As the story goes, the air raid had come upon them suddenly. My mother, then pregnant with my brother, barely had enough time to duck into a shelter. Only after it had been quiet a long time did the occupants brave coming out to see what was left of their small town. A horse had been blown up, and some people carted away the meat. This made a huge impression on my young mind, child as I was when I heard the story. I thought about that horse a lot growing up, and grieved for it as I grieved for my mother’s Puli whose bloody collar and chain was all that remained of the dog.
I wondered if this was why I was so drawn to have a Puli of my own one day. Did I subconsciously want to fill the loss my mother suffered in Hungary all those years ago? Had I romanticised the breed? As I got older, however, I began to wonder how much of this story I had embellished over time as children sometimes do. I lost my mother years ago and never really had the chance to ask her, adult to adult, “Anya, was that story really true?”
A couple of years ago, I went on the trip of a lifetime: I visited that same village and met my closest relatives, people I’d only ever heard about while growing up. One morning over breakfast, we talked about family history, about dead grandparents, uncles and aunts, and about the Puli my mother lost in a bombing.
The story had been true. Every word of it.
People can lose things, but the loss of an innocent pet is sometimes the last straw. As we sat around the kitchen table, my cousins drifted back in time and reflected that it was about then that my mother decided to leave the only home she’d ever known for a new country. “She never wanted to be that scared again,” they told me.
Old memories can resurface at the most unexpected times, and why a conversation over a kitchen table in Hungary came back to me at a recent dog show is curious. A small group of spectators strolled among the dogs in the grooming area and I could overhear them. “This one is a Belgian Tervuren,” one of them said to the others, “and that one is a Sheltie. Over there is a Bichon Frise.” Then she pointed in my direction. “That one with the funny coat, I don’t know what that is. Maybe a new doodle dog?”
Hiss.
Inasmuch as I was struck by her better-than-average breed knowledge, I felt like I was in a canine Baskin & Robbins shop: Step right up, folks, and see 31 original flavors.
And that’s when I realized that while this woman was seeing different breeds, I’ve always seen something else. I see a country of origin. I see something as important to that country’s culture as its language, music and food – the dog breed created and owned by the people who relied on it, and whose cultural history is intertwined with it.
I see dead people.
History doesn’t tend to record what it takes for granted, and dogs, always faithful and always there, haven’t garnered much attention in the overall study of human affairs, but personal accounts do.
Sir Isaac Newton, physicist and mathematician, developed the principles of modern physics. That’s great and I appreciate knowing why gravity is having its way with my face, but I relate more to Newton because of his Pomeranian, “Diamond.” Upset and frantic by being shut behind a door, “Diamond” upset a lit candle and started a fire that destroyed an entire year of his work. Newton’s, not the dog’s. According to one account, Sir Isaac is said to have exclaimed: “O Diamond, Diamond, thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done.”
“Diamond,” the dog that “ate” Newton’s homework
I feel for Newton. My dogs have eaten my homework, chewed my shoes and scratched a hole in the door for the same reason Diamond was so upset. Who knew that Sir Isacc Newton and I had so much in common?
Charles Darwin, author of the theory of natural selection, survival of the fittest, and Origins of the Species, was entirely comfortable with dogs. He ascribed certain powers of reason to them and suggested that even the notion of property could be glimpsed in a dog’s passion for his bone. In fact, Darwin saw a huge commonality between dogs and humans in that evolution had built both to live socially. His favorite dog was a black & white terrier named, “Spark,” or “Little Black Nose,” and when she died giving birth to puppies, Darwin was devastated.
Frederick the Great, King of Prussia and brilliant military strategist, was a softie with his dogs. He owned thirteen Italian Greyhounds, his favorite one named “Biche.” He usually took at least one dog with him “on the road,” and even had his military great coat specially tailored to allow him to tuck a dog inside to keep it warm. Most of us may not know that the quote, “The more I see of men, the more I love my dogs,” is attributed to Frederick the Great. Even fewer of us probably know that the very last words he uttered on his deathbed were in concern over the cold dog on his bed. “Throw a quilt over her,” he said before he died.
Speaking of beds, Napoleon Bonaparte’s issues with Josephine probably started on their wedding night when the Empress’ Pug bit him on the leg for crowding him in bed. For the rest of their marriage, Napoleon insisted that her dogs stay in an adjoining room, and when traveling, that her favorite Pug go in a separate carriage. It wasn’t all bad for the dog – he had his own servant who’d been selected from the Office of the Wardrobe. Still, can’t you almost hear the conversation Josephine and Napoleon must have had about “The Dog?” Haven’t some of us had this same conversation?
Queen Victoria was usually a woman of few words, but she spoke surprisingly often and at length about the unwavering devotion of her favorite dogs of which she had many. Upon their deaths, she planned elaborate funerals for them and had them interred in her dog cemetery at Marlborough House or Windsor Palace. Her dogs were shown at Crufts, and she became a patron of the Britain’s Ladies Kennel Association. She was especially attached to “Dash,” a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel given to her as a teenager. When Dash died in 1840, a shattered Victoria wrote his epitaph:
”Attachment without selfishness,
Playfulness without malice,
and Fidelity without deceit.”
Queen Victoria with an unnamed dog
Even into old age, Queen Victoria requested her staff to bring out two or three dogs at time so she could watch them play, and when she lay on her deathbed in 1901, Victoria asked for “Turi,” her favorite Pomeranian, to be by her side.
I wrote about the importance of dogs to their respective countries of origin in The Case for Purebred Dogs from a Different Perspective, but the impact dogs have made on historical figures – dead people - should always be remembered. Whatever these figures did that made them famous, I think we get more insight into them through the dogs in their lives. Needless to say, the importance of dogs to the cultures that created them and people we’ll never have heard of impact us to this day.
If poor legislation and animal rights activitsts eventually have their way, we stand to lose the descendants of history: the Cavalier King Charles, the Italian Greyhound, the Pomeranian, and hundreds of other breeds. I don’t think I’m exaggerating. For anyone who cares to look closely, the deep agenda of extremists groups is evident: A world free of pets and domestic animal ownership, and they started by criminalizing purebred dog breeders, and villainizing any purebred dog that wasn’t a rescue.
A few days ago while sitting in the coffee shop below, an idea – a wild hair, really – came to me.
My family refers to the table in the corner, the one near the big white board, as my “office.”
It started innocently enough. I was idly researching dog-related holidays for this website. I found National Dog Day, National Rescue Day, National Mutt Day, National Guide Dog Day, National Puppy Week, National Homeless Animal Day, National Adopt a Dog Day, Take Your Dog to Work Day, and assorted dog-related holidays having to do with biscuits, dentistry and dog poop.
Staring me in the face was that there wasn’t ONE day for purebred dogs. Not one.
This struck me as wrong. Without knowing the first thing about it, I was compelled to right this wrong and started a national holiday – in name, anyway. Acting on instinct and proceeding as blind as a bat, I reasoned that if something has a page on Facebook, it must really exist, so I started there. The name of the holiday was easy: National Purebred Dog Day.
But which day?
After polling friends and eliminating the months in which another holiday might overshadow it, I settled on May. I wanted to avoid Mother’s Day and steer clear of Memorial Day weekend, and then the answer became so obvious that I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me from the beginning: May 1st. May Day.
Or, put another way, May Day May Day, the international radiotelephone distress signal. How appropriate.
I created the page, bought an inexpensive image for its banner, and writing from the heart, I described it: “In honor of purpose bred dogs who do so much for us, May 1st is National Purebred Dog Day, a day of celebration and reflection on the purebreds created to work alongside man as they provide inestimable companionship.” I invited my vast collection of personal Facebook friends (all 50 of them) to join the page, and then I stepped away. When I revisited the page, I was astounded.
The page had over 3,200 friends in less than two days.
This means something.
As I write, the page is less than a week old. It’s pushing the 3,500 “friend” mark and over 216 different purebred dogs are represented. Where I’m going with this, I’m not sure. I just know that the page has tapped into something – frustration? Disgust? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that every purebred dog owner is invited and included, and that means pet owners, show fanciers, and people who rescued a purebred dog because they wanted THAT breed. What I am sure of is that we need each other if we’re to push back against unreasonable prejudice against ethical, caring breeders and the dogs they breed. It’s a work in progress, and I hope you consider “friending” the page.
I leave for the Puli National Specialty tomorrow, and I’ll see you all when I get back.