Diana Thorne Pat the Terrier |
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When I first saw Pat he was a tiny puppy cutting up the window
of an animal shop. He was so comical I just had to go inside and meet him. When I put my hand down to pick him
up, he grabbed my sleeve and proceeded to chew off a button. It was love at first sight.
Pat rode home with me in the taxi, laughing all the way.
At the studio I put him down, and he sat there grinning at me, head cocked to one side, he looked like the perfect little
clown; so I went straight to work and etched his first portrait. The result was Laugh, Clown, Laugh, a picture
that became quite a favorite.
That evening, after Pat had put away a big steak dinner and had
worried a pair of slippers dragged from a closet, he curled up and went to sleep. I put him on the bed and made another
sketch--The End of a Perfect Day.
Pat was the best of my models. Most dogs aren't good posers.
They can't sit still, even for a short period, but Pat, notwithstanding his high spirits, would take almost any position I
asked and hold it longer than any other dog I have known.
Today Pat, getting along in years is the boss of thirteen dogs
in my kennels in Connecticut. And a real boss he is. He rides around gleefully in the keepers car, barking away,
telling the other dogs where to head in.
Time and time again a cheerful dog like Pat has lifted me out
of discouragement, set me on my feet, and given me a fresh look at things.
Diana Thorne
1933
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Pat, her favorite model, can roll over and dance with paws pointed to the sky. He can stand in
a stately pose and address a solemn meeting of dogs. And like any good dog with a sense of humor, he can laugh with
unaffected glee. But down at heart Pat is a wistful dog. Once long ago in his wanderings he met somewhere a little
girl who loved and fed him and then disappeared from his horizon forever. Perennially in the spring he remembers his
lost mistress and goes off on a long search for her. But his quest always ends in the comforting lap of Diana Thorne,
who knows him and understands. It is not strange that in "Laugh Clown, Laugh," showing Pat in one of those gay moods behind
which there lurks the wistfulness of dogdom, she has caught a universal quality.
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