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A loyal dog shows his initiative in recovering his master’s property, though his timing might have been better.
In 1815, at a time when Sir Humphry Davy was popularising chemistry with his famous Royal Institution Lectures, a little handbook was published providing a light-hearted introduction to British zoology. Of course there was a lengthy section devoted to the Dog, and following some remarkable incidences of loyalty, devotion and even acting ability, the authors turned to examples of canine initiative.
Mousetraps are proof of human ingenuity, but also human ingratitude — so Tom does something about it.
In 1753, the house of inventor John Kay was trashed by weavers who feared that his ‘flying shuttle’ machine would put them out of work. Tom, hero of the satire The Life and Adventures of a Cat, published anonymously in 1760, felt the same way about mousetraps, and was just as willing to act.
A little anecdote about a schoolmaster who wasn’t as much of a Wackford Squeers as he appeared to be.
Charles Dickens’s Nicholas Nickleby (1839) firmly fixed in the public’s mind the image of the Victorian schoolmaster as a Wackford Squeers, pitilessly exploiting his pupils for labour and feeding them little more than kitchen scraps in return. The poulterer in this little anecdote seems to have fallen easily into this trap, and paid the price.
In the thirteenth century, wealthy English homeowners began to think more about the inside of their stately homes.
For many years, the Norman barons who dwelt in English castles took more interest in wide estates for hunting, and a large retinue for serving and entertainment, than in soft furnishings or dainty ornaments. But from the time of Henry III (r. 1216-1272) that began to change, and one of the new fashions in interior decoration was the ‘halling’ — a tapestry for one’s Hall.
The doorman of a Paris theatre had strict instructions to keep dogs outside, but it was the humans they let in who caused all the trouble.
The following anecdote comes from a pamphlet entitled Popular Sketches of British Quadrupeds, published in 1815. Reflecting the gentler times of Georgian England, the authors looked not only at working animals but also at pets, and treated the reader to a tissue of heartwarming tales of their affection and intelligence.
It was George-a-Green’s job to stop animals trampling the crops, and it nettled his pride in Wakefield’s broad acres to see some ramblers behaving no better.
Robin Hood, Maid Marian and Robin’s merry men have been tramping carelessly over fields of corn near Wakefield, much to the disgust of George-a-Green, a local pinder (an animal control warden) and the lovely Beatrice beside him. Robin, who for once was armed with no more than a staff like the one George held, said soothingly that for any damage done the amends lay in his own hands.
When a new mother found herself and her kittens on the wrong side of a nasty-looking stream, Twink was there to help.
A pamphlet published in 1815 sought to satisfy the public’s increasing thirst for information about matters of science. The anonymous authors chose as their overall subject the Quadrupeds of the British Isles, and the traditional enmity between Dog and Cat was noted, of course. But there was also this heartwarming little tale.