It's the same with dogs.

Some dogs are awful bores, poor dears." It happened that Richard was sitting next to Rachel.

She was curiously conscious of his presence and appearance--his well-cut clothes, his crackling shirt-front, his cuffs with blue rings round them, and the square-tipped, very clean fingers with the red stone on the little finger of the left hand.
"We had a dog who was a bore and knew it," he said, addressing her in cool, easy tones.

"He was a Skye terrier, one of those long chaps, with little feet poking out from their hair like--like caterpillars--no, like sofas I should say.

Well, we had another dog at the same time, a black brisk animal--a Schipperke, I think, you call them.