How Basil Got His Name

When naming our new pug we wanted to choose a name that was appropriately dignified, but that also had a playful quality to it, like the breed.

"My name is Basil, and I'm here to inform you
how to pronounce it correctly!" 

As MD insisted many years ago when I consulted her as to what to name our previous pug, a dog's name should have dignity to it, and also be a good calling name.  She didn't approve of silly names for one's dogs.  And I respect her for that, as she was the one who came up with the name Pompey, after all.

"It is not pronounced Bay-zil,
like the leafy herb used to make pesto."

We initially thought of naming our new pug Bamboo, but quickly dispensed with such a choice because it wasn't properly respectful.

"My name may be spelled the same way as the herb,
but it isn't pronounced the same way.  Much like
someone from Poland is "Polish," and not "polish."

And, besides, Boy couldn't bear the thought of being a middle-aged, gay New York decorator walking through the showrooms at the D&D building with a pug named Bamboo.  It was simply too much.

"My name isn't pronounced the same way as
Basel, Switzerland is pronounced, either."

So we cast around to see what other names we could come up with for our new little fellow.  After lots of backing and forthing I suggested that we name him Basil.

"Basil is not pronounced the same way as Basel,
which is correctly pronounced Bah-zl."
Image courtesy of Amy Park Design

Basil seemed an appropriately dignified name to me, and I liked it because it was rather Wodehouse-ian, in an Englishy, drawing room comedy-ish sort of way.  Much like our own names, Reggie Darling and Boy Fenwick are.

"It is not pronounced Bah-zeel, either,
as in Giambattista Basile, the Italian poet."
Image courtesy of Bridgman Art Library

Besides, I had rather fond associations for the name Basil, as I have always admired the actor Basil Rathbone, and I adored the character Basil Fawlty played by John Cleese in the hilarious English television comedy Fawlty Towers.

"It is pronounced Bazzle, the same way
that the actor Basil Rathbone
pronounced his first name."
Image courtesy of the Basil Rathbone Gallery

For those of you who may not be sure how to pronounce the name Basil, at least in the way it is/was pronounced for the Messers Rathbone and Fawlty, it is pronounced to rhyme with razzle, or dazzle.

"And the same way that Basil Fawlty, of Fawlty Towers,
pronounced his first name, too."
Image courtesy of Wikimedia

And it most decidedly is not pronounced the way the herb basil is, which rhymes with hazel.

"So, don't even think of calling me Bay-zil, okay?
It's pronounced Bazzle!" 

And, unlike Reggie's and Boy's names, which are silly made-up ones, Basil's name is actually his "real" name.  He really is named Basil.  So please, Dear Reader, do him the favor of pronouncing it correctly!

Photographs of Basil (the pug) and basil (the herb) by Boy Fenwick.  All others as noted.

Introducing Basil

It is with pleasure that I introduce you, Dear Reader, to a new member of the Darling household.  His name is Basil.  He's really rather charming.

Basil Darling

As those of you who have lost a beloved pet well know, their absence creates a sad void in one's life.  After Pompey died Boy and I missed him terribly.  We still do.

Reggie, being the pragmatist that he is, decided that the best thing for us to do would be to get a new pug puppy and to embark on a new chapter in our dog-owning lives.  I missed having a pug around the house, and it was in my power to do something about it.  So I did.

But it didn't turn out exactly how I thought it would.

About a week after we put Pompey down I telephoned his breeder to place our names on a list for a  puppy in an upcoming litter, hoping that they might have one sometime this fall.  The breeder I called, Don Ayrton of Cado Pugs, is one of the most respected pug breeders in America and is well known for producing handsome and well-formed pugs, many of which have become champions on the show circuit.  We've kept in touch with Don and his wife Carol over the years, and there was no question in our minds that if we were to get another pug it would come from them.

Don Ayrton of Cado Pugs

When I called and spoke with Don I learned that they did not have any litters on the way, but they did have a fourteen-month-old fellow who was available.  They had kept him to show, but had not been able to do so because only one of his testicles had dropped.  In order to show a dog, Dear Reader, it must be what is known as "intact," meaning complete with all its bells and whistles.  So to speak.

The Ayrtons thus found themselves with a very handsome pug that was no longer a puppy (and therefore not easy to place) and unshowable.  Unless someone was willing to take him as a young dog, he would likely spend the rest of his days as a kennel dog with the Ayrtons.  A very well-cared-for kennel dog, that is, living happily among a dozen or more other pugs in a house in rural Connecticut, which is where the Ayrtons live.

After much discussion amongst ourselves and with friends, Boy and I decided to adopt the little fellow and give him a home.  One week later we drove over to the Ayrtons and picked him up.  We've now owned him for over a month.  Although it all seemed a bit rushed to us (it had only been three weeks since Pompey died), the timing was optimal because we were leaving shortly for a two-week vacation on Nantucket that would be the perfect opportunity to bond with our new little guy.  And that's what we've been doing ever since.

Boy and Basil greet for the first time

We renamed him Basil (he was known by a different name by the Ayrtons), and he seemed almost instantly to know his new name.  He is distantly related to Pompey, whose father is Basil's great-great-grandfather.  Coincidentally Basil and Pompey share the same birthday of May 12th.

Basil is a darling little fellow, Dear Reader, and is very well mannered and easy going.  We are all still adapting to each other, and I am happy and relieved to report that it is going swimmingly.  I have to give the little guy a lot of credit for making such a radical (and for him entirely unexpected) transition in his life with what appears to be a considerable amount of grace and aplomb.

Well done, Basil!

Next: How Basil got his name, and—more important—how to pronounce it correctly

Photographs by Boy Fenwick and Reggie Darling

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

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 At the Beach

It turns out that Pompey doesn't like going to the beach.  Not one bit.

Pompey, where he's happiest

In fact, it makes him miserable.

He hates the sand.  It's hot and difficult to walk on.

He can't stand the ocean.  It's wet and cold, and the surf crashes alarmingly.

He finds it all too much torture.

But he's perfectly happy at the house, hanging out and enjoying the sun and the breezes.

Just please don't bring him anywhere near the beach.

Does anyone know a pug who likes it?

Photograph by Boy Fenwick

That's Pompey With an "E"

There's something I think I need to clear up here, and that's the correct pronunciation for the name of my most-beloved pug, Pompey, who was named after the noble Roman general, Pompey the Great.

Pompey, photographed by Boy Fenwick

Since I began writing this blog I've had the pleasure of meeting a number of my readers, several of whom have been under the impression that the name of said pug is pronounced the same as Pompeii, the Roman city that had the misfortune to be buried under a flow of molten ashes when Mount Vesuvius erupted in A.D. 79.   Actually, it is not.

 The Forum, Pompeii, with Vesuvius in the Distance

Christian Kobke, 1841

J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles

Pompey, if parsed out in dictionary format, would be Pŏm′pē.  In other words, it rhymes with donkey, and not Pompeii.  The emphasis is on the first syllable "pom", and "pey" is pronounced "pee" (which he does at least several times a day).

Landscape with Donkey

Eugene Joseph Verboeckhoven, 1846

Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Just in case you wanted to know . . .

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.