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Necromancer, v. 1, issue 1, July 1947

Page 15

DISCOURSE WITH GOLDBERG
BY HAROLD INITALY

Those who have been fortunate enough to meet him are inevitably well impressed with Goldberg. He manages to impress each and every person he meets in one way or another. To date, no one has been scarred for life, but he has left his canine mark on various portions of many an unsuspecting individuals anatomy. He is one of the most Scotch Terrierish-looking Scotch Terriers ever to be smuggled from the British Isles in a soldier's respirator-holder.

Coming over on the Queen Mary, he tested the cabin steward as many as half a score times. In each instance it cost me a pound of sterling money -- and in these days, dear reader, all money was sterline to me. (and come to think of it, still is.) I could never quite prove it, but I think the flunkey would talk the petit pup into taking a chunk out of this while I was at chow, so that he could exhibit the freshly wounded limb or buttock and blackmail me into forking over another "L" note hush money!

All this is simply to give you an insight into Goldberg's typically Ecossais terrier personality. Many were the harrowed casualties left in his wake before disembarking from the Mary. That, though, is another story. Suffice to say that we landed, got through the red tape, time passed, we both became older and I have gotten noticeably poorer ever since because of him.

All of which brings us up to date and to the events which led up to the subject of this narrative.

The particular day on which Soda, as we sometimes call him, (have to get the Scotch in somewhere - yuk! yuk!) spoke his first words, had been dismal and drizzly since early morning, and perhaps that accounts for his rebellious state of mind. On the other hand, it might have been bothering him for some time, and he may have felt that he just had to get it off his chest.

The manner in which it came about was not too surprising, all things considered -- he simply answered a question put to him in one of those quiet moments when he blithely interrogates his dog.

Although it was still wet outside, we had gone for our usual evening run, and after returning home, were relaxing over a couple of short Bourbons (he always takes his straight), when I noticed that he seemed to be irritated. Thinking he that might have Scotchtape worms, I picked him up and made the usual investigation. Finding no visible evidence where it would ordinarily appear, I sat him down before me while he regarded me most reproachfully from his general attitude because I could not see his eyes at all. We have never disturbed his normal hair growth as some Scotty fanciers seem to think it wise to do. No, therefore, has the thick tufts of bushy hair falling over his eyes, a characteristic peculiar to dogs of his breed. I thought I'd kid him a little, so chided him

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DISCOURSE WITH GOLDBERG BY HAROLD INITALY Those who have been fortunate enough to meet him are inevitably well impressed with Goldberg. He manages to impress each and every person he meets in one way or another. To date, no one has been scarred for life, but he has left his canine mark on various portions of many an unsuspecting individuals anatomy. He is one of the most Scotch Terrierish-looking Scotch Terriers ever to be smuggled from the British Isles in a soldier's respirator-holder. Coming over on the Queen Mary, he tested the cabin steward as many as half a score times. In each instance it cost me a pound of sterling money -- and in these days, dear reader, all money was sterline to me. (and come to think of it, still is.) I could never quite prove it, but I think the flunkey would talk the petit pup into taking a chunk out of this while I was at chow, so that he could exhibit the freshly wounded limb or buttock and blackmail me into forking over another "L" note hush money! All this is simply to give you an insight into Goldberg's typically Ecossais terrier personality. Many were the harrowed casualties left in his wake before disembarking from the Mary. That, though, is another story. Suffice to say that we landed, got through the red tape, time passed, we both became older and I have gotten noticeably poorer ever since because of him. All of which brings us up to date and to the events which led up to the subject of this narrative. The particular day on which Soda, as we sometimes call him, (have to get the Scotch in somewhere - yuk! yuk!) spoke his first words, had been dismal and drizzly since early morning, and perhaps that accounts for his rebellious state of mind. On the other hand, it might have been bothering him for some time, and he may have felt that he just had to get it off his chest. The manner in which it came about was not too surprising, all things considered -- he simply answered a question put to him in one of those quiet moments when he blithely interrogates his dog. Although it was still wet outside, we had gone for our usual evening run, and after returning home, were relaxing over a couple of short Bourbons (he always takes his straight), when I noticed that he seemed to be irritated. Thinking he that might have Scotchtape worms, I picked him up and made the usual investigation. Finding no visible evidence where it would ordinarily appear, I sat him down before me while he regarded me most reproachfully from his general attitude because I could not see his eyes at all. We have never disturbed his normal hair growth as some Scotty fanciers seem to think it wise to do. No, therefore, has the thick tufts of bushy hair falling over his eyes, a characteristic peculiar to dogs of his breed. I thought I'd kid him a little, so chided him PAGE 15