The Pompey Chronicles, Part III: For the Love of Pompey

The is the third and penultimate installment in my series of essays on Pompey, our most-beloved pug.

The Scamp was born on May 12, 1999, and we picked him up on a sunny Saturday afternoon eight weeks later at a dog show in Newburgh, New York, where his breeder was showing.  My life changed forever that day, because that is when I fell irretrievably and irrevocably in love with our delightful and most-beloved pug, Pompey.  For that is the name he came home with at the insistence of my mother, who came up with it.

Boy with Pompey at the Dog Show on

the day we picked him up from the breeder, July 1999

Boy and I had come to the dog show prepared with a collar for Pompey, but when we met the breeder and showed her the collar (a very smart one, I might add, that we had carefully selected at a carriage-trade shop in the City), she burst out laughing and said, "Well, he might grow into it someday!"  For, as we found, he was still quite tiny, just a wee, wobbly, bobbly pug puppy, still no larger than an average sized kitten.  We learned that his brothers had further eclipsed him in size and were expected to grow into full Alpha-male standard size (that is, if a pug could ever be considered an Alpha dog), but that our little Pompey was destined never to exceed the size of an adolescent.  In other words, we were the proud owners of the runt of the litter.

Pompey's first day at Darlington

And true to prediction, Pompey weighs only 14 pounds at full maturity, right at the absolute bottom of the breed standard of 14 to 18 pounds (for both dogs and bitches), and about the same as a medium sized male cat.  Most of the pugs I see on the street weigh rather a lot more than the breed standard (along with the rest of America), so relative to many of the pugs we come across when out for a walk, Pompey is quite small.  We have kept him in good shape and carefully regulate his food intake (I find it is easier to control his diet than mine), so he has a nice figure, retaining a good tuck.  To this day, as he approaches his eleventh birthday, we are often asked if he is a puppy.

Pompey visiting Sister Darling

Since bringing Pompey home with us we have learned the following about pugs:

• They have insatiable appetites and will eat anything and everything, and then they'll want to eat some more;
• They want to be with you at all times, and will follow you from room to room;
• They are impossibly cute;
• Their most favored place during the day is in your lap, whenever possible.  When they can't sit on your lap, they will often sit on your feet;
• They will sleep in your bed with you; there is no argument here;
• They are pathetic watchdogs, they're more likely to lick a stranger than bark at him;
• They are impossibly cute;
• Stairs can be an issue; they don't always have the confidence to navigate a full flight of stairs;
• They scream; either when they are supremely unhappy, such as when you briefly leave them behind in the car when you are out doing errands, or when they are prevented from greeting someone they are determined to see, such as the UPS man dropping off a package, or a neighbor stopping by, and they're trapped in another room or upstairs (see "stairs can be an issue", above).  Such screaming can be blood-curdling, and so unnerving to the unitiated listener that I've had to reassure strangers that it is a characteristic of the breed, and not--contrary to what it may sound--the deranged shrieking of an enraged duck I am holding captive for unfathomable reasons;
• They are impossibly cute;
• They are wonderful companions under most circumstances, but particularly when one is feeling blue or sick--they will stay in bed with you or at your side for the duration of when you are down for the count;
• They are extremely sociable, and love meeting new people;
• They don't like getting wet, they hate rain, they find snow perplexing, and they'd rather do anything than go for a swim;
• They are professional snugglers;
• They can't play ball--their snub-nosed mouths are too small to be able to pick up a ball, even a tennis ball; they much prefer soft, plushy toys that they can get a purchase on;
• They are impossibly cute;
• They love playing catch with squeaky plushy toys, but quickly lose interest;
• They are stubborn;
• They can't run around in fields when out for a country walk because their legs are too short;
• They can be highly amusing;
• They love to eat banana, cheese, strawberries, blueberries, clementine sections, most vegetable trimmings, and pretty much any other kind of treat, including an Altoid every now and then;
• They sometimes scoot around like a flying Mighty Mouse when they are really having fun; and
• They are impossibly cute.

"Here I come to save the day!"

Did I tell you that Pompey is actually a remarkably good-quality pug?  It's true, and through no fault of mine, even though I was the one who found him.  As I wrote in a previous installment of the "Pompey Chronicles," I began my search with the Pug Club of Greater New York, and fortunately I was directed to a breeder that I later learned was considered at the time to be one of the top breeders of pugs in America, with dozens and dozens of champions to their credit, including several best-of-breed winners at Westminster.  I had no idea; I just thought I was buying a pug puppy.

Pug on a rug

It started to dawn on me several months after we brought Pompey home that he was actually a very nice looking example of the breed's standard, despite his diminutive size.  At first I thought it was perhaps pride of owership (doesn't every parent consider their child to be "gifted" these days?), but Boy and I started to suspect that Pompey was really quite good, particularly for a "pet-quality" pug, and in fact better than almost every other pug we had come across when out and about.

Pug in a pot

This was confirmed shortly thereafter when we attended a party at the National Arts Club here in New York that was thrown to celebrate the publication of a book called Pugs in Public, by Kendall Farr, and where more than sixty pugs had been invited to attend the party, including our Pompey.  As we walked through the chaos of pugs and owners in the main room at the club a voice boomed out across the throng "Bring that pug to me right now!" clearly referring to our little Pompey.  The command came from an imperious-looking older woman who was seated in a chair, banging her cane on the floor, demanding our attention.  We did as we were told and walked over to her.  She picked up Pompey and examined him like a trainer looking over a horse for the first time.  After a bit she looked up at us and said, "This is the best pug here today, and the only one with true championship potential!  I'd recognize him anywhere, he's from Such-and-Such kennel, isn't he?"  We were astonished that she knew the breeder just by looking at Pompey, and asked her name.  I was even more surprised to learn that she was, in fact, the very secretary of the Pug Club of New York with whom I had spoken when I first initiated my search!

Pompey's first birthday

Sombreros and pinatas, anyone?

Once Pompey joined our household he quickly established himself as a member of our family, and in many ways he completed it (as pets often do for childless couples).  Boy owns his own business and most days takes Pompey with him to the office, where he has become the firm's mascot, something that would have been impossible at the Investment Bank where I work.  I usually get home after they do, and there is no greater pleasure for me than when I open the door to our city apartment after a long day and Pompey runs up to greet me, demanding to be picked up and kissed.  He and I both enjoy sitting together on the sofa, snuggled up while watching television or reading, and I'm sure that bedtime would be lonely indeed if it didn't include our little bundle of puginess to share it with.  I particularly enjoy hanging out with him during weekends at Darlington.  He is very affectionate and loving, remarkably even-tempered and good-natured, and an all-around wonderful companion.  I miss him when we go away on a trip and have to send him to a boarding kennel, and I look forward to reuniting with him when we return.  In short, I adore him.

Another pug party held at the National Arts Club

I have found that one of the pleasures of owning a dog is experiencing them at every stage of their lives, from puppyhood through adolescence, maturity, and then finally old age. We have enjoyed the first three stages of Pompey's life and we are now just beginning the fourth and final stage.  Pugs live on average twelve to seventeen years, so we can expect at least several more years of his company, and I hope many more.  But there is no denying that he is starting to slow down just a tiny bit.  Not much, really, but I can see signs developing.  There is a greater tendency to hesitate at a stair, a wish to go back inside sooner from a walk, and not quite as much bounce in his trot.  To the casual observer these signs would be imperceptible, but I can see them.  And it is with a certain poignancy that I do so, as they are a reminder that I have fewer days of his company to look forward to than I have to look back upon.  Knowing this is all the more reason for me to cherish him as I do.  I know that I will be bereft when I no longer have the joy of his company, my most-beloved Pompey.  I do so love him.

Pompey in my arms

But for now I look forward to years more of his company, and I plan on making the most of it, never taking it for granted.  To that end we've decided to bring Pompey with us to the beach house we've rented for two weeks this summer, because we can't bear to be parted from him for that long.  Besides, he's never been to the beach before, and we want to see what he makes of it.

Pompey in maturity, taken this morning

But we're not the only ones who find our little Pompey adorable, or photogenic.  Over the years he has appeared in quite a few magazines and books, mostly in stories shot at Darlington House.  I plan on featuring a number of those images in my next and final installment of this series.

Next week: Pompey, the Published Pug

All photos by Reggie Darling or Boy Fenwick, except Pompey visiting Sister Darling which was taken by Sister Darling

Rest in Peace, Dear Pompey

It is with sadness and gratitude that I write today's post, a tribute to my dear sweet Pompey, who died two weeks ago after fourteen happy, play-filled years.  Pompey's amusing antics graced this blog many times since its inception, and he was a great favorite of many of you, Dear Reader.

Pompey Darling
May 12, 1999 to July 8, 2013

As I reported in an earlier post, we almost lost Pompey a few short months ago.  We were fortunate that we didn't, though, and the time we had with him since then allowed us to cherish him all the more, loving him every moment we were blessed with his company until it came time for us to say our final goodbye.

At the kitchen door at Darlington

Funny, faithful, and loving, Pompey was all that I could have ever hoped for in what I truly believe is "man's best friend."  He certainly was mine.  I did adore him so.

In my arms on Nantucket

I fell in love with Pompey the day we brought him home to Darlington House as a wee puppy, fourteen years ago.  I've been besotted with him ever since.  So good natured, so friendly, such a fond companion Pompey was.  I called him my "little one" and my "little man."  Boy called him his "sweet familiar," a name that always made me smile.

Snug in his bed at Darlington

I knew that when we retrieved Pompey from the animal hospital after his scare in May that we had him on borrowed time.  Although enfeebled by his ordeal, Pompey rallied over the ensuing weeks, and there were times when he almost resembled his old playful, darling self.  A week before he died, though, he started to decline, and it became clear to Boy and me—at first individually and then acknowledged between the two of us—that our sweet fellow was beginning to check out.  The evening before he died Pompey went into a spiral, and no amount of painkiller medicine that I administered to him was able to alleviate his suffering over a long and sleepless night.  Poor, dear little man.

By four in the morning I knew that his time was up.

In a pensive mood

I woke Boy, and the two of us got out of bed with Pompey and carried him downstairs.  We took him out to our screened porch, where the three of us had spent many happy times over the years.  We waited there together as the dawn broke, Pompey lying on the sofa between the two of us, breathing slowly.  A calm settled on us as we sat there quietly, our little family close together for the last time, listening to the sounds of the birds waking and calling their early morning songs.

Happy as a clam with Boy on Nantucket

I telephoned the vet's office as soon as it opened, and arranged to bring Pompey in later that morning.  His end was merciful and swift, and Pompey died with dignity, sheltered in the embrace of those who adored him most, bathed in our tears and love.

I shall miss my dear sweet darling for the rest of my days.

At the Four Seasons in Baltimore

I am truly blessed, Dear Reader, to have had the privilege of Pompey's loving friendship for fourteen years.  I am grateful that Boy and I were able to raise and nurture him with love and care, and that he lived with affection his entire life.  And I am fortunate to have known the devotion of Pompey's faithful companionship for more than a quarter of my own life.  I know I am a better person for it.

On our bed at Darlington

Thank you, dear Pompey, for all the joy, laughter, affection, and fun you brought to me and to those who loved you over the years.  You were a very special, very much loved friend.

May you rest in peace, dear little one.  I will always love you.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick and Reggie Darling

The Pompey Chronicles, Part IV: Pompey the Published Pug

For those of you who have been following The Pompey Chronicles, you will probably be relieved to learn that this is the final installment of the series.  If it were to run on any longer I am afraid that I would need to change the name of my blog to "Reggie's Besotted Ruminations on the Subject of his Most-Beloved Pug."  But that is not necessary.  Even though I may mention Pompey in future posts, I believe that with this posting I will have substantially exhausted him as a subject . . . at least for now.

As I wrote in my last posting in this series, we are not alone here at Darlington House in finding our little four-legged friend adorable, or photogenic for that matter.  Over the years Pompey has appeared in a number of books and magazine stories, many of which have been shot at Darlington, which we occasionally rent out as a set for photo shoots when the gods smile upon us.  Not only do we enjoy it when shoots take place at our house (the hubub is quite interesting to this bystander), but we typically reap a handsome per diem for letting our house as a location. 

When the photographers arrive at Darlington they usually do so without planning to include Pompey in any of their shots.  But since he is a cute and curious little fellow, he often worms his way into their hearts, and then their shots, as he makes an attractive prop to round out the pictures.  He also behaves quite well as a model on demand!

The first shoot at Darlington House that featured Pompey was done in 2001 for a Christmas book featuring photographs of festively decorated interiors.  Pompey was shot sitting in a Regency library chair that Boy and I had purchased several months previously, in the rather ugly upholstery that a former owner had chosen and that has long since been replaced.  However, it worked just fine for the book.

photo by Bryan E. McCay

This next photo appeared in another Christmas book where the focus of the chapter was tartan gifts for one's faithful companions.

top photo by Andrew McCaul; bottom photo by Bryan E. McCay

The following photo appeared in a cookbook where the subject was outdoor entertaining.

photo by Mark Thomas

The next photo is the first picture of Pompey that appeared in Martha Stewart Living.  It was the December 2005 issue, and the subject of the story was decorating with vintage miniature houses and buildings, known as Christmas villages.  The entire story was shot at Darlington House, but this is the only picture in which he appeared.

photo by Jose Manuel Picayo Rivera

Pompey next appeared in MSL the following Christmas in the issue's lead piece, "Bedecked With Bows."  Again, the entire story was shot at Darlington House, but he only appeared in one photo.  The picture was shot in our dining room prior to its restoration--the crew put up their own wallpaper between the windows.  The Regency chairs are ours, but the chest and mirror are not.

photo by Anna Williams

He next appeared in MSL in March 2006 in a story about using alternative vessels for plants in one's garden.  As readers of this blog will recognize, the chimney pots in the photo sit where we normally have metal urns.  Both photos shown were shot at Darlington.

photos by Helen Norman

This next picture was shot in our drawing room for Weekend magazine, a now-defunct title once published by Hearst Magazines.  The focus of the story was mixing antiques and modern furniture, either in old or new settings.  A jumble.  No wonder it folded!  You will recognize the Regency chair from the story shot in our dining room.

photo by Sang An

The last magazine that Pompey appeared in was the one where he finally made the cover, sitting in a hatbox in our drawing room no less.  Blueprint was a short-lived title produced by Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia aimed at the generation whose mothers read MSL.  They killed the magazine after only one more issue.  Too bad . . .

photo by Myers Robertson

The story was a fashion roundup of pretty party frocks worn by a bevy of beautiful models, and it was shot in its entirety in our house.  I'm only featuring the pages where little Pompey appears.  The first page, introducing the story, is a clever riff on caligraphic art that was popular in the 18th and 19th centuries, featuring an adorable oval portrait of Pompey.

photo by Myers Robertson

This following photo was shot in the doorway leading from our bedroom to the upstairs hall, prior to restoration.

photo by Myers Robertson

This next picture was taken in our drawing room, with the models under a plaster profile that we own of the Father of Our Country done after the bust by Houdon (stay tuned for more on that...)  Needless to say, the little vinyl-covered settee is not ours.

photo by Myers Robertson

So this wraps up my tour of Pompey's photo shoot portfolio.  Not only is he our most-beloved pug, but he's also a well-published one, too. 

Writing "The Pompey Chronicles" has been a most pleasant journey down memory lane for me.  I hope that you have enjoyed the trip.

Pompey: Fit To Be Tied

Pompey requires monitoring when he goes outside.  That's because he is a wanderer.  Not always, but most of the time, when given the chance.  He is a curious and sociable little fellow, and he enjoys snooping around, seeing what's what.  And sometimes that means that, if one is not careful, one can find that Pompey has wandered off, nowhere to be found.  That's okay when we're in the house, since he can't get outside, but it can be nerve-racking when we are outside the house, since we live on a busy road.

Pompey, on the kitchen step at Darlington House, tethered to Reggie

Not long ago I woke up early one balmy, sunny morning and came downstairs with Pompey.  After attending to his needs, I opened the kitchen door to let in the morning's air and let him stroll outside where he plopped down to take a sun bath, something he enjoys doing.  I then sat at the kitchen table, opened my laptop, and started working on RD.  Before I knew it, fifteen or so minutes had gone by without my looking up to monitor what my darling little pug was up to.  At that point Boy appeared and asked me where Pompey was.  I gestured outside, with a wave of my hand, absorbed in working on my post.

"What, are you mad?" Boy asked. "He's probably gone off somewhere!"

Sitting for a moment, while tethered to a hitching post

And, much to my consternation, indeed he had.  Despite our calling out his name and shouting bribes of treats and biscuits should he return (which usually produce satisfactory results), my dear little pug was nowhere to be found.  As we fruitlessly searched Darlington and the neighboring properties for him, my anxiety gave way to terror as the minutes passed, and I vowed (not for the first time, I might add) that I would never, ever let him out of the house again unsupervised, if only, dear God, I would find him soon, safe and sound.

Boredom sets in

Fifteen bootless minutes later, as I careened into the depths of despair at the prospect of never seeing my little fellow again, at least alive and in one piece, I was relieved and then overjoyed to learn that Boy had found him, blithely wandering through the back yard of one of our neighbors, oblivious to the hysteria his absence had produced.

Pompey, knotted with twine to a horse weight

After living through that harrowing experience, which I have no interest in repeating, I decided that I would only allow Pompey outside with me again when he was on a leash, or at least closely supervised, where I would be assured of keeping him in my sights at all times.

What's over there?

Over Columbus Day weekend we decided that we would explore various options available to us to benignly restrain Pompey's wandering impulse when we let him outside the house, unsupervised.  We long ago gave up putting him in a pen in our yard, since it resulted in an indignant, barking mess of a pug that bore little resemblance to our usually sunny-dispositioned little darling.

Off I go!

We decided the best thing to do would be to tether him to something that allowed him sufficient mobility that he could comfortably walk around, from sun into shade, and on and off our lawns.

Going . . . 

Our first option was an acorn-topped hitching post that we bought several years ago at an antiques fair and that we had not yet anchored outside for when friends drop by on horseback, which happens from time to time.

. . . going . . .

As can be seen in earlier photographs in this post, that wasn't exactly a success, in part because we attached Pompey's lead to the tether, which didn't give him much room to maneuver, and we feared he could topple the post should he pull against it, even though he only weighs fifteen pounds.  For Pompey, like many pugs, is powerfully built, living up to the breed's molto in parvo (a lot in a little) motto.

. . . gone!

Our next option was a cast iron horse weight (at least that's what the tag said), that we bought at a large antiques group shop in a neighboring town several months ago, mostly because we liked its honest good looks.  We set it up on our terrace and tied some twine to it of sufficient length that Pompey had free reign to wander about, at least mostly.

Boing!

But that wasn't a success, either, since in short order Pompey was straining at the end of the twine, indignantly barking.

Not a happy pug

I don't know about you, but I'd much rather have a happy pug on my hands than an indignant one, so I threw in the towel, so to speak, as it was clear to me that our tethering experiment was not a success.

Evidence of not-happy pug, straining at the outer limits . . .

And so I picked up Pompey and carried him onto our screened porch (first stopping inside the house for a "good boy" treat), where I lay down on the porch's wicker sofa with him on my stomach, confident that he couldn't wander too far off, considering he was lying on top of me and the porch's boundaries are secure.

A once-again happy Pug, lying on Reggie's stomach

I can attest to the fact that my little Pompey is much better company when he's contentedly snuggled up with me, purring like a cat, than when he's angrily straining at the end of a tether, barking furiously at the indignity of his captivity.

He really does rule the roost here at Darlington House.


All photos by Boy Fenwick

Pompey: Daddy's Little Helper

Pompey, like many (if not most) dogs (and humans, too), enjoys gamboling about outdoors when the weather is pleasant.  This past weekend at Darlington House, one of the loveliest weekends of this summer so far, Pompey was determined to slip out the door and into the sunshine at every opportunity.

As I've written before, we've had a dry summer in the Hudson River Valley.  So we've needed to do a lot of watering of our lawns and potted plants.

I spend much of each weekend pulling around a hose, delivering water from our well to thirsty plants and grass.

Pompey is a curious little fellow, and he likes to be in the thick of things.  He was determined to be helpful in my watering efforts.

What he really did was mostly get in the way.  But in a very cute way.

After a while Pompey lost interest in my watering activities, as pugs do in these sort of things.  They really don't have very long attention spans.

It is much more interesting to sniff around the base of one of the urns.

"Pompey, what are you doing?"

As can be seen by the pools of liquid on the bluestone at the base of the urn, Pompey did exactly what most dogs do after sniffing around.  Oh, that's not right!  That's the overflow from when I just watered the urn!

Afterwards, Boy asked, "Now, what do you plan to do, Pompey?"

Our little darling turned, then headed back up towards the house.

But first a stop was in order, on the way to the door, to examine the hose again.

"Pompey, do you know what time it is?" I asked.  "It's DINNER time!"

With that, he promptly turned and trotted toward the door.

Do you see that marble step Pompey is standing on?  We had it made for the house.  It weighs over three thousand pounds, and extends well below the bricks.

Eagerly anticipating his dinner, Pompey waits by the door, with visions of kibble dancing in his little head.

Hooray!  Dinner at last!

Photographs by Boy Fenwick