To Have A Full Stomach, To Daze

More You Drink More You Want

With The Aurora Borealis Flaming Coldly Overhead, Or The Stars Leaping In The Frost Dance, And The Land Numb And Frozen Under Its Pall Of Snow, This Song Of The Huskies Might Have Been The Defiance Of Life, Only It Was Pitched In Minor Key, With Long-drawn Wailings And Half-sobs, And Was More The Pleading Of Life, The Articulate Travail Of Existence. It Was An Old Song, Old As The Breed Itself--one Of The First Songs Of The Younger World In A Day When Songs Were Sad.

He Became Quicker Of Movement Than The Other Dogs, Swifter Of Foot, Craftier, Deadlier, More Lithe, More Lean With Ironlike Muscle And Sinew, More Enduring, More Cruel More Ferocious, And More Intelligent. He Had To Become All These Things, Else He Would Not Have Held His Own Nor Survived The Hostile Environment In Which He Found Himself.

Fear Urged Him To Go Back, But Growth Drove Him On.

He Had Come To Know Quite Thoroughly The World In Which He Lived. His Outlook Was Bleak And Materialistic. The World As He Saw It Was A Fierce And Brutal World, A World Without Warmth, A World In Which Caresses And Affection And The Bright Sweetness Of Spirit Did Not Exist.