People say that the dog is man's best friend.
They say this because dogs are loyal and loving pets.
Unfortunately, man is not always a good friend to dogs.
This was the case with Patrasche and his master.
Patrasche was a beautiful, sandy-colored working dog from Flanders in Belgium.
Dogs from Flanders were famous because they were so strong.
They could pull heavy carts and work hard for hours, like small horses.
When Patrasche was still a puppy, he was sold to a merchant.
His new master sold pots and pans for a living.
He traveled all over Belgium with his cart of goods, from the blue sea to the green mountains.
Patrasche's master was a drunkard and a fat, mean man.
He piled his cart high with pans, buckets, jars, brass tins, and cooking pots.
Whenever Patrasche tired from the heavy load, his master beat him without mercy.
One day, Patrasche was pulling the cart along a straight, dusty road.
They were heading to the lovely city of Antwerp, where the great painter Rubens once lived.
The merchant walked lazily beside the cart, smoking a pipe.
It was the middle of summer and very warm.
Patrasche's master stopped at every wine shop along the way.
But poor Patrasche─his master never unhooked him from the cart or gave him a drink of water.
Patrasche was exhausted, but he was a hardworking dog and kept walking.
When he started to slow down, his master hit him with a whip.
"Patrasche, you stupid dog, go faster!" he yelled.
The whip stung Patrasche's side.
His eyes were full of dust and his muscles ached.
"Lazy beast," yelled his master.
"We must reach Antwerp tonight.
There is a market there tomorrow."
Still Patrasche pulled with his tired legs, but the effort was too much.
He staggered and fell over on his side.
He lay in the middle of the dusty road, motionless in the full heat of the sun.
Patrasche's cruel master gave him his usual medicine─a kick in the ribs and a lash from his whip.
Patrasche had received beatings many times before but this time he did not move or cry.
The merchant cursed Patrasche.
"Get up, you lazy dog!" he shouted.
"We've still got three miles to walk!"
But Patrasche did not hear him.
He was too tired even to feel his master's blows.
The merchant cursed the poor dog again.
He kicked his body off the road and into the grass.
Patrasche's master lifted the front of the cart.
With a frown and a moan, he began to pull it down the road.
For two long, cruel years, Patrasche had worked for his master from morning to night.
He had been loyal and strong.
But the merchant had forgotten him already.
Muttering to himself as he pulled his cart, the merchant left Patrasche to die.
"When I reach the next village, I'll steal the first dog I see wandering around," the merchant thought.
He kept walking and didn't look back.
Poor Patrasche was too exhausted even to lift his head and moan.