The 1533 monkey attack on Anne Boleyn’s lapdog Purkoy

The Tudor court was essentially a high-stakes soap opera, but the most shocking plot twist of 1533 didn't involve a beheading. It involved a monkey. Anne Boleyn’s beloved lapdog, Purkoy, met a spectacularly grim end when one of the King’s pet monkeys decided to go rogue.

The primate actually mauled the poor dog to death. The fallout was so dramatic that Henry VIII had to personally break the news to a devastated Anne. It’s a bizarre, messy reminder that even while reshaping the Church, the royals were dealing with the chaotic reality of keeping wild animals as living accessories.

Wait, why was a monkey even allowed to roam the palace freely?

In the 16th century, an exotic pet was the ultimate status symbol. Forget a designer watch; if you wanted to prove the Crown's global reach, you needed a marmoset or a macaque. These animals weren't tucked away in a zoo; they were treated like tiny, chaotic courtiers.

Henry VIII was particularly fond of his menagerie. Monkeys were essentially the high-maintenance influencers of the day, left to scamper through the halls of Whitehall. They provided "amusement," which usually meant stealing food from plates or, in this tragic instance, committing canine homicide.

Did the King actually punish the monkey, or did it get away with murder?

One might expect a swift trip to the executioner’s block, but royal favorites—even the furry ones—usually enjoyed a sort of "diplomatic immunity." While commoners’ animals were occasionally put on trial for crimes, Henry’s monkeys were far too precious to be punished for a bit of light mauling.

Essentially, the dog was collateral damage in the King's pursuit of a private zoo. Anne was heartbroken, but the monkeys remained a fixture of the court, continuing their reign of terror over the palace snacks and small pets alike.

Hold on, so commoners' animals actually had to face a judge and jury?

Oh, absolutely. We’re talking full-blown legal proceedings. If a neighbor’s pig bit someone, it was formally arrested, jailed with human criminals, and assigned a defense lawyer.

These 'animal trials' were a bizarre attempt to restore divine order. If a creature broke the law, it had to pay. It didn't matter if the defendant spent the trial trying to eat its own hooves.

In peak-weirdness cases, they’d even dress the animal in human clothes for its execution. It was a high-stakes legal drama where the defendant was usually a confused sow in a waistcoat.

How do you even build a legal defense for a client that only oinks?

It was a masterclass in legal gymnastics. Lawyers would unironically argue that a pig was a 'minor' who lacked the moral compass to distinguish between a snack and a neighbor’s leg. If the defendants were locusts, the defense might claim they were divine bailiffs sent by God to collect a 'sin tax'.

They even leaned on procedural drama. If a lawyer proved the animal hadn't been served a proper summons, the case could be dismissed on a technicality. It was a bizarre performance to reassure humans that even an unruly sow was subject to the King's red tape.