"Wow! That's a BIG dog!"
This statement of the staggeringly obvious is probably the most frequent and least offensive remark I, as the owner of a really big dog, hear when I'm out with my dog. But there are many others on the "Top Hit Parade of Stupid Questions and Comments."
To be fair, my dog Finnegan IS a big dog. He's an Irish wolfhound, the tallest breed of dog recognized by the American Kennel Club. (Don't send me contradictory e-mails -- there may be individual Great Danes, Mastiffs, or other dogs that are larger, but as a breed, the IW is the tallest.)
The breed standard for males, established back in 1950, is a minimum of 32 inches tall at the shoulder and at least 120 pounds. Today's average male is 34-36 inches and 140-180 lbs. They grow in height through about 18 months or so, and they continue to fill out in weight until they are about 3 years old. My Finnegan is 20 months old, 35 inches and 140 lbs. If he follows in his daddy Alfie's footsteps, he'll top out around 170 pounds.
"Where's Your Saddle?" Why do I hate this question so much? HE'S NOT A HORSE, PEA BRAIN! Now I know most people (and they tend to be blue-collar males, by and large) who say this are trying to be funny, but giant breed dogs are actually quite delicate. They grow so fast they need very gentle exercise until fully developed. Other variations on this theme include, "You should be riding him!" and other truly brilliant observations that show just how little most people know about big dogs. Or probably horses, for that matter.
"How Much Does He Eat?" This one doesn't bother me that much. It's a reasonable question, I suppose, and one for which I have a ready answer: "About 6 cups dry and one can daily." I just find it strange that people would care. As though, perhaps, that's their main consideration in choosing a dog. Whoa, better not get THAT dog, he'll cost five bucks more a month to feed! Occasionally, however, I have to repress an almost irresistible urge to answer this question with another question: "How much does your WIFE eat, buddy? Yeah, her, with the thunder thighs." Give it a rest.
"Is He An Afghan Hound?" Is he a Newfoundland? A giant Schnauzer? (Yeah, dude, a REALLY giant one.) An Airedale? Or my most recent favorite ... "one of those Egyptian dogs?"
People like to play Trivial Dog Breed Pursuit, apparently. And one in about 25 or 30 guesses will actually be correct. Others get close: Russian wolfhound (no, but they're similar, so nice try), English wolfhound/deerhound (no such thing), Scottish wolfhound (it's Scottish deerhound, and they, too, are similar, just slightly smaller), and so forth. This one doesn't bother me, unless they're pathetically off in left field. AFGHAN hound, indeed. They're a beautiful breed, to be sure, but there's absolutely no resemblance.
"Who's Walking Who?" Far and away my MOST DESPISED question. (In the first place, it should be "Who's walking whom?" but I won't be a word weenie.) My discomfort around this question comes from the fact that Mr. Finnegan has indeed been a challenge to train on the leash. I've tried standard training collars, pinch collars, harnesses, "Gentle Leader" head halters (OK, that's a bit like a horse, I'll admit), and even an electric shock collar. I've taken him through an 8-week obedience course, consulted private trainers, watched "The Dog Whisperer" and read his book. But Finn still pulls on the leash. He is a puppy, after all, albeit a large and powerful one capable of bringing down a wolf if he took a mind to. But all he's trying to do is play.
Needless to say, the fact that he outweighs me and is significantly stronger is apparent when I'm being flung around at the end of his leash like a game of "Crack the Whip" gone awry. But he's getting better all the time. So who's walking whom? I'M walking HIM, thank you very much, and working hard at it.
Whether we're camping or hiking or just strolling the banks of the river near our home, our giant dog attracts a lot of attention. Most people are just curious, and we don't mind the questions. "How big will he get?" "What's his name?" "Where'd you get him?" "How much does he weigh?" "Does he shed a lot?" and "Is he gentle?" are also popular.
The only one I don't like to think about is "How long do Irish wolfhounds live?" This is usually asked by people who know that, in general, large dogs live shorter lives, and the larger the dog, the shorter the life. It's an honest question. The honest answer is "6 to 8 years." Which reminds me, time with this fabulous dog is short, and he's ready for a walk.
Sally O'Neal Coates is a travel and outdoor writer whose dogs have included two Samoyeds, a Chow Chow, and an Old English Sheepdog. She also has a Siamese cat and three chickens. She makes her home in southeastern Washington State, and writes weekly for sportsmansguide.com.