happy 4th of july!

May all in your family, human, finned, feathered, furred, celebrate happily and safely!  

And while you're hanging out for the holiday, I'd like to point you toward the story of two unusual Presidential pets: Mr. Protection and Mr. Reciprocity, opossum chums of President Benjamin Harrison.  The Presidential Pet Museum has a photo of Harrison with one of them. Look.

blessed is he who has a pet sloth

Joris Hoefnagel (Flemish / Hungarian, 1542 - 1600), and Georg Bocskay (Hungarian, died 1575)

A Sloth, 1561 - 1562; illumination added 1591 - 1596, Watercolors, gold and silver paint, 

and ink on parchment

Leaf: 16.6 x 12.4 cm (6 9/16 x 4 7/8 in.)

The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles

Or a tree kangaroo?  1500s Europe was mostly unclear on the difference, though the Hapsburg royal family in Vienna and elsewhere had menageries famed for their variety.  This gorgeous image from the Getty is a mashup: as the object page explains, the words on their black-tinted parchment existed first, spelling out part of the Sermon on the Mount.  Thirty years later around 1591-6 Joris Hoefnagel added the twig-munching creature in his fancy pavilion. 

dog lock

thanks finds.org.uk DEN-0F2C87 CC BY 2.0

When a countryside has been inhabited for a very long time, it stands to reason that as you go about your business - digging up your carrots, putting in that new septic tank - you might well find stuff left behind by someone.  Left when, though?  In the Flintshire district of Wales in 2008, a metal detector turned up this dog-shaped lock. (Or lion shaped, but I think it looks like a Newfoundland myself.)  It's been hanging about since approximately 1200 A.D.
I found it on the Portable Antiquities Scheme website, a project funded by the UK government to "promote the voluntary recording of archaeological objects found by members of the public in England and Wales."  You should go look at it. It's cool.
Animal imagery played a huge part in medieval art, not least for its symbolism; I can well imagine a protective padlock would be made in the shape of a guard dog.  Here is an essay at the Met website on the subject.

it's monday. have a vintage dog in a hat

NYPL, PD. see below for citation

From the photography studio of O. F. Baxter sometime during 1860 to 1880, here's a stereoscopic view of a most obliging hat model.  What might it have looked like in a stereograph viewer?  As it happens, the NYPL website has an animation tool to do that, and who can resist?

sweet music for your moggie

british library flickr, PD

 He thought he'd create a nice relaxing album for cotton-top tamarins, since the experiments were so successful. . . 
Upon giving it more thought, music researcher David Teie of the University of Maryland decided to share the music with a wider - MUCH wider - population.  Result: one wildly successful Kickstarter, and one new album from Universal with the sounds your kitty craves.
Music for Cats is that album. Full of calming sounds to bring your kitty downtempo, studies have shown the sounds work well for nervous, oversensitive felines. Why not a dog album?  Too many varieties - "I was worried about having to write terrier music and labrador music and so on," Teie said.  That doesn't mean Universal rules out the possibility.  Read the article here.

"tis good to watch"

thanks archive.org; not in copyright (PD)

This is a page of illustrated mottos, found in a book published in 1735 by Richard Ware.  Here's the whole title (take a  deep breath):
Emblems, for the entertainment and improvement of youth: containing hieroglyphical and enigmatical devices, relating to all parts and stations of life: together with explanations and proverbs in French, Spanish, Italian, and Latin, alluding to them and translated into English : the whole curiously engrav'd on 62 copper plates
Do you have a saying that keeps you going through the tough times?  Perhaps you would find it in this book and have a convenient emblem to keep in your sight for the encouragement thereof.  Here's a couple that struck my fancy from the page above:

13, a rabbit on the edge of its burrow: 'Tis good to watch.

7.  A hog among flowers: They do not suit well.

Anything here that speaks to you?

odds and ends for friday

A Friday list:

Somebody tried to set gallerist Sean Kelly's dogs on fire. (He didn't make it though.)

Snoop Dogg painted a portrait of Martha Stewart's dog.

How did I miss this "Illustrated Study of Black Cats" last December?

Sheer delight!  Cats memorialized in bronze, worldwide!

How bad would it have to be to put a cat up as a model for polite behavior?

1920: H.P. Lovecraft writes a typically creepy short story championing cats.

We have a recordbreaking storm coming in here the Pacific NW, so I'll post this now before the power blows.  Stay safe all, and if you're up here with me, get all your tribe inside!

more memoriams from miss valle

In the spirit of, I suppose, spirits (Halloween does approach swiftly after all), here's more memorial poems from Isabel Valle.
She meant well.
***
MARY
A Lamb
Mary was a lovely lamb
Until she grew big horns
And turned into a rowdy ram,—
Her mistress for her mourns!

JACQUELINE
A Pig
If only sweet pig babies
Need not grow up at all!
Oh, butcher mills grind swiftly
And they grind exceeding small!
     (!!?! - curator)

DUGO
A Bullterrier
I have given my heart to this dog to tear*
And he will not let it go!
He has taken it off to the Land of Where
Past the Desert Whither Ho!

A CRICKET
Thou quaint musician,
At the roots of things,
Ended thy mission,
Broken thy strings.
     (okay, this one isn't all that bad - curator)
*I think Kipling used this first...and better
Valle, I. (1916). Epitaphs of some dear dumb beasts. Boston [Mass.]: The Gorham Press. 20-21, 24, 40

ode "on a cat mummy"

In this gloriously odd vintage poem, a mummified puss leads the poet to muse upon the fall of empires and the ascendancy of Christianity.  Hang on for this ride through the ancient sands, won't you?

On a Cat Mummy.
PREPOSTEROUS cat, from Egypt's soil arisen,
Where thou hast lain beneath the sand seas flat,
The countless years had power thy face to wizen,
But not to wreck, for thou art still a cat.

I will not point at thee with jesting finger,
Nor pass thee by as though unworthy thought,
For there is much in thee to make me linger;
Those sightless eyes are with high meaning fraught.

'Tis hard indeed for modern thought or notion
To move along on ancient Koptic line,
Or hold, by any sort of weird devotion,
Grimalkin clothed in attributes divine.

We upstarts have a curious way of linking
Puss with old dames and flights upon a broom,
But Egypt's reverential mode of thinking
Ere Homer's day ran back to earlier gloom.

How very modern is our prophet Moses!
Our Christ himself but theme for recent talk,
While we are few when counted with the noses
That owned the sway of Horus and of hawk.

Five thousand years! The brain grows sick and dizzy.
But long ere then Phtah ruled beside the Nile,
And swarming millions, brown and blithe and busy,
Throve in the dreamy splendor of his smile.

Most ancient cat! When thou were swathed and twisted
In costly shroud and laid in sacred grave,
Apis and Pharaoh vainly were resisted,
And gentle Isis deigned to bless and save.

Those gods are dead, and faded is their splendor;
Their countless years are but a day that's done,
While Bethlehem's star, with radiance pure and tender,
Outshines in glory Egypt's fiercest sun.

The granite statue of sublime Rameses
On Memphis plain stands desolate to-day,
And years drift by, like summer's cloudy fleeces,
Forever changing and the same for aye.

Broad lotus leaves still on Nile's bosom quiver,
Still lives the Sphinx in many a Koptic face,
But never Pharaoh drifts across the river
In golden boat to his long resting-place.

O wondrous cat! Time leveled many a city,
Pantheons fell, great nations were forgot,
But thou wast hid, and now, in scorn and pity,
Comest to taunt me with my fleeting lot.

Out of my sight! I will no more abide thee.
Thy weird grotesqueness makes me chill and faint;
Thou art too hoar*; I cannot well deride thee,
But I will spurn thee ere I suffer taint.

Curse on those old Egyptians and their science!
Types live, and change doth keep this old world sweet.
We pass and come again: why bid defiance
To Nature, and be spurned beneath her feet?

Voices of nature join in ceaseless paean!
Death is but change and joyful motherhood;
And through the chorus whisper, Galilean,
"Why live at all except for doing good?"

*hoar: grayish-white, aged

- Horton, G. (1892). Songs of the lowly, and other poems. Chicago, F. J. Schulte & company. 124-6.  George Horton (1860-1942) was an author and journalist appointed by President Cleveland as consul to Athens.  At first glance I find his work earnestly likeable - here's the last stanza of his poem "To an English Sparrow," same book as above:

Your enemies say you're a fighter.
Ah well, what of that? So am I.
I will sing if 'tis darker or lighter
You have taught me a gay battle-cry.
When Fortune's against me, despite her
I will wait for the days that are brighter,
Singing " Cheer up! Cheer up! "
I will fight and will sing till I die.

meet the bananacat

thanks clker

I may have met my latest spirit animal.  He's "very optimistic and carefree," and loves sweet treats and playtime.  He is also a little white cat that lives in a banana.  He does not leave said banana; he hops round inside it like a sack race - but only when there are no humans about.
His name?  Bananya.  He has a bunch of bananacat friends, and 7 episodes (so far) of their adventures.  Do not wait any longer - head over to Crunchyroll and get into this tiny, kawaii and oh so fruity Japanese anime.

there was a lady loved a swine, 1810

PD. thanks thegraphicsfairy.com

Enjoy this fanciful verse from a collection of nursery poems dated 1810, won't you?  I know I did.

THE LADY AND THE SWINE.
There was a lady lov'd a swine,
Honey, quoth she,
Pig-hog, wilt thou be mine?
Hoogh, quoth he.

I'll build thee a silver stye,
Honey, quoth she,
And in it thou shalt lye;
Hoogh, quoth he.

Pinn'd with a silver pin,
Honey, quoth she,
That thou may go out and in,
Hoogh, quoth he.

Wilt thou now have me now,
Honey? quoth she,
Hoogh, hoogh, hoogh, quoth he,
And went his way.

- from Ritson, J. (1810). Gammer Gurton's garland: or, the nursery Parnassus; a choice collection of pretty songs and verses, for the amusement of all little good children who can neither read nor run. London: Printed for R. Triphook by Harding and Wright. 2-3.

the cat boat / de poezenboot

Our friends MB Fountain (@MBFountain) tweeted the other day to say they were visiting De Poezenboot.  "Say hi for me," I tweeted back, totally envious.  It's been a while since I featured this very special cat sanctuary, which occupies a large houseboat in an Amsterdam canal. (There used to be two, but sadly the second seems to have been denied use by the municipality.  Oh dear; where's all the cat litter to be stored?)  Let's have another look:
De Poezenboot, English-language site
Their poster (which says "Help The Cat Boat, otherwise the cats die")
Catster recently featured a very fine article with lots of photos.
Some lucky soul got to play with the Boat cats for over an hour and filmed some of it.  There are lots of Poezenboot videos on YouTube.
The Cat Boat manages solely from charitable giving and proceeds from their shop.  Perhaps someone you know needs a cute Poezenboot tshirt?

worded wednesday

I was away for a few days to see family married in New Orleans.  Here's some photos I took that will show you a more intimate side of this most unusual and lovely city.  I hope to return!

Above: sticker found on Magazine Street.

Characteristic ironwork found in Lafayette Cemetery #1.  See the little friend?

Found on the sidewalk on a side street of the French Quarter.

These feral kitties - there's four in the photo, look at the upper left - are looked after, I gather, by the lady at the Riverwalk tourist and tour info kiosk.  They aren't used to being petted, but they will let you touch their backs with a finger.

An apartment window in the French Quarter.

the journalist's pet squirrel

thanks british library (PD)

William James Stillman (American, 1828-1901) was one of those 19th-century Renaissance men who did many things well.  An artistic talent who became a major journalist and war correspondent, he also served as US Ambassador to Rome, roomed with Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and at one point unsuccessfully applied to take over the excavations at Knossos, Crete.
Among other works, late in life he wrote an article on his pet squirrels Billy and Hans.  Expanded and revised, it became a book after his death - a gentle and charming one, with an introduction that holds a heartfelt plea for our thoughtful care of our fellow creatures.
Today I'm offering you a bit from the first chapter of "Billy and Hans," in which Stillman acquires his friend Billy as a baby.
***
In my favourite summer resort at the lower edge of the Black Forest, the quaint old town of Laufenburg, a farmer's boy one day brought me a young squirrel for sale. He was a tiny creature, probably not yet weaned, a variation on the ordinary type of the European squirrel, dark grey instead of the usual red, and with black tail and ears, so that at first, as he contented himself with drinking his milk and sleeping, I was not sure that he was not a dormouse. But examination of the paws, with their delicate anatomy, so marvellously like the human hand in their flexibility and handiness, and the graceful curl of his tail, settled the question of genus; and mindfulof my boyhood and a beloved pet of the American species of his genus, I bought him and named him Billy.
 From the first moment that he became my companion he gave me his entire confidence, and accepted his domestication without the least indication that he considered it captivity. There is generally a short stage of mute rebellion in wild creatures before they come to accept us entirely as their friends—a longing for freedom which makes precautions against escape necessary. This never appeared in Billy; he came to me for his bread and milk, and slept in my pocket, from the first, and enjoyed being caressed as completely as if he had been born under my roof.
No other animal is so clean in its personal habits as the squirrel, when in health; and Billy soon left the basket which cradled his infancy, and habitually slept under a fold of my bed-cover, sometimes making his way to my pillow and sleeping by my cheek; and he never knew what a cage was except when travelling, and even then for the most part he slept in my pocket, in which he went with me to the table d'hote, and when invited out sat on the edge of the table and ate his bit of bread with a decorum that made him the admiration of all the children in the hotel, so that he accompanied me in all my journeys. He acquired a passion for tea, sweet and warm, and to my indulgence of this taste I fear I owe his early loss. He would, when placed on the breakfast table, rush to my cup and plunge his nose in when it was hot enough to scald him. This peculiar taste I could never account for.
He had full liberty to roam in my room; but his favourite resort was my work-table when I was at work; and when his diet became nuts he used to hide them among my books, and then come to hunt them out again, like a child with its toys. I sometimes found my typewriter stopped, and discovered a hazel nut in the works. . . .

- Stillman, W. James. (1914). Billy and Hans, my squirrel friends: a true history. Portland, Me.: T. B. Mosher. 3-6.

a friday miscellany

If it's Friday, that means it's time for the ever-amazing Link Dump over at Strange Company.  There's always a few choice and curious links about pets in history there, and this week's no exception.  Be sure to look for Toby the million-dollar poodle; the unfortunate mad dogs of London; and a 19th-c consideration of animal welfare.  (Last week's link dump included the Rabbit of Doom, Buzzer the Cat, and an ancient dog pound.)  If you're a fan of the little dark curiosities of times past, you'll have fun over at StrangeCo.

poem for a rescued donkey

british library (PD)

From the French Symbolist writer Leon Cladel (1834-1892) here is a lyrical poem of gratitude - an ass for his rescuer, a man for the gentle friendship of another creature.

My Ass

The cross was on his hide for all to see:
A mangy skeleton, scarred, scabbed and bowed,
Waiting the knacker's mercy. From the crowd
Five shillings ransomed him. He lives with me.

My lawns are by his busy tongue caressed;
His eyes reflect the shadowy trees that grow
Between the broad roofs and the sunset glow;
His patient sober body takes its rest.

When I draw near he welcomes me with glee,
With solemn antics, with tempestuous brays,
And pulsing nostrils sweet with lavender.

My little ass, be happy! and be free!
Eat, drink, and doze, enjoying all your days
Honour and liberty and provender.

-- Translated by Stella Browne, in Lloyd, B. (1921). The great kinship: an anthology of humanitarian poetry. London: G. Allen & Unwin ltd. 127.

more curious critter wills

I was fascinated by my recent finds of things bequeathed to pets, so I thought I'd keep looking...
 * * *
Goldfish and Flowers
A certain lady left seventy pounds a year for the maintenance of three goldfish, which were to be identified as follows: "one is bigger than the other two, and these latter are to be easily recognized, as one is fat and the other lean." She also made provision for flowers to be placed upon the graves of the gold fish.

Polly wants a Contest
In July last, at Washington, D.C., a will contest was commenced, which involves the life or death of a parrot. It appears Mrs. Ottilie Stock left a will, by the terms of which her parrot was doomed to Oslerization* by the process of chloroform.
Her daughter, Elizabeth Stock, questioned the validity of the will. It seems that Elizabeth was left one dollar in money, two kitchen chairs, two pails and one broom; hence, the will contest. Mrs. Stock, the testatrix, was the mother of one of the men who went to his death on the ill-fated battleship Maine, in the harbor
of Havana.
What behavior induced the death sentence on Polly, is not known.

A Lover of the Canine Race
In the Gazetta del Popolo of Turin, of September 2,1874, is found the following:
"Last week was opened by Zanini, the notary public, the will of a certain L. C, who, after having made a considerable fortune by means of the journal, the Caroccio, disposed of it in the following manner:
" 'I leave to the municipality of Casale an annuity of 1500 lire from the public debt, to be employed in rescuing all the dogs that shall fall into the hands of the civic dog-seizer (accalappiatore).
" 'I leave to my dog Schmid a rent from the public funds of 500 lire annually, to revert after his death to the foundlings of the city.' "

Lucky Dogs
Many valuable bequests have been made to dogs, and other domestic pets. Dr. Christiano, of Venice, left sixty thousand florins for the maintenance of his three dogs, with a condition that, at their death, the sum should be added to the funds of the University of Vienna.

*Oslerization - euthanasia, after Sir William Osler.  Selections from Harris, V. M. 1862-1923 or 4. (1911). Ancient, curious and famous wills. Boston: Little, Brown. 91-99 passim.

bequeathed to a monkey

I found a fascinating older book about wills that had an entire chapter on things left to pets. (Finds like that make me squeal out loud.)  Here's an excerpt.
* * *
. . . In 1828 a testator named Garland bequeathed "to my monkey, my dear and amusing Jacko, the sum of £10 sterling per annum, to be employed for his sole and exclusive use and benefit; to my faithful dog Shock, and my well-beloved cat Tibb, a pension of £5 sterling; and I desire that, in case of the death of either of the three, the lapsed pension shall pass to the other two, between whom it is to be equally divided. On the death of all three the sum appropriated to this purposeshall become the property of my daughter Gertrude, to whom I give this preference among my children, because of the large family she has and the difficulty she finds in bringing them up."
Similar provisions are very common to-day. Gustav Saleman Oppert, professor of Indian tongues, left 150 Pfennige a day for the maintenance of his cats Lottie and Peter. Dr. Bell Taylor, a Nottingham oculist, directed his animals to be kept in comfort. They included four horses, two of which were named Soldier Boy and Dancing Doll, an Aberdeen terrier named Billie, a Persian cat called Fluff, and some fowls. In the sixteenth century names were given to cattle as now they are given to horses or household pets, and such names may profitably be compared with modern equivalents. Richard Bayden, of Kent (1539), left cattle called Ros, Thurst, Coppe, Pryme, Mowse, Calver, Skulle, Gentyll, Bren, and Swallowe; surely a quaint and sweet decade of names.
-- from:  Hall, E. Vine. (1912). The romance of wills and testaments. London: T. Fisher Unwin.- 179-80.  Are those cows' names not excellent?

maray on the job

thanks internet archive (PD)

I'm betting most if not all of you have seen the news about the new staffer at Serpukhov's Museum of History and Art in Moscow.  He's a big ginger fellow who had been hanging about getting to know the staff, and recently that staff decided to take matters into their own hands.  They sent out a press release with his application letter and their decision to hire him. . .
. . . on April 1.  Their new hire is a cat.
My hamhanded GoogleTranslate on the museum's announcement told me that Maray (as he's christened, after the family who owned the property originally) thought he owed it to the Museum to help protect their paintings, since cats are in so many fine works.  I also learned that he had considered giving his services to the nearby butcher's, but traded bodily food for spiritual and didn't regret it.  (This was where everyone was tipped off to the joke, surely.)
Want to see where Maray's working?  Here's a virtual tour of the Serpukhov.
The moral of the story for museums in general may be: Hire a cat = free media coverage beaucoup.

mongoose as pet, 1907

From the May 11, 1907 issue of "Country-side: a wildlife magazine" comes this letter to the editor about a pet with a thing for egg yolks and warm baths:

Mongoose as Pet.—It may interest your readers to hear of a very fine specimen of the small Indian mongoose which has been an inmate of an Edinburgh suburban home for the last three years. Thuldy was brought home from Bombay three years and a half ago on board one of H. M. (Her Majesty's - curator) cruisers. She was very much teased by the officers and has never regained her confidence in people in general. She never forgets her original owner, though he may be away for many months at a time; she is always ready to welcome him, and allows him to handle her freely. In his absence she is particularly devoted to two other members of the family, always sleeping at the feet of her young master. She has no hutch, the eiderdowns of the house being her cosy corners by day when not basking in the sunshine, or on a tile hearth. She is never tied up, our only care being that she does not go out by herself. There is nothing prettier than to see her frisking about in the garden in the sunshine. A rough-haired fox terrier is her companion pet, and although they can hardly be classed as friends, they live together and give each other a great deal of amusement and exercise. Thuldy is very dainty in her food; bread and milk, a spoonful of cream, and yolk of egg form her chief diet, and tiny bits of cooked meat or fish two or three times a week; cherries and grapes seem her favourite fruit. She is exceedingly inquisitive, and likes to see all and everything that comes in to the house. Thuldy is very fond of being brushed and combed, and thoroughly enjoys a warm bath. She fears nothing but the mowing machine and dinner bell.—P. C. Ranken.

from British Naturalists' Association., British Empire Naturalist's Association. (1905). Country-side: a wildlife magazine. London [etc.]: British Naturalists Association [etc.]. V 4 (1907). 371.