What Does Shakespeare Say?--Dogs

The “Be-Worded” blog entry of 16 May 2014 answers the question What Does Shakespeare Say (WDSS) About Cats? In what I plan to become a recurring WDSS series, this blog entry will address WDSS About Dogs.

I would be remiss not to begin my treatment of dogs in Shakespeare’s work without mention of the oldest and worst dog pun regarding Shakespeare.  We learn in the “Scottish play” that Shakespeare lived with a dog--and a mischievous dog, at that—when Lady Macbeth exhorts “Out, out damned spot!”

I fell in love with basset hounds when I was in 9^th grade. My personal all-time favorite Shakespeare play is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” partly because Shakespeare mentions basset hounds in that play. In Act 4, scene 1, Theseus and Hippolyta discuss the “musical confusion/ Of hounds” as they head out for a day of hunting. Theseus proudly informs her that

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,

So flewed, so sanded; and their heads are hung

With ears that sweep away the morning dew,

Crook-kneed, and dewlapped like Thessalian bulls,

Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells,

Each under each.

Joseph Papp in his production of this play in Central Park in 1982 has Theseus enter with basset hounds on leash. Some productions cut this scene, omit the hounds and have Theseus simply describe them, or use non-basset dogs. Unlike Crab the dog mentioned below, these dogs are “props.” They do not have “speaking” parts.

However, one of Shakespeare’s more disturbing uses of dogs, in this instance spaniels, also occurs in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In a quite unsettling episode of low self-esteem, Helena throws herself at Demetrius, who once loved her but now spurns her. She begs,

I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,--
And yet a place of high respect with me,--
Than to be used as you use your dog?

The proverb claims that dog is man’s best friend. In this case, Demetrius seems to need some lessons not only on how to treat women, but also on how to treat his dogs!

Early in “As You Like It,” Rosalind quietly mulls over her political troubles. Her cousin Celia questions why Rosalind is tongue-tied, asking has she no words?  Rosalind responds, “Not one to throw at a dog.” The next time someone asks why I am quiet, I will give the Shakespearean response, “I don’t have a word to throw at a dog.”

I must mention here (as I do in “WDSS—Cats”) the line from Hamlet, “The cat will mew, the dog will have his day,” or as Andy Warhol phrased it in modern times, everyone will have his or her fifteen minutes of fame (MEOW).

I am choosing not to discuss probably Shakespeare’s most well-known dog reference found in “Julius Caesar” regarding letting loose “the dogs of war.”

While Shakespeare refers to dogs in many more of his plays, I will close with mention of the only dog for which he wrote a “speaking” part, Launce’s dog, Crab, in “Two Gentlemen of Verona.” Launce complains that when he falls on hard times, his family pities him, even his cat pities him, but his dog does not pity him. (You must note that Launce’s dog is the only one of those mentioned who actually stands by him. Also, Crab does not pee on Launce’s leg.) I had the pleasure of seeing a performance of “Two Gentlemen” this summer at the Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival. Crab stole the show!

Feisty--or getting in touch with your inner dog

How many of us who have had canine family members have not at one time or another blamed ill-timed Silent-But-Deadlies on the poor dog?  Currently, I am reading How Dogs Love Us, which led me to the linguistic justification for such blame.  The author, neuroscientist Gregory Berns, a professor at Emory University, enlists the help of his dog Callie, whom his family rescued from a local humane society.  In researching Callie’s mixed pedigree, Berns discovered that she has some “feist” in her.  I was familiar with the word “feisty” meaning “full of spirit or determination; plucky or spunky,” as The American Heritage Dictionary defines it, but not familiar with the meaning which Chambers Slang Dictionary supplies of “a small dog; thus having the characteristics of such a yappy, snappy, energetic creature.”

Never having heard of feist as a breed of dog, I immediately looked it up. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “feist” as “Chiefly Southern US A small mongrel dog” from the Middle English word “fist”meaning “a blowing, breaking wind.”  This definition does not capture the idea of farting associated with the Middle English word.

Chambers Slang Dictionary actually defines the noun “feist” as “a truculent, short-tempered person or animal,” with “feisty” as the adjectival form.  In defining “feisty,” Chambers goes into more of the vulgar (24 March 2013) associations going back to the 15^th century form, “fist”:  “a foul smell, the breaking of wind.”  Chambers qualifies its definition with the possibility that “the dog was so named because one’s own smells could be blamed upon it,” admitting this interpretation is doubtful.  However, until neuroscientists discover a way to interpret dog thoughts into human words, dogs will continue to take the blame for stinky human indiscretions, especially after meals of beans.

 Until now, I thought that “feisty” was a formal, somewhat complimentary adjective.  I had no clue that “feist” and “feisty” are words of Southern regional slang with strong associations with farting.  The next time someone accuses me of being feisty, I will search the immediate area for a dog to blame.

LAGNIAPPE:  Supposedly in human grammar, dogs are referred to with the neutral pronoun, “it” as opposed to by human gender.  In this entry, I have chosen to write in doggie grammar, referring to dogs with human pronouns, as in my world, pets are family members.

LAGNIAPPE:  The AHD entry for “feist” refers the reader to pezd- in the appendix of Indo-European roots.  The entry reads, “To fart . . . from Old English fisting, a breaking of wind.”  The appendix goes on to list root words meaning to fart from Middle English (fisten) and from Germanic (*fistiz), ending with ”petard” from the Latin pedere, to fart. The familiar phrase of being “hoisted by one’s own petard,” blown up by one’s own bomb, takes on new meaning.  Now one “hoisted by one’s own petard” can mean being incapacitated by one’s own farts.

LAGNIAPPE: On regional variations in languages, please see the “Our Living Language” note at “andiron” in the AHD.