I now have a dog whom I got from August Bredt of Barmen when he left here. It’s a handsome young spaniel, much bigger than our dear Mira and quite crazy. He has a great talent for boozing and if I go to a restaurant in the evening, he always sits near me and has his share, or makes himself at home at everybody else’s table. He’s also remarkable for an invisible collar. He is an excellent swimmer but too crazy to learn any tricks. I have taught him one thing. When I say “Namenloser (that’s his name) there’s an aristocrat!” he goes wild with rage and growls hideously at the person I show him.
“Karl Marx was fond of dogs, and three small animals of no particular breed—of a mixture of many breeds indeed—formed important members of the household. One was called Toddy, another Whisky—the name of the third I forget, but I fancy that, too, was alcoholic. They were all three sociable little beasts, ever ready for a romp, and very affectionate. One day, after an absence of six weeks in Scotland, I went to see Eleanor and found her with her father in the drawing-room, playing with Whisky. Whisky at once transferred his attentions to me, greeting me with ebullient friendliness, but almost immediately he ran to the door and whined to have it opened for him.
Eleanor said: ‘He has gone down to Toddy, who has just presented him with some puppies.’
She had hardly finished speaking before there was a scratching and scrambling in tile hall, and in bounded Whisky, shepherding Toddy. The little mother made straight for me, exchanged affabilities in friendly fashion, then hurried back to her family. Whisky meanwhile stood on the rug, wagging a proudly contented tail, and looking from one to the other, as who should say:
'See how well I know how to do the right thing.'
Dr. Marx was much impressed by this exhibition of canine intelligence.”