Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.
And ahead of him, at least on informal occasions and usually on four feet, is what`s-his-name, the First Dog.
These days it`s Rex, a cutesy King Charles spaniel that was the President`s gift to Nancy Reagan for Christmas. Lovable–and, important, housebroken–the presidential pooch has ”total access to the Oval Office,”
says Time magazine, quoting a White House spokesman. (Rex replaces Lucky, an affectionate but incontinent sheepdog whose 65 pounds constituted an unmanageable armful for Washington`s diminutive First Lady, whose office controls the fate of creatures that bark, yelp and howl but don`t vote in Congress. Lucky is now at the Reagan California ranch.)
Pets have been domiciled at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. as far back as there have been White Houses. Even before. Depending upon the species, they have gotten presidents into dog houses and out, chewed up the rose garden, drowned in the president`s bathtub, given the First Families whipped cream and milk, nipped at servants and peed in the Oval Office.
The pets of our nation`s presidents are so numerous they seem beyond counting. Some, like Woodrow Wilson`s tobacco-chewing ram or Herbert Hoover`s possessive police dog, rendered their masters seemingly more compassionate–a political nostrum of no small consequence in times when appearance is as valuable as substance.
Ronald Reagan thus has Rex, the only pet currently in residence at the White House. (The Reagans also have a variety of dogs and horses at their California ranch.)
Gerald Ford had Liberty, his famous golden retriever, whom Chevy Chase delighted in parodying on ”Saturday Night Live.” LBJ had his yelping beagles, Him and Her. Richard Nixon, whose checkered career ended with a flight from the White House ahead of the hounds of Watergate, is remembered for Checkers, the cocker spaniel whose endearing demeanor somehow defused accusations of trickery.
Not all the White House pets are dogs, however.
According to a chronicler of presidential pets, Margaret Truman, author of a 1969 book titled ”White House Pets” (and daughter of the country`s 33d president), cows were commonplace on White House grounds as late as the presidency of William Howard Taft. They gave milk, she wrote, but they also were family pets.
Other animals also have managed long-term residency on the grounds of America`s most popular zoo.
John Quincy Adams harbored a pet alligator that he kept in the East Room as a favor to its rightful owner, Gen. Lafayette. (Adams also supposedly had silkworms for his wife, who parlayed their gifts into dresses.) Ulysses Grant`s son, Jesse, had two alligators. Calvin Coolidge, whose menagerie reputedly was equaled only by Theodore Roosevelt`s, was given a pygmy hippopotamus, two lion cubs and a raccoon–the last a gift intended as a dinner that never came to pass. (The raccoon instead was christened Rebecca and became a permanent family pet. The hippo went to the Washington Zoo, repository of dozens of unwanted presidential gifts.) Thomas Jefferson had a mockingbird on his Monticello estate.
Anecdotes abound.
Zachary Taylor chose an animal that seemed to reflect his disdain for clothes. Taylor himself cared little for clothing. Early in his career, he decided that a man in the Army was either a fashion plate or a soldier, and he chose the latter.
Taylor`s battle charger, Old Whitey, ”mirrored him completely,” Truman says. He was a grayish white, shaggy-maned, knock-kneed, uncurried steed. He was an excellent match for a soon-to-be President who had a disproportionately large head, a homely face and large nose, a bulk torso and legs so short that an orderly had to help him mount. Both, however, were battle-proven and tough. Old Whitey proved faithful right to the end. When Taylor died in office, apparently from cholera in 1850, it was his placid, lethargic-looking mount that carried his boots–reversed–in Taylor`s last ride, to Congress Cemetery. Another horse tale involves Ulysses S. Grant, who loved horses but suffered misfortune with a series of dogs. Each died of unknown causes.
When Grant`s son Jesse voiced fears that his treasured Newfoundland was fated to go the same way, the president summoned the White House steward.
”Father asked no questions, made no accusations,” Jesse wrote, and Grant ended the matter with a simple political promise:
”Jesse has a new dog. You may have noticed that his former pets have been particularly unfortunate. When this dog dies, every employee in the White House will be at once discharged.”
The Newfoundland, named Faithful, enjoyed superb health throughout Grant`s tenure in the White House, according to Truman.
Grant loved buggy racing almost as much as he loved horses. He took on all challengers with his favorite mare, Julia. He also was known to challenge delivery men to races and–on at least two occasions–lost. Once to a farmer, the second time to a butcher. According to Truman, Grant was so impressed with the butcher`s wagon horse that he followed the butcher to his place of business and offered to buy the horse–which he did, for $280.
Grant later proudly showed his new purchase, which he named Butcher Boy, to Roscoe Conkling, who sniffed disapproval.
”Do you know, General, I think I would rather have the $280 than the horse?”
”That`s what the butcher thought,” replied Grant, who soon promoted Butcher Boy to the No. 1 racer in the White House stable.
Theodore Roosevelt, a conservationist of renown despite his bully-boy hunter`s image, stocked the White House with dozens of curious pets. Aside from the obligatory stable of horses and dogs, there was Emily Spinach, who was daughter Alice Roosevelt`s pet green snake. Several other snakes belonged to her brother Quentin, who was known to sneak away from the White House at odd morning hours to help feed animals at a nearby pet store.
Once Quentin arrived at the West Wing of the Oval Office with four snakes entwined about his body. He hugged his father and dropped the snakes, much to the consternation of several senators and party leaders in attendance.
”Chaos and confusion resulted,” Truman wrote. ”Not only did the conference end but the snakes began a small war of their own. The king snake attacked the grass snake, while the gold-banded snake and the black snake were off to battle. Father and son had their hands full, tracking down, recapturing and rebagging the slithering reptiles.”
Woodrow Wilson, an intellectual ahead of his times, had several dogs. His mark on pet history was ensured, however, with the presence of a tobacco-chewing ram, Old Ike, and a herd of White House sheep.
According to Truman, Wilson reasoned that the sheep would keep the White House lawn trimmed, thus helping to conserve essential materials in war years. Their effect on the gardens apparently was disastrous, but it was reported that their shearings resulted in an extra $100,000 for the Red Cross.
By the end of Wilson`s term, the herd of 13 had grown to 70, including Old Ike, who had somehow acquired a taste for tobacco during those
presidential years.
”Ike was slow to pick up the habit, but once the nicotine took hold, he was hooked, just like a human cigarette smoker,” Truman says. ”When Old Ike wrapped his teeth around a wad of the weed, he would chomp away contentedly, with tobacco flowing freely down the sides of his mouth, staining his lips and jowls an amber brown color. He might have been a human chewer except that people got rid of the wad when they were through. Ike swallowed his plug after it had been chewed to a mush. Ugh!”
It is written that when Old Ike finally met his end in 1927, it was with a plug of tobacco in his mouth.
For sheer protectiveness, few can match Herbert Hoover`s police dog, King Tut. Acquired in Belgium in 1917 during Hoover`s sojourn as war relief organizer, Tut reputedly displayed an affable disposition until Hoover moved into the White House. Then, perhaps sensing security, Tut assumed the role of White House guard dog.
”Every night, in good weather or bad, White House guards would come upon King Tut patrolling the fences. He would stop at each gate and checkpoint,”
writes Truman, adding that the dog seemed deadly earnest. ”King Tut never slept, or so it seemed. During the day he would take short naps, but these were restless and fitful and his constant nighttime patrol duty left him no real sleep.”
As the months passed, Tut became morose. He lost appetite and weight. Workers felt unsafe. ”At last it came out that he couldn`t stand the sight of anyone near the White House except the President and Mrs. Hoover.”
Thus it came to pass that King Tut was muzzled, then sent back to Hoover`s old residence on S Street. ”Puzzled, King Tut pined away and soon was dead,” Truman writes.
Presidents apparently have always been mindful of the publicity value of their pets. Nixon got out of the doghouse with Checkers. Lyndon Johnson got into one by playfully yanking the ears of Him, a pet beagle, to elicit a yelp in front of a group of bankers and newspaper photographers. The famous 1964 photograph was front-page news across the nation. Thousands of hostile letters poured into the White House. (Him and Her died in the White House, one from swallowing a rock, the other by running in the path of a car.)
The beagles gone, Johnson was showered with gifts of dogs from everywhere. His favorite, however, appeared to be a hapless mongrel found by Johnson`s newlywed daughter, Luci, who had come upon the dog wandering about a gas station in Austin, Tex. Yuki soon was given the run of the White House. He sat under the table at Cabinet meetings.
Why did LBJ show such partiality for a dog with absolutely no pedigree, no traceable lineage, a homeless vagabond, Truman asked? Johnson gave two reasons. ”He speaks with a Texas accent,” he said, ”and he likes me.”
Pets are showered upon presidents like rainfall. Some are given away to the Washington Zoo, others are farmed out. During the Kennedy years, a gift from Nikita Khrushchev of Pushinka (offspring of the Soviet space-orbiting dog, Strelka) was mated with Charlie, a distant offspring of Asta in the 1930s movie ”The Thin Man.” Pushinka gave birth to four pups. Two were given away. The other two were prizes in a letter-writing contest about dog care. More than 10,000 children responded.
The Kennedy years were rife with other animals–apparently so numerous as to outnumber even the army of Kennedy kids. ”A fast roll call might list about three dozen rabbits, seven or so ponies, a horse and a donkey, over a dozen assorted hens, roosters, geese, pigeons, tanks full of goldfish and tadpoles, a burro, two cockatoos and a parakeet, a pair of Angora goats, a tortoise, maybe six or seven turtles and a guinea pig named Crooked Coconut.”
