“What Kind of Dog Is That?”: Why I Love My Pound Hound

The path at Concord Park, Brentwood, TN

Looks like Punxsutawney Phil was on the money with his prediction of an early spring. At least for us here in Nashville. Last Saturday, February 17th, we had snow that melted on the streets, froze, and caused black ice catastrophes all over town that night and into the next morning. Before that, temperature highs had hovered in the thirties, thus making taking Murph for longer walks unpleasant. (At least for me. For him, the colder the better. He stalls, both in his stride and withholding on doing his “Doo”ty so he can stay out longer.)

But on Wednesday February 21st Mother Nature graced us with an afternoon high in the low 70s, bright blue skies, and a balmy breeze. It was the kind of beautiful day that both Murphy and I could agree on enjoying, and I absolutely could not resist the temptation to get outside.

So instead of asking Murph, “Ready to go for a walk?” like I always do after my day’s work is done, I surprised him with: “Wanna go to the park?”

Boy howdy did he! His head snapped to attention, his ears perked up, and his eyes got the crazy, bright-eyed happy shine he gets when he knows an adventure awaits.

So off we headed to enjoy a lovely late afternoon stroll through his favorite park, Concord over in Brentwood. It was packed! Everyone who could was out enjoying the fine weather.

Murphy on one of the bridges at Concord Park

But what always strikes me as funny is how many people will stop to comment about how unusual, yet adorable, Murph is. Usually followed up with wanting to know what kind of dog he is.

We actually don’t know. We normally say he’s a Bluetick hound/mix of some sort. Some people know what that is, nod, and say, “That’s what I was going to guess.” Others say he reminds them of their Australian Cattle Dog. He could be a cross of both.

The next question that often follows is: “Where’d you find him?”

We didn’t find him; he found us. Sure, we went to the shelter that day, but not truly with the intention of adopting a dog –or of getting adopted by one. That’s just what happened.

Breeders know how to mate champions and all that, but sometimes the best hounds can only be found at the pound. Of this I’m convinced. Murphy’s handsome good looks, winning personality, and stunning intelligence wasn’t the product of purposeful manipulation. He’d technically be considered a mutt, I guess, but he’s a mutt who stole my heart and has never given it back. He continues to amaze me every day with his tender, loyal, loving, funny, well-mannered ways.

And what I absolutely adore about him is no matter how many people tell him how handsome he is (including me, regularly) or how much they ooh and ahh over him, he never lets it go to his head. On top of all of his other stellar qualities, he’s exceptionally humble and modest. (He gets that from his papa. I’m the first to admit modesty is not one of my virtues.)

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