I called him Pick.

His name was Picayune.

Purty good name, wasn't it ?" "Yes, it was." "Well, now, that air little Pick wouldn't never own up as he was driv outen the house.

When he was whipped out, he wouldn't never tuck his tail down, but curl it up over his back, and run acrost the yard and through the fence and down the road a-barkin' fit to kill.

Wanted to let on like as ef he'd run out of his own accord, with malice aforethought, you know.