So I have three big, slobbery chocolate Labradors at home. One is incredibly old, one doesn't really like people and the third one is dumber than a box of rocks.
And I miss them terribly.
There's nothing worse than an unrequited dog-lover, either. Recently, I've been spending a good deal of time at the apartment of a friend who has a dog. Every time I go over there, I want to find a way to abscond away with it into the night.
And don't even get me started about puppies on the Lawn. People who bring their puppies to play on the Lawn should know that there are hundreds of would-be dog thieves like me roaming around Grounds who would love nothing more than to make the adorable puppies they see on the Lawn their own.
Me: "Hey, what's that over there?!"
Unsuspecting puppy owner (turning head): "What? I don't see anything. ... Wait! Where is my adorable puppy? Nooooo!"
You get the idea.
"But this is an historical column," you might say. "I read this column for the enlightening tidbits about the University's past."
And so you do. And thus it is I thought I'd exorcise my lack-of-puppy-induced depression by telling you about a time when the University itself had a dog. His name was Beta.
(Note: The rest of this column should be read in the God-awful voice used by the man who did the voiceover in the "Because of Winn-Dixie" trailer, which I contend may be the worst minute-and-a-half ever committed to celluloid).
According to a Fall 1996 U.Va. Alumni News article by Kathleen Valenzi, Beta was a sort of unofficial University mascot in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Primarily white, with a few mangy looking black patches and a build like a bull terrier, he was named after the Beta Theta Pi fraternity house, which he tended to frequent. It's somewhat unclear exactly how Beta ended up on Grounds, but once here, he obviously turned heads and melted hearts.
(Cue the music from the "Because of Winn-Dixie" trailer here).
Beta ultimately became a major fixture of everyday University life. He attended classes, sporting events, Glee Club rehearsals -- essentially any function where there were people to pet him. Apparently, Beta attended class so often he earned the moniker "Aristotle."
Stories about Beta are many and varied. According to accounts collected by Valenzi, Beta was sometimes stolen by visiting football teams and once found his way home from as far away as Athens, Ga.
I find the notion of someone stealing a dog moral anathema, but that's neither here nor there.
Players used to advertise games by hanging signs around his neck, which he apparently loved. Local restaurant owners were more than happy to reserve a chair for Beta. In one account, an alumnus fondly remembers "unearthing a photo of that gentlemanly dog, ensconced at a booth in a local eatery, white napkin tied round his neck."
People should make more of an effort to use the words "dog," "gentlemanly" and "ensconced" in the same sentence nowadays.
When an elderly Beta met his fate in the form of an oncoming car in April of 1939, his body lay in state in the Beta fraternity house in a black-draped wooden coffin. Despite students' request that Beta's funeral be without undue pageantry, a local funeral director insisted on sending a hearse and funeral cars for the procession from the fraternity house to Beta's final resting place marked by a headstone which still lies just outside the walls of the University cemetery.
The University had one other famous canine, a black dog with white patches which went by the name of Seal. Found by World War II veteran Walter "Buzz" Speakman in the snow outside Alderman Library, Seal became the quasi-official mascot of the football team, earning him the title of "The Great Seal of Virginia."
Come on. That's clever.
It wasn't just Seal's good looks and repartee wit that won him fame, however. While traveling with the football team to a game against Penn, Seal wandered onto the opposing team's sideline. Penn's cheerleaders had come onto the field to do their routine, leaving their oversized megaphones behind -- one of which Seal "grandly watered" to the enormous roar of the Virginia fans. Seal's performance made national headlines and sealed both his popularity and his legend back home on Grounds.
So beloved was Seal that upon his death in 1953, the Athletic Department volunteered to pay for the casket and gravediggers for his funeral. Mourners carried an oversized silhouette of their mascot in the funeral procession, which included a hearse and a black Cadillac carrying "student dignitaries." The flag in front of the Rotunda was flown at half-mast, secret societies provided funeral wreaths and varsity football team doctor Charles Frankel delivered a moving eulogy recounting Seal's exploits with Penn's megaphone.
I think it's high time the University found another ne'er-do-well canine to call its own. In the meantime, guard your puppies. Trust me, puppy thieves are an especially sneaky brand of criminal.
You never know what might happen if you let your guard down.
Daniel can be reached at danyoung@cavalierdaily.com.
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