“Portraits of Dogs” attests to the poignant, creative and sometimes disturbing ways that we have grieved dogs, from taxidermy to modern art. I saw the stuffed remains of a Maltese terrier named Minna which have, since 1883, been resting in an elaborate cabinet, alongside etchings of castles and flowers. I read Lord Byron’s lyrical epitaph to his beloved Newfoundland, Boatswain.
I understand the impulse to preserve a dog’s fur. When I lived with Charley, her constant shedding was a source of irritation. Her hairs were prone to clogging the vacuum cleaner and lodging themselves in the stitches of my sweaters . When I finally brought myself to unpack the suitcase I’d grabbed on my way out, a flurry of Charley hairs flew out. I gathered up my clothes and stuffed them back in my bag.
I was hardly alone, I learned at the Wallace Collection, in wondering how my dog would fare without me. In a melodramatic painting called “The Old Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,” a grief-stricken collie throws itself on the coffin of its master. After King Edward VII died in 1910—leaving behind his favorite dog, Caesar—a popular story book calledup online, and was happy to find it’s in the public domain.
Reading these morbid, self-flattering musings brought me back to my original question: Do we project onto our pets too much? Probably. But who can resist?