A Dog’s Tale
By Mark Twain
My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know what these words mean myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so much education.
But, indeed, it was not real education; it was only show. She got the words by listening in the dining room and drawing room when there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday school and listening there. Whenever she heard a large word she said it over to herself many times, and so she was able to keep it until there was a gathering in the neighborhood. Then she would get it off, and surprise and distress them all.
If there was a stranger he was nearly sure to be suspicious, and he would ask her what it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this but thought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one that looked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she. The others were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her, for they knew what was going to happen because they had had experience.
When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right definition. And that was natural because, for one thing, she answered up so promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for another thing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? She was the only cultivated dog there was.
One time, when I was older, she brought home the word “unintellectual,” and worked it pretty hard all the week at different gatherings. It was at this time that I noticed that during that week she was asked for the meaning eight different times and flashed out a different definition every time. I said nothing, of course.
She had one word that she always kept on hand and ready, like a life preserver, a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get washed overboard in a sudden way—that was the word “synonymous.” If any stranger ever dared to ask her the meaning of one of her many definitions, she would pause for just a second. Then she would say, as calm as a summer’s day, “The word is synonymous with supererogation,” or some godless long monstrosity of a word like that. Then she’d go about the next topic, perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking embarrassed.
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Adapted from A Dog’s Tale, by Mark Twain, Public domain.
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Questions
“When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right definition.”
How does the narrator’s perspective in this excerpt impact the story?
The narrator’s omniscient view of the characters provides an objective description of their actions, thoughts, and feelings.
The first-person narrator knows that his mother does not actually know the meanings of the words she uses, which adds to the story’s humor.
The first-person narrator explains what “synonymous” means, so readers know that his mother is using the word correctly.
The narrator uses their omniscience to reveal how their thoughts about vocabulary words differ from mother dog’s thoughts.