was Brewing, Not Alone For Himself, But For Every Tide-water Dog, Strong Of Muscle And With Warm, Long Hair, From Puget Sound To San Diego.

He Had Learned Well The Law Of Club And Fang, And He Never Forewent An Advantage Or Drew Back From A Foe He Had Started On The Way To Death. He Had Lessoned From Spitz, And From The Chief Fighting Dogs Of The Police And Mail, And Knew There Was No Middle Course. He Must Master Or Be Mastered; While To Show Mercy Was A Weakness. Mercy Did Not Exist In The Primordial Life. It Was Misunderstood For Fear, And Such Misunderstandings Made For Death. Kill Or Be Killed, Eat Or Be Eaten, Was The Law; And This Mandate, Down Out Of The Depths Of Time, He Obeyed.

But It Did Not All Happen In A Day, This Giving Over Of Himself, Body And Soul, To The Man-animals. He Could Not Immediately Forego His Wild Heritage And His Memories Of The Wild. There Were Days When He Crept To The Edge Of The Forest And Stood And Listened To Something Calling Him Far And Away.

...men, Groping In The Arctic Darkness, Had Found A Yellow Metal, And Because Steamship And Transportation Companies Were Booming The Find, Thousands Of Men Were Rushing Into The Northland. These Men Wanted Dogs, And The Dogs They Wanted Were Heavy Dogs, With Strong Muscles By Which To Toil, And Furry Coats To Protect Them From The Frost.

Life Is Not A Matter Of Holding Good Cards, But Sometimes, Playing A Poor Hand Well.