Grandpa got all huffed up. He said, “It doesn’t make any difference how little they are.
They’re coon hounds, aren’t they?” I asked him if he had seen any of the other hounds.
He said, “Yes, I’ve seen them all. Sure they’re big and good dogs, too, but it makes no difference.
I don’t care if your dogs are no bigger than a snuff can. They still have a chance. Now, which one are you going to enter?”
I couldn’t decide. I said, “I’ll think it over tonight and let you know tomorrow.”
The next morning when I stepped outside the tent I saw men everywhere.
They were combing and brushing their dogs, and getting them pruned for the beauty contest.
Beautiful combs and brushes were used to brush expensive oils into their glossy hair.
Going over to my dogs, I stood and looked at them.
I started to untie Old Dan but, taking a closer look at him, I could see he could never win a beauty contest.
His face and ears were a mass of old scars, caused from the many fights with tough old coons and bobcats.
I held his head in my hands and felt sorry for him, but loved him that much more.
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