It was not a very fine specimen, being of a brownish-green colour, and having lost the tip of one wing.

Its spine was serrated, especially deeply between its shoulder blades, where it could raise a sort of crest if angered or excited.

But at present it was asleep, its saturnine and rather wistful face rested upon one scaly paw.
Sarah Brown was uncertain what to do, but the Dog David took the matter into his own paws by mistake.

He had just met one of the castle dogs, one of those tremulous-tailed creatures who spend themselves in a rather pathetic effort to sustain an imaginary reputation for humour.

David retorted to this dog's first facetious onslaught with a kindly quip, they trod on each other once or twice with extravagant gestures, and then parted hysterically, each supposing himself to be pursued by the other.