By Graham Button and Rachel Breunlin Though her Joan of Arc float—actually a red Radio Flyer wagon—appeared to be engulfed in fire, Marleaux (a.k.a. The Merle), a miniature Schnauzer, seemed perfectly calm. She sat on her hind legs, adorably dressed in a hooded, pale-yellow outfit emblazoned with a red cross. The get-up had been fashioned out of a dickey and a couple of cloth napkins, plus velcro and ribbon. Immediately behind her was an ominous-looking wooden stake. Red cloth mixed with hay lined the inside of the wagon, presenting the illusion of burning embers. Around the sides were glittery flames—made from foamcore and red cellophane—and bundles of kindling. A hidden boom box blasted songs with apropos lyrics (sample: "Disco infer-no. Burn, baby, burn!").

Marleaux in flaming wagon float, along with human escorts Presenting the illusion of being burned at the stake—and eliciting the promise of a rescue from the mayor of New Orleans.

Marleaux's owner, Eileen Mederos, looked as if she'd ignited the blaze. Wearing a black mask and hooded executioner's outfit, she wielded a thick, red-tipped faggot.

Just after Marleaux had passed the reviewing stand at Good Friends Bar on Dauphine St., New Orleans Mayor Marc Morial suddenly emerged from the crowd and, kneeling down beside the float, waxed chivalrous. "I'll save you, Joan," he intoned. "I'll save you from the stake—don't worry."

It was, to be sure, one of the many precious vignettes that animated the 8th annual Mystic Krewe of Barkus parade. Depicting the theme "Joan of Bark," it rolled through the French Quarter on a gloriously sunny afternoon on February 27—two Sundays before Fat Tuesday—and raised approximately $19,000 for New Orleans-area affiliates of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

History has it that Joan of Arc, a pious peasant girl, set forth on a mission to save her country from would-be English conquerors during the Hundred Years' War. Believing that she was acting under divine guidance, the fearless teenager ultimately secured the confidence of the Dauphin (later King Charles VII) and led the French army in a momentous victory at Orleans in 1429. She subsequently witnessed Charles's coronation at Reims, was captured by the English and their French collaborators and, after being tried as a witch and found guilty, burned at the stake. Posthumously rehabilitated—a retrial in 1455 - 56 overturned the earlier verdict against her—Joan (a.k.a. The Maid of Orleans) came to be regarded as a heroine nonpareil and, on May 16, 1920, was canonized by Pope Benedict XV.

Joan of Arc statue at the New Place de France The rededication ceremony in November 1999, which was attended by the French ambassador to the U.S., helped spark the idea for the Barkus parade's "Joan of Bark" theme.

Fast forward to November 14th, 1999. Franciois Bujon de l'Estang, the French ambassador to the U.S., had traveled to New Orleans for a special dedication of the New Place de France. The installation, on a median along Decatur St. near the historic French Market, features a 13-foot metallic gold statue of Joan of Arc on horseback. The statue, cast from an 1889 version by Paris-born sculptor Emmanuel Fremiet, was originally erected in 1972, on a median adjacent to the old Rivergate convention facility near the foot of Poydras St. After the Rivergate was torn down to make way for a casino, anti-gambling forces turned the statue into a political football—filing lawsuits to prevent its removal. The casino's developers, as part of a compromise, eventually agreed to pay for its refurbishment and relocation. The rededication ceremony provided one spark for the selection of Barkus' Mardi Gras 2000 theme. Another was French director Luc Besson's new film Jeanne d'Arc, released in the U.S. as The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc.

For their part, participants in the Barkus procession—some 1,500 dogs accompanied by thousands of humans escorts—offered many ingenious takes on the rich historical tapestry surrounding Joan of Arc. One can only imagine how the warrior-cum-saint would have reacted to the St. Joan of Arc Catholic Obedience School—a passel of pooches dressed in plaid uniforms. Or the float with poodles who appeared to be roasting marshmallows over the flames of a burning Joan. Or the Dalmatian with an armored Joan of Arc doll mounted on his back.

Plumage and crowns and embroidered capes were everywhere. So were dogs and humans dressed as monks, popes and bishops, some with crucifixes hanging from their necks. The Fleur de Lis was, appropriately, the symbol du jour.

Although the English translation of Fleur de Lis is "Flower of the Lily," the stylized emblem more closely resembles a three-petaled Iris flower.  Whatever its exact origins—experts offer various theories on this subject—history records that under the Bourbon kings of France, it was incorporated into the royal coat of arms. In 1682, French explorer Robert Cavelier LaSalle first planted on Louisiana soil the white banner with three gold Fleurs de Lis. The emblem was later adopted as the symbol of New Orleans. At the New Palace de France on Decatur, behind the Joan of Arc statue, four flagpoles fly the colors of the United States, France, Louisiana and New Orleans. (The latter flag features three gold Fleurs de Lis on a white background framed by red and blue stripes.) St. Joan, also known as The Lily Maid, is said to have carried into a battle a white banner that depicted God blessing the royal Fleur de Lis.

Myrna atop papier mâché horse, along with escort garbed as a Medieval court page Mounted on a plywood platform with four wheels, the "float" was modeled after the Joan of Arc statue at the New Place de France. Fleur-de-lis backpiece on a suit of "armor" worn by Belle, one of the many dogs who paid homage to Joan of Arc The stylized emblem was, appropriately, the symbol du jour.

Among the many dogs appearing as Joan in the Barkus parade was Myrna, a bulldog. She rode atop an almost-life-size horse made of gold papier mâché; a replica of the Place de France statue, it was mounted on a plywood platform with four wheels. Ostrich plumes in the official colors of France—blue and white—adorned the horse's head; a similarly colored flag on a pole, rising from the rear of the platform, depicted a Fleur-de-Lis emblem. Attending to Myrna, who was elegantly attired in a harness with beaded gold bullion and blue-and-white feathers, were two men whose sumptuous costumes of matching design—one blue, one green—evoked the finery of court pages in Medieval France. Belle, a black Labrador, wore a full suit of "armor" crafted from a special foam and covered in plastic chrome. A raised-relief Fleur-de-Lis backpiece accented the section of the costume covering her spine. Other accouterments included a knight's headpiece with a visor—topped off with a red ostrich plume—and a sword. Ryerson (a.k.a. Lady Ryerson de Bark) cross-dressed as a Medieval damsel. The white Labrador, who shares a home with Belle in Kansas City, Mo., was garbed in yellow brocade skirt, a braided brunette wig and a conical, period-style lady's hat with a billowing yellow veil. Low-cut sleeves, designed for maximum cleavage, covered his forelegs, and a pair of furry boobs protruded from his chest.

While homages to Joan dominated the Barkus parade, by no means did every presentation adhere to the designated theme. "Princess" Blondie, a cocker spaniel named after New Wave chanteuse Deborah Harry, mimicked the faux royalty who reign over high-society Carnival in New Orleans. She wore a leather crown trimmed with gold lamé and multicolored rhinestones. Her 30-foot mantle was draped over a throne-like backboard on her glittered wagon float. Made of purple lame and lined with lavender satin, it was emblazoned with a sequined coat of arms featuring a Fleur-de-Lis motif.

One woman explained that this year her dog was dressed as a ladybug, "because the high-concept thing was too much work." Then there was the man dressed up like a cow; his St. Bernard puppy wore udders and a cow bell. (Which, on second thought, might not have been so far off the mark given that Joan was the daughter of a tenant farmer.)

There also were a number of non-canine sightings: two ferrets, a goat and a pot-bellied pig all marched in the parade. A number of petless people also found ways to join in: a man operating a remote-control car carried an electronic dog that jumped up and down; a couple dressed as Dalmatians pushed a grocery cart full of stuffed animals; a woman who had painted a picture of a dog and wore it as a mask.

Some revelers picked up on the beads-for-breasts exchange that has become such a big part of Mardi Gras culture in the French Quarter: dogs wearing plastic breasts, people holding signs that had "Show your teats" with a slash through it (presumably referencing city officials' supposed crackdown on public nudity at Mardi Gras) and even a sign in the crowd that said "Show your ticks".

Locals brought their dogs to watch the parade, some of them in costume. The only discernible cause for concern was the lack of crowd control in the more touristy areas of the French Quarter. Around Jackson Square and along Royal and Bourbon Streets, the crowds squeezed the dogs and their escorts into a single-file line, suggesting the need for additional barricades.

The queen of Barkus is traditionally a recent adoptee from the Louisiana Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, while the dog designated king always belongs to someone who has contributed time and energy to putting on the parade. This year, as it turned out, both monarchs had LA/SPCA adoption pedigrees.

Reigning as King Barkus VIII was Oscar, believed to have Gaffney Hound bloodlines. Barkus' pre-parade newsletter described him as the progeny of a mother who "was carelessly living without the benefit of birth control" and a father who didn't stick around to assist with puppy-rearing. Having grown up "in the dirty fields of peasantry," Oscar eventually "found his salvation in the summer of 1992 when he was welcomed at the LA/SPCA, completely consumed by fear." When the summer volunteer Care Cadets at the shelter noticed his "maladjusted condition," they decided to name him Oscar, after Oscar the Grouch on Sesame Street. Catherine Olivier, community affairs director for the LA/SPCA, eventually took him under her adoptive wing, and after lots of loving care, he was ready to reign in truly grand fashion.

Catherine Olivier and Oscar, King Barkus VIII, in Kern Studios minifloat Exercising his prerogative after the parade, he scarfed some pizza from unsuspecting royal subjects.

Donning a quilted gold lame costume accessorized with a black cape trimmed with gold, he rode atop a royal minifloat lent by Mardi Gras' leading floatmaker, Kern Studios. His entourage included Olivier's two children, Jeanne-Claire and Harry, and two of her nieces, Delaney and Meaghan, all of whom were dressed in silver knights' costumes with red crosses.

Apparently all the adoration and excitement whetted Oscar's appetite: After the parade, exercising his royal prerogative, he "hung out for a little while and stole people's pizza," according to Olivier.

Terry Barber with Pasha, Queen Barkus VIII About six months before her coronation, this "itty-bitty black ball of fur" was found in a brown paper bag outside of the LA/SPCA.

Like Oscar, Queen Barkus VIII personified an inspirational adoption story. Found in a brown paper bag outside of the LA/SPCA on Japonica St. in August 1999, Pasha wound up at the association's Vieux Carré Adoption Center at & Toto Too!, a pet store on Iberville St. One day, while walking past the store on his way to work, Terry Barber, who had recently lost two beloved Schnauzers, spotted what he describes as "this itty-bitty black ball of fur" in the window. He and Pasha got to know each other a few days later, and next thing you know, she'd found a home. Though he'd lived in New Orleans for about three-and-a-half years, Barber was only vaguely familiar with Barkus when he received a call asking if he'd place Pasha into the running for queen.  Little did he know what he was letting himself in for.

Barber later described his reaction, upon receiving word from Barkus officials that Pasha had won, to David Cuthbert, the staff writer who handles the Barkus beat for the New Orleans Times-Picayune. "I said, 'What do I do now?' and they said, 'Prepare for her coronation.' I said, 'Her what?' A limousine came to pick us up for the ceremony at Three Dog Bakery, where Margaret Orr [a local TV personality] was waiting for a live remote broadcast, and that's when I got a little hysterical."

Nevertheless, Barber was all smiles as he rode with Pasha in the royal minifloat in the parade. It seemed incredible that this preening mutt, wearing a gold tunic body suit and a sheer black cape with gold spots and trim, could have come from such humble origins. (Her regalia, as well as Oscar's, was lovingly made by Olivier's mother, Claire.) Pre-parade festivities, continuing a widely applauded precedent set in 1999, took place in bucolic Armstrong Park. There, Mayor Morial presided over a ceremony in which krewe royalty and their escorts were introduced on stage. There was also live music, a Budweiser beer truck and booths for sponsors and vendors. A wide range of official Barkus merchandise was for sale, including dog bowls, posters, bandanas and a new necklace with a custom polystone medallion. This was the third year that New Orleans artist Matt Rinard created an original limited-edition poster for Barkus. The whimsical illustration, also reproduced on T-shirts, depicted a canine Joan on horseback in a battlefield scene populated with "enemy" cats.

Barkus 2000 Medallion Bead A popular new addition to an official line of themed merchandise. Artist Matt Rinard's fanciful take on "Joan of Bark" Since only 300 posters were printed, they're certain to become valuable collectables.

Choppy Rheinfrank Hailing from Kansas City, Mo., he was got up as one of his dogs.

As Barkus has grown into an extravaganza requiring a huge amount of planning and effort, organizers have found themselves obliged to dole out more positions of royalty as a way to reward volunteers. This year the royal court had some 30 dogs, mostly dukes and duchesses. This made for a somewhat chaotic scene around the formation area, under the famous Armstrong Park arch, where the court and their human escorts lined up to begin the parade. Among them was Lamson "Choppy" Rheinfrank from Kansas City, who led a group of participants dubbed the "Grand Marshal Court." He was dressed up as one of his dogs—the aforementioned Ryerson. It was Rheinfrank's first Barkus parade, and he spoke in awe of the peculiar transformation that his other Labrador, Belle, had undergone the night before, when she tried out her faux armor costume. "I'm convinced that Joan of Arc's spirit came down and possessed her," Rheinfrank said.

The real Joan, he added, "wasn't any sweet little feminine thing—she was a mean-ass warrior. And that's what Belle turned into last night, without question. She turned mean, and she felt like a warrior."