TEXT: Chapter 2 - Animal language

THE SECOND CHAPTER

ANIMAL LANGUAGE

IT happened one day that the Doctor was sitting in his kitchen talking
with the Cat's-meat-Man who had come to see him with a stomach-ache.

"Why don't you give up being a people's doctor, and be an animal-doctor?"
asked the Cat's-meat-Man.

The parrot, Polynesia, was sitting in the window
looking out at the rain and singing a sailor-song to herself.
She stopped singing and started to listen.

"You see, Doctor," the Cat's-meat-Man went
on, "you know all about animals--much more
than what these here vets do.  That book you
wrote--about cats, why, it's wonderful!  I can't
read or write myself--or maybe _I_'D write some
books.  But my wife, Theodosia, she's a scholar,
she is.  And she read your book to me.  Well,
it's wonderful--that's all can be said--wonderful.
You might have been a cat yourself.  You
know the way they think.  And listen: you can
make a lot of money doctoring animals.  Do
you know that?  You see, I'd send all the old
women who had sick cats or dogs to you.  And
if they didn't get sick fast enough, I could put
something in the meat I sell 'em to make 'em
sick, see?"

"Oh, no," said the Doctor quickly.  "You
mustn't do that.  That wouldn't be right."  

"Oh, I didn't mean real sick," answered the
Cat's-meat-Man.  "Just a little something to
make them droopy-like was what I had reference
to.  But as you say, maybe it ain't quite
fair on the animals.  But they'll get sick
anyway, because the old women always give 'em too
much to eat.  And look, all the farmers 'round
about who had lame horses and weak lambs--
they'd come.  Be an animal-doctor."  

When the Cat's-meat-Man had gone the
parrot flew off the window on to the Doctor's table
and said,

"That man's got sense.  That's what you
ought to do.  Be an animal-doctor.  Give the
silly people up--if they haven't brains enough
to see you're the best doctor in the world.  Take
care of animals instead--THEY'll soon find it out.
Be an animal-doctor."  

"Oh, there are plenty of animal-doctors," said
John Dolittle, putting the flower-pots outside on
the window-sill to get the rain.

"Yes, there ARE plenty," said Polynesia.  "But
none of them are any good at all.  Now listen,
Doctor, and I'll tell you something.  Did you
know that animals can talk?"

"I knew that parrots can talk," said the Doctor.

"Oh, we parrots can talk in two languages--
people's language and bird-language," said
Polynesia proudly.  "If I say, `Polly wants a
cracker,' you understand me.  But hear this:
Ka-ka oi-ee, fee-fee?"

"Good Gracious!" cried the Doctor.  "What
does that mean?"

"That means, `Is the porridge hot yet?'--in
bird-language."  

"My!  You don't say so!" said the Doctor.
"You never talked that way to me before."  

"What would have been the good?" said
Polynesia, dusting some cracker-crumbs off her
left wing.  "You wouldn't have understood me
if I had."  

"Tell me some more," said the Doctor, all
excited; and he rushed over to the dresser-drawer
and came back with the butcher's book and a
pencil.  "Now don't go too fast--and I'll write
it down.  This is interesting--very interesting
--something quite new.  Give me the Birds'
A.B.C.  first--slowly now."  

So that was the way the Doctor came to know
that animals had a language of their own and
could talk to one another.  And all that afternoon,
while it was raining, Polynesia sat on the
kitchen table giving him bird words to put down
in the book.

At tea-time, when the dog, Jip, came in, the
parrot said to the Doctor, "See, HE'S talking to
you."  

"Looks to me as though he were scratching
his ear," said the Doctor.

"But animals don't always speak with their
mouths," said the parrot in a high voice, raising
her eyebrows.  "They talk with their ears,
with their feet, with their tails--with everything.
Sometimes they don't WANT to make a
noise.  Do you see now the way he's twitching
up one side of his nose?"

"What's that mean?" asked the Doctor.

"That means, `Can't you see that it has
stopped raining?'" Polynesia answered.  "He
is asking you a question.  Dogs nearly always
use their noses for asking questions."  

After a while, with the parrot's help, the
Doctor got to learn the language of the animals
so well that he could talk to them himself and
understand everything they said.  Then he gave
up being a people's doctor altogether.

As soon as the Cat's-meat-Man had told every
one that John Dolittle was going to become an
animal-doctor, old ladies began to bring him
their pet pugs and poodles who had eaten too
much cake; and farmers came many miles to
show him sick cows and sheep.

One day a plow-horse was brought to him;
and the poor thing was terribly glad to find a
man who could talk in horse-language.

"You know, Doctor," said the horse, "that
vet over the hill knows nothing at all.  He has
been treating me six weeks now--for spavins.
What I need is SPECTACLES.  I am going blind
in one eye.  There's no reason why horses
shouldn't wear glasses, the same as people.  But
that stupid man over the hill never even looked
at my eyes.  He kept on giving me big pills.
I tried to tell him; but he couldn't understand
a word of horse-language.  What I need is
spectacles."  

"Of course--of course," said the Doctor.
"I'll get you some at once."  

"I would like a pair like yours," said the
horse--"only green.  They'll keep the sun out
of my eyes while I'm plowing the Fifty-Acre
Field."  

"Certainly," said the Doctor.  "Green ones
you shall have."  

"You know, the trouble is, Sir," said the
plow-horse as the Doctor opened the front door
to let him out--"the trouble is that ANYBODY
thinks he can doctor animals--just because the
animals don't complain.  As a matter of fact
it takes a much cleverer man to be a really good
animal-doctor than it does to be a good people's
doctor.  My farmer's boy thinks he knows all
about horses.  I wish you could see him--his
face is so fat he looks as though he had no eyes
--and he has got as much brain as a potato-bug.
He tried to put a mustard-plaster on me last
week."  

"Where did he put it?" asked the Doctor.

"Oh, he didn't put it anywhere--on me," said
the horse.  "He only tried to.  I kicked him
into the duck-pond."  

"Well, well!" said the Doctor.

"I'm a pretty quiet creature as a rule," said
the horse--"very patient with people--don't
make much fuss.  But it was bad enough to
have that vet giving me the wrong medicine.
And when that red-faced booby started to
monkey with me, I just couldn't bear it any
more."  

"Did you hurt the boy much?" asked the Doctor.

"Oh, no," said the horse.  "I kicked him in
the right place.  The vet's looking after him
now.  When will my glasses be ready?"

"I'll have them for you next week," said
the Doctor.  "Come in again Tuesday--Good
morning!"

Then John Dolittle got a fine, big pair of
green spectacles; and the plow-horse stopped
going blind in one eye and could see as well as
ever.

And soon it became a common sight to see
farm-animals wearing glasses in the country
round Puddleby; and a blind horse was a thing
unknown.

And so it was with all the other animals that
were brought to him.  As soon as they found
that he could talk their language, they told him
where the pain was and how they felt, and of
course it was easy for him to cure them.

Now all these animals went back and told
their brothers and friends that there was a doctor
in the little house with the big garden who
really WAS a doctor.  And whenever any creatures
got sick--not only horses and cows and
dogs--but all the little things of the fields, like
harvest-mice and water-voles, badgers and bats,
they came at once to his house on the edge of the
town, so that his big garden was nearly always
crowded with animals trying to get in to see him.

There were so many that came that he had to
have special doors made for the different kinds.
He wrote "HORSES" over the front door,
"COWS" over the side door, and "SHEEP" on
the kitchen door.  Each kind of animal had a
separate door--even the mice had a tiny tunnel
made for them into the cellar, where they
waited patiently in rows for the Doctor to come
round to them.

And so, in a few years' time, every living
thing for miles and miles got to know about
John Dolittle, M.D.  And the birds who flew
to other countries in the winter told the animals
in foreign lands of the wonderful doctor
of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, who could understand
their talk and help them in their troubles.
In this way he became famous among the animals--
all over the world--better known even
than he had been among the folks of the West
Country.  And he was happy and liked his life
very much.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy
writing in a book, Polynesia sat in the window--
as she nearly always did--looking out at
the leaves blowing about in the garden.
Presently she laughed aloud.

"What is it, Polynesia?" asked the Doctor,
looking up from his book.

"I was just thinking," said the parrot; and
she went on looking at the leaves.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about people," said Polynesia.
"People make me sick.  They think they're so
wonderful.  The world has been going on now
for thousands of years, hasn't it?  And the only
thing in animal-language that PEOPLE have
learned to understand is that when a dog wags
his tail he means `I'm glad!'--It's funny, isn't
it?  You are the very first man to talk like us.
Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully--
such airs they put on--talking about `the dumb
animals.' DUMB!--Huh!  Why I knew a
macaw once who could say `Good morning!' in
seven different ways without once opening his
mouth.  He could talk every language--and
Greek.  An old professor with a gray beard
bought him.  But he didn't stay.  He said the
old man didn't talk Greek right, and he couldn't
stand listening to him teach the language wrong.
I often wonder what's become of him.  That
bird knew more geography than people will ever
know.--PEOPLE, Golly!  I suppose if people
ever learn to fly--like any common hedge-
sparrow--we shall never hear the end of it!"

"You're a wise old bird," said the Doctor.
"How old are you really?  I know that parrots
and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old."  

"I can never be quite sure of my age," said
Polynesia.  "It's either a hundred and eighty-
three or a hundred and eighty-two.  But I
know that when I first came here from Africa,
King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree--
because I saw him.  He looked scared to death."