When we were kids our mom would take us to the International Kennel Club show every year. It was one of the biggest dog shows in the country and one of the only ones where the dogs were “benched” – which meant that the dogs and their owners/handlers, whenever they weren’t actually showing, stayed in an assigned spot most of the day and the public could wander around, look at the dogs, talk to the people, and really learn about the world of dog shows.
We loved it. We’d spend hours admiring the dogs and asking a billion questions of the owners. (Another highlight was real fudge from one of the vendors.) And, as it turns out, years later, one of the wonderful dog owners who’d spent time telling us all about her Brussels Griffons, had become a Griffie friend – and we hadn’t realized the connection.
When I was a little girl my favorite breeds to admire (before we had a dog of our own) were Irish Wolfhounds and Bull Mastiffs. And Great Danes. And Scottish Deerhounds. These giant breeds just drew me like no others. As I learned more about dogs, and after we got our first Boston Terrier when I was nine years old, I realized it wasn’t to be – our house is small, our yard is small, and perhaps most importantly – we’re small people.
Even if we had a big enough house, a decent-sized yard, and the giant breeds didn’t break your heart with their unfairly-short life spans, I know now I’ll never own one. The what-ifs would haunt me. If something happened, there’s no way I could lift a 100 plus pound dog to get it to emergency care. There’s no way that I could control an animal that size if it “took off” on me during a walk. And even the best-trained dogs can have their moments.
I have found my perfect breed and I always intend to have at least one French Bulldog (or more!) by my side. They’re the right size and the right temperament for me. And, when I need to, or want to, I can lift and carry them. And squeeze them and hug them and cuddle them. Even if they don’t much like it.
