An Heiress and Her Canine Best Friend: A Profile of Victoria Whitney and Beatrix

A profile for Philadelphia Magazine written by staff writer, Kathryn Nolan

There are few people in the city of Philadelphia that captivate the public’s interest like our local heiress, Victoria Whitney. A wealthy philanthropist with deep, generational roots in Philadelphia’s Main Line, Victoria’s family and heritage has influenced the City of Brotherly Love since the turn of the century.

But today, I am not stepping into her famous Tudor Mansion to discuss her latest charitable endeavors – or her recent brush with the law. Instead, I am here to profile Victoria’s newest addition: a 120-pound bull mastiff named Beatrix.

“The story of how we found each other is rather enchanting,” Victoria tells me, sitting on a chaise lounge in her spectacular living room overlooking her large, forested back yard. Beatrix, all 120-pounds of her, is sprawled next to Victoria on the lounge, her giant head resting in Victoria’s lap. The heiress has dressed for the occasion, and the diamonds on her fingers match the diamonds nestled in Beatrix’s dog collar.

“You see, I had survived a terrible ordeal recently involving an old book and some nosy police officers,” Victoria says. “And I was eager for some companionship I could trust. As it turns out, dogs are much more trust-worthy than humans.”

When I ask if she’s referring to her six-month house arrest – and theft of a rare Copernicus manuscript from The Franklin Museum – she scoffs, waves the question away, and then reminds me of what her lawyers counseled me on before arriving here.

“As I was saying,” she continues, “my lovely friend Bitzi Peterson recommended this darling little nonprofit called Lucky Dog in Miami. Run by this adorable, Hells-Angel-looking man who greeted me warmly and swore he knew just the dog that would make my stone heart happy.”

At this point, the heiress gazes down at Beatrix and pats her head primly. “I was looking for a protector. A dog that would make me feel safe and, well…” she pauses here and pats the dog’s head one more time. “I was looking for a dog I could love and that would love me back. Of which Beatrix does in spades. Truly, I’m not sure if there is some kind of nationally recognized award for best dog but if there were I’d submit her name this very instant.”

When I ask her what award she believes Beatrix should win, Victoria responds with: “Best good girl, of course.”

Victoria then leads me into a grand room filled with portraits – paintings of Beatrix as different queens and empresses throughout time. Beatrix, to her credit, pads along after Victoria like a giant, tame lion, sitting and laying down as soon as her mistress snaps her fingers. “This is a painting I had commissioned of Beatrix as Queen Cleopatra. I sensed the same brave heart and fearless spirit in them both. Did you know Beatrix was rescued from a dogfighting ring?”

Victoria proceeds to show me the various scars marring the dog’s stomach and snout – Beatrix submits to Victoria’s gentle prodding, giving me a big doggy smile. “My little fighter has become such a lover, I tell you. Once we made it back home, I hired the most sought-after trainers and therapists in the country to help my sweet girl feel safe and understand she no longer needed to feel fear. She even has a few dog best friends now that she adores.” Victoria pauses to stare at Beatrix, fixing her diamond collar to center it. “Really, she just had to see that she wasn’t what people said about her at all. The dog on the inside is who she was all along. This is a feeling I’m sure we can all relate to.”

When I ask about these friends, Victoria points across the yard to another Main Line mansion. “Two tea-cup poodles named Eleanor Roosevelt and Virginia Woolf live right there and they just adore my Beatrix. I threw Beatrix a party to celebrate six months of living with me and I believe it was one of the most talked about spring events in the city. I spared no expense, of course. Over 300 people were in attendance, did you know? But Beatrix was the center of attention.”

Before leaving this portrait gallery, Victoria shows me paintings of Beatrix as Catherine the Great and Queen Isabella. We continue wondering through the massive space, with Victoria showing me the industrial-sized kitchen where a local chef prepares Beatrix’s organic meals. (“Grass-fed beef, of course,” Victoria assures me.)

“Now this wing of the house is Beatrix’s,” Victoria says, exposing large, connected rooms with beds, and balls, and complicated-looking exercise equipment. “This yard is Beatrix’s to run, and this is a special sun patio I’ve set up for her 2:00 pm nap. She must have her nap or she gets grouchy.”

Victoria shows me a room where Beatrix receives weekly massages and nail trimming, as well as aromatherapy-scented baths. “The Hells-Angel man who gave me Beatrix sent me a lovely email later checking in on how we were doing. I sent him many pictures of Beatrix dressed in her new cashmere sweater sets and eating at the dinner table with me. She’s so tall, I place her bowl on the table and we eat together every night. He simply adored them and so I sent him a generous check to thank him for acknowledging my role as Beatrix’s rescuer.”

Victoria allows Beatrix to run through the door out into her half-acre of land, and we watch her race around and chase a squirrel before the heiress continues her story. “The Hells-Angel man told me that when they found her she was so scared she slept in the corner of her kennel with her head facing away from humans. That this big girl had lived in a cage two-sizes too small for her when she wasn’t forced to fight for food. And that he didn’t believe she had ever received human affection before, so…” Victoria doesn’t speak for a while, merely fiddles with her diamonds and trains her eyes on her canine companion. With a whistle from her master, Beatrix returns obediently – and Victoria Whitney allows the dog to give her a very sloppy kiss.

“She’s a good girl,” Victoria says. “And she deserves all this and more. I believe Lucky Dog is keeping a watchful eye out for any new bull mastiffs they might find. If we’re lucky, this pretty lady will have a brother or a sister soon. After all, all this love can be spread around a bit, don’t you think?”

Victoria then gives me an extensive, minute-by-minute breakdown of Beatrix’s daily activities – beginning with something called ‘morning cuddles’ and ending with ‘night-night-cuddles’. When I ask where Beatrix sleeps, Victoria immediately replies: “With me, of course.”

The sun is setting as I finally take my leave from this decadent Tudor Mansion that is home to a woman as charming as she is complex. My last image of her as I leave are dog and owner, sitting side-by-side on a small bench near a fountain, watching the sunset together.