Reason #43 I love my grand-dog: She never calls me "grandpa"

The folks at the pound told him they were sure she was mostly beagle with, perhaps, a little Lab mixed in.

Boy, were they wrong.

Within three months, that tiny, fluffy ball of gold and white fur my son adopted from the pound had morphed into a creature roughly the size of a Shetland pony.

Meet my granddog, Topanga, who was adopted by our #2 son three years ago when he was still in grad school.

With her Rockette-long legs, deep chest, narrow waist, bushy tail, mastiff-sized head and soulful eyes that appear as though someone applied eyeliner around them, Topanga is so bizarre looking we had her DNA tested.

Turns out she is half Great Pyrenees (a cousin of the St. Bernard, which accounts for her size), 35 percent Italian greyhound (hence the skinny legs and slim waist) and 15 percent Jack Russell terrier (of which we see no evidence whatsoever.)

Ten years ago we purchased this "Beware of Dog" tile in the
Canary Islands. The dog looks just like Topanga.
What are the odds of that?

Our family has always had neurotic little dogs -- dachshunds, beagles and one terrier-mix -- so a dog the size of a Macy's Thanksgiving parade balloon is new territory for us.

It's rather pleasant actually. Unlike the hyperactive, yappy dogs to which we are accustomed, Topanga is sociable, well-behaved and extremely mellow.

Topanga is visiting for the week, snoring contentedly on the sofa as I write. She leaves cotton-ball size clumps of hair everywhere, drools like Niagara Falls and our elderly dachshund, Bonnie, emits a threatening "get away from me, bitch" growl every time she trots into the room.  It's ridiculous, because Topanga, if she were so inclined, could eat Bonnie and our other dachshund, Billy Ray, as easily as they eat Cesar single-bite treats. To her credit, she ignores her aunt.


As you have guessed by now, my wife and I are crazy about our grand-dog. 


And while friends who have human grandkids say grandparent-dom is the best thing since sliced bread, I'm perfectly content with my grand-dog for now.

I'll never have to take her to Disney World, never have to contribute to her college fund, and she'll never embarrass me by calling me "grandpa" in public.

Not that there's anything wrong with that title, but I'm not ready for it. At least not yet.