Once when I was waiting for Rosie in the vet's office, I found a book that claimed to tell you, the presumably female reader, what a man's dog's breed says about him. I joked later that this intrigued me so that I could give my girlfriend some key advice, but obviously I was just curious as to what the verdict on me was, so I flipped to the section on Beagles.
The book was written in a pretty peppy style, which is usually an irritant for me. It said to prepare for a wild ride with a Beagle owner, as he is the original "chow hound," always in the mood for some delicious food and also extremely vocal. I scanned along, and basically all that was left was that the Beagle owner is extremely friendly and loyal to the end. Basically, it equated the characteristics of the man with the characteristics of the dog breed. Still, it felt pretty accurate to me. Goodness knows I love food, and can be extremely chatty, and am also fiercely loyal to my friends. By and large, though, the whole thing was pretty reductive, and I'm sure that it was written in such as way so that everyone could find something true in it, sort of like a horoscope.
It got me thinking about exactly why I chose a Beagle, though. I mean, I wasn't completely dead set on the breed—I wanted to find the specific dog I was looking for, not just the specific breed, and I wanted to rescue, which makes it harder to get a specific breed. Still, a Beagle or Beagle-mix was quite specifically what I had in mind.
One factor is most certainly that I had always heard my mom talk about her childhood Beagle, Trixie, with great fondness, and I undoubtedly wanted to forge a deeper connection to her and her past. Mission accomplished, by the way, as their is probably nobody in this world who could ever dote on Rosie more than my mom. I also had more practical concerns: I didn't want a big dog, since I was living in a studio, and I didn't want a dog that was going to require much grooming at all. There were also many things about the Beagle's personality that I loved, particularly their loyal and friendly good nature, even if they do have a much-deserved reputation for stubbornness. I think that the main reason I really wanted a Beagle, though, was one of aesthetics and personal insecurity.
As I said, I wanted a small dog, but I really didn't like the idea of walking down the street everywhere with a fluffy little thing on a leash—everyone assuming that I was just walking my girlfriend's dog. Heteronormative, I realize, but I have that same sense when I see men walking a little puffball down the street, and I couldn't quite shake it. Beagles are small, but not too small, and they have a classic dog-like look, not a little thing with prick ears and wispy, curly fur who was bred to sit in someone's lap and yap yap yap away. Beagles are bred to hunt small game in tall grass, and they look it.
Since I got Rosie, that perspective has changed. One of the great things about going to the dog park all the time like I did was that I got to know a lot of different breeds, including the tiny ones, and I came to love most of them. I also used to have a prejudice against flat-faced dogs (aka brachycephalic), until a Boston Terrier became one of my favorite dogs in the world. The thing that you learn once you are around most dog breeds (just like being around most people), is that every dog is both stupid and clever, annoying and delightful, ugly and beautiful. Except for Chinese Cresteds—I never could get into those things.
Now when I walk little Maddy, the prettiest Chihuahua mix in the world down the street, I do so proudly, grin on my face. I love her, and if that makes me seem less macho to strangers on the street, or even people I know, then so be it. That's what my book on what a man's dog says about him will assert.
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