Big dog

If you follow my posts with any regularity – and if you do, a library card would be much more rewarding - you know I’ve written many times about my German Shepherd Max, the World’s Greatest dog.

Max is 90 lbs. He’s a big dog, but I don’t see him that way. It’s because I see him every day, and when I’m rolling around on the floor playing with him, and he’s acting like a puppy (albeit a puppy who could rip my face off with those teeth) I forget he’s a big dog.

But there are occasional reminders.

Like when the pizza delivery guy comes to the door, looks down and sees me holding him by the collar, then jumps back four feet off our front steps. Or when people see me walking him, and they cross the street to give him a wide berth and go around him.

I have to say even though Max is a big dog, he’s the perfect size for me. He’s eleven years old – beautiful, healthy, playful, protective and enjoys a good pizza (delivery person) every now and again. I wouldn't want to bring a dog bigger than he is into the family. Max has been the Alpha dog his whole life, and he's not about to surrender the title now.

I’ve always liked big dogs. Sturdy, hearty, sweet, protective companions I can send with my kids to the liquor store at midnight. ”Daddy needs a beer. Take the dog.”

I’ve never understood the appeal of small dogs. And even if I did, I’ll never understand the reason for embarrassing them and making them feel even smaller by using them as accessories and carrying them in a purse, or a baby Bjorn.

For those of you counting, there were four "them"s in that last sentence.

We have a word for small dogs in my house. They're called “appetizers.”

If it were up to me, and we had the room (and a shovel for cleaning up the back yard), I’d go even bigger. I’d love an Irish Wolfhound. The problem for me isn’t their size, but the fact they only live about six years. They’re heartbreak dogs because they’re in your life and then, just as they've completely staked their claim on your heart, they’re gone.

Another breed I wouldn't mind owning is a Leonburger. Big and lion-like, these gentle giants are sweet tempered and great with everything: kids, other dogs and even cats. Not so nice to strangers though, which works just fine for me.

The problem with the Leonburger - besides the endless burger jokes all the time - "Would you like onions on that?" - is they’re drool puppies. So I'd need someone full-time with a mop, bucket and a lot of patience to follow him around the house and clean up the puddles.

I say I'd need someone because I'm not going to do it.

Now if you'll excuse me, the pizza I ordered is here. Max and I have to answer the door.