It’s St. Patrick’s Day, a day that beckons green accents from my wardrobe and turns the Chicago River emerald. I learned on my father’s deathbed that his grandmother (my great-grandmother) was Irish, but I’ve been lax in exploring my Irish heritage.
So it was something of a discovery yesterday to learn that before our St. Paddy became a saint—before, even, he took the name “Patrick”—he was known for the gentle and authoritative way he had with dogs. He was able to quiet an entire ship full of Irish Wolfhounds (pictured, though I don’t know the artist—you can read about it on The BARK).
I’ve always liked Wolfhounds—envisioned them every time someone (erroneously, I thought) called my pooch a “BIG dog.” See the pic? Those are big dogs.
So forget the snakes today. Focus on the dogs!
I’m going to like being Irish…
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