Quick Service ~or~ A Peke in the Poke*

I have not had the pleasure of meeting many Pekingese dogs.  Labrador and golden retrievers, yes, pugs and mutts aplenty.  Corgis have also recently made an appearance, given the recent fascination with them, and it seems that I cannot take my usual walk without encountering at least three fluffy bums.  The only time I met a Peke was at a barbeque.  There I was, happily eating charred meat and a variety of salads whilst trying to have a discussion with a Paleo diet enthusiast without rolling my eyes, when I felt a soft snuffling presence at my feet.  I discovered a delightful little leonine face looking up at me with hope.  Obviously, he was angling for a sausage, but he did it in such a charming way that I almost gave in.  The pup’s owner scolded him (to my shame, I forget his name), and off he trotted.  Happily though, he made a return appearance a little later and we passed a happy half hour filled with ear-scritches.  I walked away that night totally entranced by the sweet little being.**

There are Pekes galore romping through the Wodehousian oeuvre.  There is one named Patricia who graces the pages of Quick Service.  She is owned by Beatrice Chavender, an American widow.  There was, of course, another widowed Peke enthusiast in Wodehouse’s life, and that was his wife, Ethel.  Plum describes Pekes with such tender humor that I can only imagine that he was quite fond of them himself.  For instance, he describes the sounds they make while walk as a “whoffle” and this passage in particular struck me as something that only a devoted animal-lover could compose: “If there was one thing this Pekinese prided herself on, it was her voice.  She might not be big, she might look like a section of hearthrug, but she could bark” (p.108). 

While I was reading Quick Service, I started to form a theory about Wodehouse and dogs.  Mrs. Chavender is, for all appearances, of the Domineering Aunt-type.  This type never cracks.  Think of the feelings of terror that Bertie Wooster experiences even when he is separated from his Aunt Agatha by the Channel. 

Beatrice is of a different mold, and I am starting to wonder if Patricia is an indication that she is really a softie underneath.  During the action of the book, she becomes very sympathetic in a way that I was not expecting.  In future, I shall suspect that being a Peke-owner is Plum’s code for “don’t worry, this one is all right.”

*Read September 2015.

**If my life circumstances were different, I would have gone out the next day and adopted a Peke.  Were it not for my self-control tempered by the suspicion that my family would have me committed, I would have a fleet of small dogs.  The composition of the group at the moment would consist of: a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a Papillon, a long-haired Dachshund, a miniature Poodle, a Havanese, and now a Pekingese.  It’s for the best that I do not have a lot of spare time, space, or money at my disposal.  My cats, for one, would probably use this as the excuse they have been waiting for and make a break for it.  For now, though, when I need a moment of comfort, I can picture my Fleet of happy, bouncing dogs.