Medieval People and their Pets.

In the Middle Ages women and men often doted on their pets. In York Minster, there is a portrait of the lap dog of Lady Margaret Roos, rendered in stained glass. The dog looks happy and sleek, with a belled collar. In the picture here of Tobias and Sara, a window of about 1520 from Cologne, the couple's pet dog is a sleepy symbol of wedded tranquillity. 

In other drawings of medieval pets, the British Library has a manuscript showing a woman with a pet squirrel while the Luttrell Psalter shows a collared pet squirrel as a sign of status. 

Birds were also popular. Jays and magpies - called 'pies' - were kept in cages and taught to copy speech. Larks and nightingales were kept for their sweet songs. 

Cats in the Middle Ages were kept mainly as mousers, and also, more grimly, for their fur and skins. Yet cats were also treasured. Exeter Cathedral lists in its accounts from 1305 to 1467 the sum of a penny a week to feed the cathedral cats if the animals did not catch many mice in the main church. 

Dogs remained a favourite - so much so that nunneries tried and failed to ban the keeping of dogs as pets in various convents. Nuns were warned not to bring their pets into church and the pets included dogs, hunting dogs, rabbits, squirrels, birds and even monkeys. 

Hunting dogs and hawks were not officially pets, being used to hunt and bring extra food for the table and to provide sport and entertainment to their lords and ladies. However, hawks were also massive status symbols, given as kingly gifts and well-known as signs of wealth and power. As such they were pampered and displayed - so much so that perches were even brought indoors to their owners could have their falcons with them. In 1368 the Abbot of Westminster, Nicholas de Litlington, bought a wax image of a falcon to offer at the altar to help a sick falcon recover. Lay men and women often brought their pets into church - the men with hawks on their wrists and women with lap-dogs. 

Breeds of pets changed over time and some are unknown to us now. Medieval man in particular had a passion for hunting and bred horses and dogs for that activity. There were horses bred for stamina and long chases through woodland after quarry, sturdy beasts called coursers (chasers) And as a hunting dog, the big, deep-chested, long-legged alaunt was much prized. 

Pets could also be used as messengers, or as signals. This is what one of my younger characters does in my novel, "A Summer Bewitchment" (sequel to "The Snow Bride.")

 

Excerpt.

“My name is Tancred Olafsson.”

Part Norman, part Viking, like her Magnus, Elfrida thought, smiling as the boy thanked her for a carrot and leek pie. Tancred flushed, possibly because of her smile, then steadied himself by addressing her husband.

“Rowena is my kin and we were brought up together. We are not close kin, not a cousin or any kind of consan–consan—”

“Consanguinity,” Magnus supplied helpfully. He bit into a pie himself and the two chewed companionably, although they looked very different. Tancred was short where Magnus was tall, a sturdy boy where Magnus was muscled and strapping. Fair, smooth-skinned and amiable, Tancred was very much a page in a great house, with the manners and fine clothes to match. His black cloak alone was worth one or two heavy bags of gold. Seated cross-legged beside him in his grass-stained tunic, Magnus appeared like a dark demon with a youthful charge.

“How old are you, Tancred?” she asked.

The lad’s apple-blossom skin took on a ruddy shade again. “Old enough to ride and follow tracks. When Rowena sent me her pet finch I knew I had to act.”

“So you were not sick?” Elfrida asked, and received a stare from the boy.

“I am never sick.”

“Your age, lad,” grunted Magnus.

“Twelve.” Tancred kicked the grass, then stopped when Magnus glanced at his leg.

“So the finch was a pre-arranged signal. Your parents and kin, will they not be missing you?” Elfrida persisted.

Tancred shrugged. “I can send them word,” he mumbled.

“We shall do that tomorrow,” Magnus said, “when I send a herald back with you to return you to your people.”

“Not so, my lord!” The boy surged to his feet, indignant as a ruffled cockerel. “I came to rescue Rowena! She needs me!”

“You know where she is?” Elfrida could scarcely believe their good fortune. Was it going to be this easy?

Tancred thrust out his chest and put his thumbs in his belt, perhaps imitating an older relative. “I know where she is not and where she never wants to be.”

“The nunnery?” Elfrida prompted.

Tancred blushed afresh and said nothing.

“Are you also Lady Astrid’s ward?” Magnus asked.

“No.”

“Have you searched for Rowena?” Magnus went on.

“Yes! Everywhere I can think of and more.”

Elfrida hesitated then chose to be direct. “Do you think she ran away?”

“Why send me the finch, then? As you guessed, that was her signal for me to help.”

“And before you could give it, she vanishes,” Magnus observed. “Lady Astrid tells us Rowena was stolen away.”

Lindsay Townsend