Molly Dugger Brennan
The story below is an excerpt from our July/August 2017 issue. For the rest of this story and more like it subscribe today, log in to read our digital edition or download our FREE iOS app. Thank you!
Well, who’s the more clever of the two—the professional dog trainer or the big Great Dane of the family?
Let me tell you a few things about myself that you haven’t heard before. I am an introvert who feels more comfortable around animals than people. Dogs are my favorite animals. If I am invited to a party, I will be the one in the corner making friends with the host’s dog instead of talking to the other guests. I adore the largest dog breeds most of all, though all dogs charm me. When I am not writing and telling stories, I am a dog trainer. I am a professional dog trainer whose own dogs are hairy anarchists.
Do you remember the fairy tale of the cobbler? The cobbler’s children never had any shoes. The cobbler was too busy making shoes for others, so his own kids were always barefoot. I never understood that story growing up. Wouldn’t it be a much better advertisement of his skills if his own children had the most magnificent shoes in the world?
Now that I am a dog trainer, I completely understand. In fact, I’m downright sympathetic to that poor, overworked cobbler.
I have four dogs. I limit myself to four, because without a self-imposed limit I would become an episode of “Hoarders,” my house looking like the scene of some massive canine spring break. It’s a compromise between my husband, who thinks two dogs would be more than enough, and me, who would adopt 20 dogs if given half a chance.
I have Doggy, the newest pack member, who’s a bull mastiff/Great Dane mix weighing in at 130 pounds. There’s Biscuit, a Belgian Malinois mix that was found as a stray in a South Carolina swamp. She’s now a therapy dog and never met a person she did not completely adore. My best dog and love is Henry, a Boxer that was hit by a truck in the Carolinas somewhere, and I was certain no one else would adopt him. He’s completely deaf, has just four teeth, and is missing a back leg but is blissfully unaware of any shortcomings on his part so we’ve decided not to inform him. He runs with the rest of the dogs and flies up and down the stairs. He is just happiness wrapped in fur, bless his heart. Then there’s my Great Dane, Mosey. One hundred twenty pounds of stone cold stubborn and the star of this story.
If you are not familiar with the Great Dane breed, let me share some truths about them. They are wonderful, but they have some peculiarities. They are devoted to a familiar routine. They see themselves as management and will try to influence the rest of the family, dogs, cats, and humans, to do what they want. They are strategic thinkers, dangerously brainy. They are tall enough to see where everything is on your kitchen counters with just a glance, able to comfortably rest their chin on the counter edge. They excel at food thievery.