Like human beings, dogs, too, belong to different social classes. There are
Rich dogs, and there are poor dogs. There are the intellectual dogs, and there
Are the stupid ones. There are dogs who are no less snobbish than their masters
And there are dogs who are proud of their bad manners. There are dogs who live
In dirty streets because their parents lived in those streets and had no patrons. These
Street dogs are the vagabonds. Who have no home to live in and no club to go to.
They belong to the inferior race. They are loafers. They are wanted by no one. No
One loves them. No one kisses them and no one feeds them. They have to find their
Food themselves. They crowd in front of the butcher, s and baker, s shops waiting
To pick up a bone bark and fight and tear each other, s ears and tails until one of
Them carries away the bone. The street dogs are a nuisance no doubt. They are
Dirty bleeding and infested with germs and diseases. And they breed and multiply
At a threatening street dogs around midnight. You can well imagine why they are
Not liked by anyone. Sometimes the street dogs forget themselves and bark at a city
Father or some superior civil servant. Perhaps they only want to draw the attention of these gentlemen to the dirty condition of the streets which are their home. But the result
Of such a protest is that all of a sudden the authorities take notice of these unauthorized
Occupants of public streets. They send dog-killing squads to end the menace of street
Dogs once for all. But most street dogs are lucky dogs and they can smell things from
Miles. The dog-killing campaign ends in a couple of days. Some half a dozen unlucky
Dogs are killed, the rest reappear in the streets the moment the danger is over.

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