Paws and reflect at Cape Town’s Museum of Dogs

Is it a museum, an art gallery, a salon, or simply a place for reflection?

The newly opened Museum of Dogs is all of these. Situated in the premises of 95 Keerom, the celebrated restaurant near Cape Town’s High Court closed by Covid-19, it’s proof that something uplifting can rise from an unfortunate demise.

Don’t be put off by a museum’s association with dark halls, dusty relics, staid historical artefacts and taxidermy. Appropriate to the place and its name, this museum is light and airy, gently informative and fun — and it’s dog-friendly, naturally.

Besides, founder and owner Karel van der Vyver looks, and is, way too young to be a conventional museum or gallery curator. He was inspired to create the venture after witnessing how a relative’s battle with cancer was eased by her dogs.

“The impact they had on her during her final, most difficult days was breathtaking. It made me reflect deeply on the relationship between dogs and their owners,” he says.

The ground floor comprises three interlinking exhibition rooms. Visitors are encouraged to start by reading something of the history of canines in SA. A quote from the book Canis Africanis: A Dog History of SA by environmental and social history professors Sandra Swart and Lance van Sittert, sets the scene: “Dogs connect the wild and the tame. They occupy an ambiguous position, straddling the opposing spheres of nature and culture. They ... leave their pawprints all over the archives.”

So true, and lovely — but it’s missing the love factor. This starts to come across in the adjoining rooms. “Dogs Unleashed” by portrait photographer Emma O’Brien is a series of life-size, happy-go-lucky images of rescue dogs, now saved and transformed. Each photograph brings a smile, but the goblin-ugly French bulldog, tongue lolling in a lopsided canine grin, is the cutest.

There’s a message, though. The photographs are all of purebreds, abandoned after the sleazy work of unethical breeders. Man’s best friend deserves more reciprocation. 

Canine culture

The third room is a playful peek into how dogs have found their way into popular music. Don the headphones and listen to “Seamus” by Pink Floyd, featuring on-command howls by the real Seamus, brought into the recording studio by the band’s guitarist, David Gilmour. And who would have thought that “Martha My Dear” by The Beatles was actually not a love song to Paul McCartney’s long-time fiancée, but written for his beloved adopted sheepdog?

In whatever form, art connects to deeper issues. The wall display alongside the staircase to the upper floor is a photograph collection of eight US presidents with their dogs. It’s strange to see Lyndon B Johnson, Vietnam War protagonist, in gentle pose with a tiny mongrel in his arms. Bill Clinton looks lovingly down at his chocolate Labrador puppy; Joe Biden’s German Shepherd sits attentively on a bench, seemingly advising the current president what to say on the phone. Presidents routinely bring a dog into their White House residence to signal homely, average US values, a human touch affinity with the common folk. Donald Trump’s absence from the display — he says he hates dogs — tells us more about the man than his thousands of campaign and in-office lies.

The upper level reveals two forms of beauty. Immediately evident is an assemblage of about 30 gorgeous pieces by renowned ceramics sculptor Tania Babb. Titled “Deconstructed Delft”, they are 20-centimetre-tall depictions of various dog breeds, crafted in the famous blue-and-white earthen, tin-glazed material from Holland. They’re exquisite, perfectly capturing the physical and facial nuances of each individual dog.

The other is of a less tangible wonder. “My Dog and I” is a display, spread across the room, of thirty pedestals, each with a sometimes bizarre but mostly ordinary object. Alongside each memorabilia is a typed short story, the explanation for the canine connection. They will kindle memories of visitors’ own journeys with their pets.

Many are funny, or poignantly pinpoint how amazingly smart – or playfully human – dogs can be. Like the tale behind the two wine glasses. The story goes that a Border Collie somehow sensed when her owner was thinking of meeting his friend for a drink, and would disappear. Forewarned by the dog, when the friends arrived the barman had already set out their glasses and opened a bottle.

I’m struck by a particular, uncanny exhibit. Unsteadily mounted on one plinth is an old, ripped and torn blue office chair. The writer describes how he would take his puppy into the office, and it would sleep tightly curled up on the chair behind him while he worked. I did the same with my “firstborn” Staffordshire puppy a quarter century ago. My office was a block away from 95 Keerom, and in my mind’s eye that blue chair was mine.    

Too easy to miss is a grainy printout of a foetal ultrasound scan. The description is simple, heartbreaking, but, somehow, also life-affirming: “My dog kept me alive after my third miscarriage.”

Go to this place to refresh your soul.

The Museum of Dogs, 95 Keerom Street, Cape Town, is open Tuesday to Sunday, 10am to 5pm.