Last week, President Joe Biden’s younger dog, Major, bit someone while out on a walk. It was Major’s second biting incident in a month, which prompted MSNBC host Joe Scarborough to joke, “That dog might better get his affairs in order and prepare to meet Doggy Jesus.” While that consequence might be too severe — let’s give the 3-year-old rescue at least three strikes; it is baseball season, after all — it would not be the first time a world leader put down his dog for embarrassing him.
The Major incident reminded me of the terrifically ludicrous story of how King Henry VII, the first of the Tudor monarchs, supposedly had his own dogs hung for treason. As the legend goes, the English king was fond of breeding large mastiffs, which he used for hunting, bearbaiting, and other such recreational endeavors. As historian and writer Christine Tran recounted: “For kingly reasons, he sent his canines into a lion cage, fully expecting the mighty cat to defeat the common beasts. Henry intended to ‘teach’ to his subjects how one noble lion is stronger than any mob. Unfortunately, Henry underestimated the power of numbers; the dogs quickly slaughtered the lion. To undo this PR disaster, Henry ordered his own dogs to be hanged as traitors.”
The story is likely only legend, but why let that get in the way? There are countless, colorful tales of kings and political leaders and their eccentric pets. Alexander the Great’s legendary dog Peritas was said to have felled both a lion and an elephant by himself. The mad Roman Emperor Caligula, according to legend, appointed his favorite horse, Incitatus, to the imperial Senate and granted him all the trappings and honors accorded, including his own palatial estate, servants, and a stable made of marble.
In 1251, King Henry III famously kept a pet white bear, and he would tie a chain to its leg so that it could fish in the River Thames without wandering off. Mad King George had a pet cheetah he named Miss Jenny and even commissioned a royal portrait of the animal sporting a bright red bonnet. Napoleon’s first wife, Josephine, kept a beloved orangutan named Rose, who was treated more like a person than a pet. “Rose usually sported a bright white dress and would modestly pull the skirts over her legs before she rose to greet company with dignity. Trained with a full knowledge set of table manners, Rose loved to eat turnips with a knife and fork at dinner, where she regularly dined with human guests,” wrote Tran.
As president, John Quincy Adams was fond of keeping a live alligator, which he had been given in 1825 by the Marquis de Lafayette, in the East Room bathtub in order to prank visitors to the White House. But Quincy’s alligator has nothing on Andrew Jackson’s parrot.
When he was president, Jackson had for a pet an African gray parrot named Poll, whom he had bought originally for his wife, Rachel. After her death, Jackson took care of Poll himself and apparently passed on many of his hard-charging, Old Hickory mannerisms to the bird. When Jackson died in 1845, Poll attended his master’s funeral. In the words of the presider, the Rev. William Menefee Norment, “Before the sermon and while the crowd was gathering, a wicked parrot that was a household pet got excited and commenced swearing so loud and long as to disturb the people and had to be carried from the house.”
Compared to that, what’s a few small bites, aye?
