There is nothing of the democrat about Wendy; watch her elevate an already tip-tilted nose at displeasing food, or a tainted dish, and notice her look of abject contempt for the giver as she turns away in disgust.  No lover of the Pekingese should be without a charming little book Some Pekingese Pets by M.N.  Daniel, with delightful sketches by the author, in which we are told that, “Until the year, 1860, so far as is known, no ‘Foreign Devil’ had ever seen one of these Imperial Lion Dogs.  In that year, however, the sacking of the Imperial Palace at Pekin took place, and amongst the treasures looted and brought to England were five little Lion or Sun Dogs.”

The author also says:  “It is certain that the same type of Lion Dog as our Western Pekingese must have existed in China for at least a thousand years:  that they were regarded as sacred or semi-sacred is proved by the Idols and Kylons (many of them known to be at least a thousand years old) representing the same type of Lion Dog.”  I have an old Nankin blue teapot, the lid of which is surmounted by one of these Kylons.

I can only describe Wendy’s moods and characteristics by giving a bare catalogue:  she is mirthful, hopeful, playful, despairing, bored, defiant, roguish, cunning, penitent, sensitive, aggressive, offended, reproachful, angry, pleased, trustful, loving, disobedient, determined, puzzled, faithful, naughty, dignified, impudent, proud, luxurious, fearless, disappointed, docile, fierce, independent, mischievous; and she often illustrates the rhyme: 

     “The dog will come when he’s called,
        And the cat will stay away,
     But the Pekingese will do as he please
        Whatever you do or say.”

Wendy is cat-like in some of her habits, prefers fish to meat, sleeps all day in wet weather but is lively towards night, is very particular about her toilet and washes her face with moistened paws passed over her ears.  She is very sensitive to the weather, loves the sun, lying stretched at full length on the hot gravel so that she can enjoy the comforting warmth to her little body.  She is wretched in a thunderstorm, shivering and taking refuge beneath a table or sofa; then she comes to me for sympathy, and lies on my knee, covered with a rug or a newspaper, but after a bad storm she is not herself for many hours.  Anyone who does not know her may think the moods I have detailed an impossible category, but there is not one which we have not personally witnessed again and again, and no one can see her loving caresses of my wife without being assured of the soul that animates her mind and body.

Wendy is never allowed to “sit in damp clothes,” or even with feet wet with rain or dew, and looks very reproachful if not attended to at once with a rough towel on coming indoors.  “Why don’t you dry me?” is exactly the expression her looks convey.  She has a lined basket, on four short legs to keep her from draughts when sleeping, but she is often uneasy alone at night, evidently “seeing things,” and, in Worcestershire language, finding it “unked,” so she is now always allowed a night-light.