A Catalog of Talking Dogs
 |
| A wall of "Dogs Playing Poker" at the American Treasure Tour Museum, Oaks, PA |
Man’s best friend, the dog, has never been much for conversation. Generally we think of good friends, let alone best friends, as someone we can converse with– and dogs are sorely ill-equipped to reciprocate on that front. Still, many dog owners talk to their furry friends, and part of the charm of the average canine is that they must rely on other forms of communication to respond. We may not know, from our human frame of reference, what the dog thinks. We don’t know if the dog considers the question “who’s a good boy?”, or whether he merely reacts to the tones and affect of his best friend’s voice in asking. Still, he cocks his head, gets excited, seemingly eager to prove that it is he who is the good boy. And he is. What more could one want out of friendship?
Dogs and humanity have a sacred bond, going back through the millennia to the earliest hunter-gatherer societies. They have always helped us along, whether through hunting or the pulling of sleds, or in protecting us from predators; as time went on dogs became designed through selective breeding and training for specific tasks to help their masters. It is no wonder then that as technology progressed, and we found other ways to accomplish tasks formerly in the domain of the pooch, that we continued keeping them just as companions. In all that time there was agreement, non-verbal and primal, that the two species were the best of friends. It stands to reason that at some point, some humans would want to hear even a few words from
their canine counterpart and, as it happens, some have.
One such example took the world by storm in 1911- Don, the Talking Dog, hailing from Germany. Don belonged to a gamekeeper named Ebers, who lived in Theerhutte, near Hamburg, Germany. According to him, Don spontaneously started to speak (in German, of course) at a young age. While begging for scraps at the table, Ebers said to the dog “You want something, don’t you?” and Don replied with “Haben, haben!” - or, in English, “Want, want!” Impressed by the pup’s wild talents, Ebers coached the dog on elocution and taught him other German words, some of which could be made into phrases. He was examined by zoologists in Hamburg and declared to be a “true prodigy”, and the newspapers ran with the scientific marvel of Don the Talking Dog. It was only a matter of time before Don hit the big time, traveling with Ebers’ daughter and exhibited on stage with Loney Haskell. He became famous enough that references can be found in newspapers of the era to “the famous talking dog”, and no name is needed. While reporting about Don is quick to mention that the dog was not the greatest conversationalist, his vocabulary of 8 German words- which he could use in context- were still considered remarkable.
Don’s monopoly on fame in regard to canine elocution wouldn’t last forever, though. Soon other talking dogs began to appear in the news, seemingly unconnected to one another; reports across several decades often contain the phrase “who’s ever heard of a talking dog?” It seems the novelty of such things was largely regional, and such news rarely went “viral” in the early 20th century the way it does now. Nevertheless, a few other dogs were notable for their linguistic achievements. There probably were dozens of such wonderful animals, but a brief survey will suffice for our catalog here.
One notable and most puzzling example of a talking dog was reported in 1908, by a trio of policemen in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Detectives Ehernfeld and Aymer, along with a Lt. Shields, were investigating a string of robberies in the East End when a Newfoundland dog walked up and said “good morning” before it “disappeared”. The stunned law enforcement officers clearly didn’t know what to make of the event, and without more information it remains a most mysterious happening. Robert Anton Wilson examines this report in Cosmic Trigger: The Final Secret of the Illuminati as he tries to grapple with the reality of his own baffling encounters, and entertains the thought experiment of UFOnauts projecting the idea of a talking dog to trained detectives just to see what happens. In Wilson’s rendering of the tale, the dog disappears in a puff of green smoke- which is interesting to this writer, who once received a report of a green, barking mist interrupting a party of drunken teens in a central Massachusetts wooded area. While most of the dogs in our catalog have far less in the way of paranormal qualities, it’s interesting to find that some do- including Pim, the Polish Talking Dog, who was apparently also psychic. Pim made headlines by failing to appear before The International Congress for Psychical Research in 1927, which the Spiritualists of the time had hoped the more materialistic members of the Congress would find convincing. Introducing a talking dog in the hopes of being taken more seriously may seem like an odd angle, but various psi experiments have been done with animals. Another German dog named Max was tested for his homing abilities, being driven miles from his home to see if he could find his way back- and he did. Other experiments specifically with dogs relate to their uncanny ability to know when their owner is arriving home, even under conditions when sensory clues are obscured. In our long friendship with the canine, many humans have seemingly exhibited such wild talents- so why wouldn’t our furry counterparts do the same?
Following on the heels of such weirdness, and during the last year of Don the Talking Dog’s life, enters Spike, the talking dog from Allentown.
Spike’s owner, Edward Huff, claimed to have taught Spike how to speak through his study of occultism. Huff thought that through mastery of the mind and occult sciences, a great many things could be accomplished. Setting out to prove this, he used this weird science to give Spike the power of speech. Spike could say a number of words, often manifesting as a normal whine or growl which would through difficulty become recognizable as “no”, “mama”, “papa”, or “good night”. Huff admitted that some words, such as “yes”, were perhaps impossible for even such occult-informed pups, so in conversation Spike would bark twice for yes, and once for no. While his celebrity didn’t bring him to the stage, it did make him popular with the locals- so much so, he couldn’t find room in his schedule for everyone who wished to speak with him. As an added bonus, during Spike’s day Allentown also boasted a walking dog named Nero, who would often spontaneously take to his hind legs when crossing streets.
Perhaps there was something in the water in Allentown, PA back in the nineteen-teens, or maybe as Huff would suggest, most dogs could be taught such things as simple speech.
As evidence to the variety of dog breeds capable of such speech, examples from the 1920s form an unlikely pairing of a Great Dane and a French Bulldog. Princess Jacqueline, a Frenchie from Maine, boasted the title of “only known talking dog” after being exhibited at a dog show in Boston. She had been examined by doctors from Johns Hopkins University, and determined to have unique and human-like vocal chords. This might explain her ability to pronounce such words as “Bangor”, “Ball”, “I will”, and when feeling feisty, “I won’t!”. She seemed also to live up to the etiquette her royal title implied, greeting visitors to her Portland home with “hello”, and seeing them off with a “goodbye” or “come again”. Boulderwall, on the other hand, learned speech out of necessity- as a Great Dane living in a New York apartment, her owners discouraged her from barking. Boulderwall’s human, lawyer Stuart Willard Tomkins, didn’t think it was newsworthy until he read reports touting Princess Jacqueline’s singular skill. I suppose it made sense to him, that with the mighty bark of the Dane stifled, that the dog would take to the English language. First, it was a request for water, which came out sounding like “wawer”- but eventually, Boulderwall could say “How do you do?” and “Hello, Henrietta”, when greeting Tomkins daughter of that name. One can’t help imagining a Scooby Doo voice here, but a newspaper of the time said that she couldn’t be coaxed into speech with snacks in front of reporters. Instead, she eventually stood up and said “I want to go out.” The New York reporters, who had seen just about everything, left the West 85th Street apartment with “skepticisms… shaken to their foundations.”
Around this time, a different kind of talking dog appeared on the Silver Screen, in a series of MGM shorts called the Dogville Comedies. Directed by Zion Myers and Jules White, who would later have success directing the Three Stooges, these “barkies” (a play on the recent addition of sound to film, referred to as “talkies”) featured dogs dressed in human clothing and performing vignettes which parodied everything from war films to courtroom dramas. While none of the dogs could talk in real life, the films stand as a cultural oddity similar to the famous Dogs Playing Poker paintings by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge decades prior. It speaks to humanity’s inherent tendency to anthropomorphize creatures and things, to remake even our best bestial friends in the image of ourselves. Undoubtedly, the methods used in the Dogville Comedies to achieve such effects would be considered cruel by today’s standards, and perhaps it’s best to let the dogs speak for themselves.
While on the subject of dogs and entertainment, though, a recurring theme emerges in the annals of talking dog history which must be something of an urban legend or joke which got reworked and repeated in the news going back to the mid nineteenth century: the story of a ventriloquist conning a tavern owner with a “talking dog”. Variations of this story appear over and over, with early reports claiming to have originated during a court battle in France. Nearly a century later, the same story is told with famous ventriloquist The Great Lester as the perpetrator of the con. The story goes that a down-on-his luck vent befriends a dog, then walks into a pub. He orders a drink (or food) and invites the proprietor to ask the dog what he wants. In convincing the proprietor that the dog can talk, a deal is eventually struck to buy the animal- only the pooch refuses to talk once the man has left with his newfound windfall. It’s a charming and fun little story, but given the variations over such a long span of time is probably just fiction.
More talking dogs are to be found in the 1940s- Sam, a shepherd from Champaign, Illinois, was taught to talk by her owner Jeanne Nowy, who worked as a speech therapist. Keeping with showbiz themes, and the changing times that began to bring televisions into American homes, our most audacious and stylish talking dog takes the stage: Tippy, the “2nd Most Useful Dog in the U.S.A.”. It’s unclear who the Most Useful Dog was at the time, but Tippy certainly seemed extraordinary and helpful to have around. While living in Phillipsburg, New Jersey, Tippy would help her owner Mrs. Higgins in caring for an elderly relative who was hard of hearing. Tippy would carry notes back and forth, fetch slippers, and even retrieve packages from the local store. If that’s not enough, she could dance by repeating the steps of Mrs. Higgins; she could climb ladders, ride ponies, somersault, and take mail from the postman. Her speech seemed to have been limited, especially compared to other dogs in our catalog- she mostly would say “mom, mom”, but her comprehension of words said to her seemed uncanny. What she lacked in elocution, though, she made up for in style, often wearing dresses and painted claws. In 1948 she was hoping for her own TV show, and it seems unlikely that it ever came to be.
Her services could have proved useful though, a year earlier, when the estate of one Carlton Bainbridge was lost in court. Bainbridge had left his wealth to his Irish Terriers, Pat and Gunner, who he claimed could talk. The dogs unfortunately remained mum in court, and Bainbridge was deemed to have been of unsound mind when he willed his money to them.
Who could blame the court? Even with all of the examples here given, the idea of a talking dog seems crazy. It might be surprising then to learn that one of the earliest well-documented accounts of a dog with powers of speech was that of Trouve, a Skye Terrier taught to talk by none other than famous inventor Alexander Graham Bell. Trouve could say “how are you, Grandmama?”- sort of. Bell trained the dog to continuously growl, then through manipulating the dog’s mouth and vocal chords could produce a convincing enough version of the phrase to pass muster with visitors to his home. Through this sort of gimmick, however, Bell began his foray into sonic transmission- proving once again the usefulness of man’s best friend. If it weren’t for Trouve, who knows what modern communication might have become?
Of course it’s possible that dogs can all talk anyway, and most of them just refuse to. A folktale this writer was unable to verify was found, regarding an Island of Dogs off the coast of the Komchatka Peninsula in Russia. According to this rendering of a legend, once upon a time, all dogs could speak. They could argue their case when humans tried to put them to work. They enjoyed hunting, but as man got better at it they became less useful- and the people tried to employ them as sled dogs. The unwilling mutts swam to a barren island, which became known as the Island of the Talking Dogs. Without much in the way of food or resources, the dogs became feral and cannibalistic. When the humans tried to offer them a home back on the mainland, the dogs pretended not to know them, angering the “Dog God Chami”, who took away their powers of speech for lying. Ever since then, they have been servants to mankind, unable to voice their opinions about it. They often seem happy enough, though, and our limited catalog only covers the beginning of the 20th century- many more talking dogs have come and gone since the days of Tippy, to be sure. Perhaps many went unreported, or an increasingly cynical society became less impressed with the guttural utterances of these pups. In today’s world of short attention spans and barrages of “content”, we must surely find examples, but none that shine as brightly as that German dog Don did in his time.
Every dog has his day, as the saying goes- but not every dog has something to say about it.