Encounters with Gentle Giants

Around six weeks ago, I was walking from the station to work when a welcome sight met my eyes. Standing patiently beside his owner, quiet but alert, was a Great Pyrenees dog. After months of researching the giant working breeds, this would be my first real life encounter with one. I crossed the road, quickening my pace to ensure that I could catch up with dog and owner.

"He's a Great Pyrenees, isn't he?" I enquired.

The owner smiled and nodded, appearing faintly surprised that I had recognised the breed.

"I know they don't really like strangers," I began, cautiously, longing to pet this animated snowdrift, as the Westminster Kennel Club commentator described the breed.

"Oh, he's fine with everyone," the owner assured me.

"Then, may I -?"

"Go right ahead," he said, resuming a conversation with another passing admirer.

The Great Pyrenees is just as magnificent and regal in the flesh as he appears in photographs. I ran my fingers through the soft, downy white fur on his back. His tail wagged slowly. He turned his head and gazed at me through his dark, almond-shaped eyes. I should have continued for as long as the owner permitted, but the recollection that I had a deadline to meet brought me crashing back to reality. I hastened on to work.

I live in the suburbs and commute in to the city centre every day. Sightings of giant breed dogs are a rarity; perhaps they are more common in rural areas. That single encounter made me feel very fortunate. Last week, however, I had the privilege of meeting a Leonberger on my way home. Her owner had just emerged from her house, leash in hand, when I accosted the pair of them.

After confirming the breed and its origins (they were bred from my other three favourites, viz., the Newfoundland, St Bernard, and Great Pyrenees), I requested permission to cuddle this golden-furred beauty. Having recently read an article on Canine Enrichment, I put the advice into practice and petted her with short, quick strokes, which she seemed to enjoy. She sniffed my handbag with some interest and once attempted to lick it, although her owner quickly intervened.

Apparently this eight-year-old beauty has only barked six times in her entire life. Like her Newfoundland ancestors, she loves swimming. She sleeps a great deal and is protective but not aggressive, placing herself between her owner and any perceived threat. I've heard that Newfoundlands and English mastiffs do the same, which makes me wonder whether this behaviour is derived from their shared mastiff bloodline.

The owner, I have to say, was kind and extremely helpful. Rather than growing annoyed by my interruption of her evening excursion, she was happy to share her wealth of knowledge about the breed. I mentioned my liking for Newfoundlands and she agreed, but mentioned that she had opted for a Leonberger because of a desire to avoid drool. Yes. I have to say, I was put off by the idea of slobber when I first read about this endearing trait of mastiffs, St. Bernards, and Newfs... but I'm certain now that I shall learn to live with it, albeit with the aid of a bib and a constantly handy drool rag.

In terms of health, I gather that Leonbergers suffer many of the same problems as the other large breeds, including hip dysplasia. Inherited polyneuropathy has come to attention in the past few years, but its late onset (~8 years) means that some affected dogs have already been bred. I was happy to hear that the Leonberger I met had long-lived parents, both of whom reached the age of 13. May that beautiful dog surpass both her parents. (It gave me hope: the relatively short life-span of the giant breeds is the one really major issue that puts me off them). The ever-patient owner underscored the importance of obtaining a puppy from a reputable breeder and even recommended one to me.

Other pre-requisites include a large car with air-conditioning and commitment to training from an early age, both of which seem to apply to all the giant breeds.

"And they do tend to moult," she added, as I glanced at my clothing. Innumerable strands of golden fur had attached themselves to my black skirt suit. I removed most of them by hand on the journey back and brushed myself down when I arrived home. It was worth it. What does a little fur matter if one gets to pet a Leonberger? Besides, I'd better get accustomed to it if I want any of these amazing dogs. Newfs shed heavily. Apparently the hair can even end up in food... no, I'm not keen on that. Fur on the furniture and carpet I can cope with, but not in the breakfast cereal. Surely twice daily grooming will make it more manageable?

I certainly wouldn't give up the chance to own a Leonberger. But next on my list is definitely the Newfoundland, and I'm not going to leave it up to random good fortune to meet one. The breed society holds water work sessions. If I can only get my workload under control, I might have the pleasure of watching those adorable doggies swim. Better still, I've been assured that I'll be allowed to pet some of them.

And most surprising of all: they may consider me for a rescue dog even though I'm a first-time owner. Of course there may be a long wait before they find an appropriate match (we're unlikely to be able to handle aggression and major behavioural problems), but it was heartening to know that my inexperience does not exclude me completely.