“All that fine work for naught. Now let that go for to teach ye a lesson, Donnell. What conclusion would ye draw fro’ all this?”
   “Never make’ out a false report,” Donnell replied, dutifully.
   “Och, no,” Ferguson said in scorn. “Ye’ll never progress in the service, Donnell. The conclusion to draw is this: Never trust a dog!
   “Ye tak’ that one. There she pretended to be as meek as a babe in arms, as ye micht say. I trust her for just one second and she turrrns like a ball o’ fire on Judgement Day. There she ought to be afraid to jump—and what does she do?”
   “She jumps,” Donnell replied.
   “That’s richt. There she ought to be dead, and what is she?”
   “She’s alive”
  “Richt again. Then she ought not to ha’ been able to jump yon wall, and what does she do?”
   “She jumps it.”
   “Richt once more. And so the moral is, Donnell, as long as ye’re in this job, never trust a bloomin’ dog. They  ain’t—well—they ain’t ‘uman, dogs ain’t. They just ain’t ‘uman!”
 
    Lassie Come Home wasn’t a command nor bad grammar but in fact Come Home is the name of the type of collie dog she was.
     The matter was greatly confused by the fact that she was always a he.