Running With the Big Dogs
Sauntering down the Tiger Paw Path, Henry and I glance at the fading sun in our hometown. His feet, the size of horse hooves if not bigger, tromp along at a methodical pace. This is the moment he waits for all day, skulking by the door until I announce one of the words in his limited vocabulary: walk. At the sound of it, he perks up, running to his leash and the door, waiting to get out of the house, greet the town, and explore.
Henry, as many of you know, is a two-year-old mastiff. He’s around 150 pounds right now and still growing. He is quite a sight walking down the street, a sight often prompting people to ask where his saddle is, how heavy he is, and who is walking whom.
Since Henry was a baby, though, Chad and I have been meticulous in his training. He has attended dog obedience with the amazing Linda Burley for a year and a half, almost non-stop. We expect high standards of behavior from him, never giving him even an inch. When you know your dog is going to be over two-hundred pounds, you can’t afford to be lax. He isn’t perfect, that’s for sure. He’s tried to stand up on people’s shoulders on walks a few times (always men). He’s gotten excited over other dogs and nearly pulled me over. But 98% of the time, he is extremely well-behaved. We’ve had him to crowded events in the diamond, to Petco, and to all sorts of distracting events; he’s been known to lie down in the middle of festivals and take a nap.
Most people greet Henry with excitement, interest, and disbelief. I can no longer just walk through town in scuzzy sweatpants and frazzled hair hoping to go unnoticed. When Henry is along, I am center of attention, like it or not. We’ve met a lot of nice people and had some great conversations prompted by Henry’s size.
However, this is not always the case. There have been moments that Henry has been treated with prejudice just because of his size. We’ve seen mothers scramble with their children, running away from us as if they are running from a werewolf. We’ve heard people tell their dogs and children to stay away or the big dog will eat them (not true—Henry’s favorite dogs are the smallest ones and he adores children. Without prompting, he will lie down when near small children.). We’ve had glowers when we walk by, we’ve had people make scathing remarks about Henry’s drooling face. We’ve had people ask if “that thing” lives in our house. We’ve had people yell that they aren’t walking near “that huge beast.”
Like any parent would, I get angry when people talk about Henry this way. Yeah, he’s a furry, four-legged child, but he’s family. Henry’s honestly my best friend. He comforts me when I’m upset, he is loyal, and I know he would sacrifice his life for our family if he needed to. So when people treat him with disgust, disdain, it irks me. Little do they know how wonderful he is.
I also realize, however, that Henry is a frightening sight. People don’t know his history, don’t know how hard we’ve worked to keep him under control. A lot of bad dog owners give us all a bad wrap. So if you want to avoid Henry, I get it. I understand if you want your children to ask before petting him (I think that’s a marvelous lesson to teach them). I even get it if you say you could never deal with his drool or let him in your house.
But just know this— a dog’s size isn’t indicative of his demeanor. There are Chihuahuas out there who should scare you more than Henry. So if you see us or any other huge dog sauntering by, it’s okay to be afraid or to even avoid it.
But don’t tell me you think I’m crazy for having a “beast” in my house. Because this “beast” is a better friend than any human friend you could find.
