Eight days under one roof with my parents and own children offer plenty opportunities to ponder genetic determinism. There have been few surprises along those lines this week, but one of them was Mom's choice in a new puppy: a borzoi she calls "Barrie," after the celebrated author of Peter Pan. (The dog's given name is Russian, Nevskyi Barhat Chernyi, for which perhaps Steve or another reader can provide a good translation?)
Mom and Dad have often expressed an appreciation for the shape and demeandor of my whippets, but they've never owned a sighthound. Their last dog (a yellow lab) died six years ago, and I wasn't even aware they were in the market for a puppy. In their so-called retiring years, I expected maybe they'd get a lap dog of some kind and tote it around with them between the distant homes of their two sons. A giant sighthound seemed unlikely...but maybe running dogs run in the family.
Here's Barrie (not much of a runner just yet):
And here's a picture of my own hound Rina (no longer a puppy):
And one I found online, a postcard from 1776, Russia, maybe a distant relative of Mom's: