Rick Smith/Columnist
I met Sir Burgess Burgoyne for the first time in Little Rock, Ark. He introduced himself as “Burgess.” No title. No last name. I read in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette that he had arrived in the Little Rock area about eight weeks earlier. I called to schedule a meeting that same day.
The following afternoon I drove north of Little Rock to the house where Burgess was staying. A can of Pepsi was wedged into the console of my light gray Corolla. It was 1985, the same year Coca-Cola switched its formula to the New Coke, creating one of the biggest marketing blunders in the history of the soft drink industry. I had switched to Pepsi, my contribution to the boycott, and found that I actually favored Pepsi.
The home was a modest, unassuming one-story wood-frame structure.
A middle-aged lady stepped out through a sliding glass door, sidestepping a Ragdoll cat. The cat’s luminescent blue eyes offered a mesmerizing pop of color against its downy gray and white coat.
“Shoo, Chef,” she said, gently encouraging him along the way with her left foot. She greeted me with a warm smile, a smile that raced all the way up to her bright blue eyes, blue eyes that offered a stunning pop of color against her stylish long-bangs-to-the-side steely gray hair.
Introducing herself as Lydia, she led me through the patio door into the kitchen. She then escorted me past a small breakfast nook to an adjacent room. I didn’t know which of the individuals in the room was Burgess.
I sat down in the middle of the floor and was immediately surrounded by a litter of Pekingese puppies. One of the puppies, the most inquisitive of the litter, climbed into my lap, nudging me to respond. He never let up. I had found Burgess.
Burgess was a black Pekingese. He had a very small white goatee, almost undetectable, directly under his bottom lip and a long white patch running down his frontside, starting at the base of his neck. The tips of his front paws were white.
The pup’s coat was longest at the neck and shoulders, giving him the distinctive lion’s mane characteristic of his breed. His face was flat and his eyes large. He had a tail that rested over his back. He walked with an effortless rolling gait. A prancing waddle.
On that sunny day in 1985, Burgess waddled into my life, forever changing the comings and goings of our home. In his fifth year with us, he disclosed his last name, Burgoyne. That same year, he won the Man’s Best Friend Award, followed by ten more consecutive wins. In his seventh year he was offered a knighthood for his merits of family service and outstanding canine achievements. For this formal occasion, he wore a black tux with tails, white French cuffs, black silk bowtie, black top hat, and black and white leather wing-tip lace-up shoes. He also sported a black monocle.
Not surprisingly Sir Burgess Burgoyne was grist for the bow-wow gossip mill thereafter.
See the rest of the story next week.