The Pied Piper of Seattle: The Policeman Who Controlled Animals
Before Seattle became a sprawling metropolis, a local officer reportedly possessed a magnetic, inexplicable influence over stray dogs and wild creatures.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
The Territorial Enterprise has the following: There appears to be something magnetic or human-animalistic in the system of certain men which gives them much influence over the inferior animals; which makes them, as it were, animal charmers. Officer Hayton, of the police force of this city, is one of those peculiarly gifted individuals. Dogs, cats, pigs, sheep, horses, and all kinds of animals, feel and acknowledge his influence. When he makes his appearance, dogs, cats, and all kinds of dumb beasts appear to experience a certain degree of pleasure in his presence and make the best demonstrations of friendship in their power. On nights, when he is going his rounds about the streets, it is no uncommon thing to see from six to eight dogs, of all breeds and conditions, constantly following behind him, stopping when he stops, and moving on when he proceeds. Not only do the vagrant and barking curs leave their gnawed bones to follow him, but pets that have been stolen from their own door-stones will leave their homes to enjoy the pleasure of being near their great friend. The strangest thing about the business is that there appears to be no jealousy among Mr. Hayton’s followers. They jog along together without a growl or a snarl, as one family. Although they do not follow him about the stores, they all manifest great pleasure in his presence. They run aloft, arch their tails, rub their backs against door-steps, and purring melodiously all the time, keep one eye cocked upon him as he approaches. The other night, a sheep which had followed him all about town would not give him up even when he went into a saloon, but marched in after him, unmindful of the crowd that filled the room. The secret of the officer’s great influence among animals probably lies in his love for them and his kind treatment of dumb brutes of every kind. At his residence, he has a regular menagerie of white rats, squirrels, cats, dogs, rabbits, owls, skunks, and almost every kind of animal to be had on the Pacific coast. Could he get hold of a wild African lion, he would soon have him following him about the streets the same as the dogs do now.
“Not only do the vagrant and barking curs leave their gnawed bones to follow him, but pets that have been stolen from their own door-stones will leave their homes to enjoy the pleasure of being near their great friend.”
Long before Seattle’s modern struggle with urban wildlife like raccoons and coyotes, this piece of 1872 whimsy highlights a time when the city’s relationship with its non-human inhabitants was far more intimate. It captures a strange, small-town atmosphere where the beat cop wasn't just a symbol of order, but a local character whose quirks defined the community's daily rhythm.
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