“Well, another old lady who was colored, named Jenkins, lived just down the block two or three houses away from the white woman. It being a small town, everybody lived in houses. Some houses had yards front and back, and nearly everybody had porches. In summer they kept their doors open and the screens closed. But any dog could easy open a screen door and walk in and out of any house. Now, Trilby never paid no attention to the inside of old lady Jenkins’ house until after Mrs. Jenkins’ dog died. Before that time, Trilby would just play with the Jenkins’ dog in the yard, but never go in the house. Trilby were not too mean to play with another dog, even if it belonged to colored folks. But with people Trilby only snarled, growled, also barked at every human, including me. Only at her madam, Trilby did not snarl—nor at that other dog belonging to Mrs. Jenkins. Seems like when Trilby was with that other dog she lost her meanness. Trilby loved that dog.

“Now, the old white lady what owned Trilby naturally did not associate with old Mrs. Jenkins, it being down South. Neither did she like her dog playing with a colored woman’s dog. But dogs will be dogs, so she could not stop that. When she saw Trilby in Mrs. Jenkins’ yard, though, she would always call her home.

“‘Here, Trilby! Here, Trilby! Here, Trilby!’

“Then that old white lady would give Trilby something good to eat to keep her home. Whereupon Trilby would grab her fine bone, lay behind her screen door, and growl at everyone who went by. Else that dog would run out and bark when she got tired of gnawing on her bone. Trilby never did gnaw on me, though, because I would have kicked that old mutt sky-high to a firecracker if she had. I loved dogs, but I did not like Trilby. Nobody liked Trilby except her owner and old lady Jenkins’ dog. Them two dogs got along fine, both being ageable and shaggy and hair-balls—some kind of spitzes and poodles, part cur, one black, one white—the white lady’s dog being the black one, and the colored dog being the white one.