Three Men in A Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

To-day he determined he would be beforehand.  At the first sound the kettle made, he rose, growling, and advanced towards it in a threatening attitude.  It was only a little kettle, but it was full of pluck, and it up and spit at him.

“Ah! would ye!” growled Montmorency, showing his teeth; “I’ll teach ye to cheek a hard-working, respectable dog; ye miserable, long-nosed, dirty-looking scoundrel, ye.  Come on!”

And he rushed at that poor little kettle, and seized it by the spout.

Then, across the evening stillness, broke a blood-curdling yelp, and Montmorency left the boat, and did a constitutional three times round the island at the rate of thirty-five miles an hour, stopping every now and then to bury his nose in a bit of cool mud.

From that day Montmorency regarded the kettle with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and hate.  Whenever he saw it he would growl and back at a rapid rate, with his tail shut down, and the moment it was put upon the stove he would promptly climb out of the boat, and sit on the bank, till the whole tea business was over.

George got out his banjo after supper, and wanted to play it, but Harris objected: he said he had got a headache, and did not feel strong enough to stand it.  George thought the music might do him good—said music often soothed the nerves and took away a headache; and he twanged two or three notes, just to show Harris what it was like.

Harris said he would rather have the headache.

George has never learned to play the banjo to this day.  He has had too much all-round discouragement to meet.  He tried on two or three evenings, while we were up the river, to get a little practice, but it was never a success.  Harris’s language used to be enough to unnerve any man; added to which, Montmorency would sit and howl steadily, right through the performance.  It was not giving the man a fair chance.

“What’s he want to howl like that for when I’m playing?” George would exclaim indignantly, while taking aim at him with a boot.

“What do you want to play like that for when he is howling?” Harris would retort, catching the boot.  “You let him alone.  He can’t help howling.  He’s got a musical ear, and your playing makes him howl.”