Praising the Teutonic

Hirsute Oktoberfest revellers; pretzels; oompah bands; castles with Disney-esque turrets; lederhosen; midsize executive saloons driven with simmering passive- aggression... The cliché list, when it comes to stuff emanating from Bavaria, is laced with frivolity, and admittedly my breed’s name sounding rather like a lewd euphemism for impressive male genitalia does nothing to add gravitas to the inventory. Which is ironic, given the sombre dignity — reminiscent of a canine Mr. Murdstone in an anthropomorphic adaptation of David Copperfield — that we Giant Schnauzers exude from every dense black follicle.

The genetic cocktail behind that Dickensian menace, as well as our cropped ears, docked tails and 90lb, 30-inch-high frames (we’re only really ‘giants’ in comparison to our Standard Schnauzer and Miniature Schnauzer cousins), was first shaken into being by cunning canine breeders in 17th-century Germany who bolstered the properties of Standard Schnauzers with those of larger, sturdier breeds, including the Great Dane, Bouvier des Flandres, the German Pinscher and perhaps black Poodles.

The words beschleunigungs sehnsucht (an aching for a faster, more incident-filled life) and zukunftsfreude (a fizzing sense that good times are ahead) may have characterised my earliest direct ancestors’ feelings when, having been bred to drive livestock to market and guard farmland, an entirely new lebenssinn (existential purpose) was imposed upon us. Over to Steve Fox, the former president of the Giant Schnauzer Club of America: “Because of their natural guarding tendency, Giant Schnauzers were noticed by the butchers and tavern owners they came in contact with. Because Giants had to serve as both drovers and protectors of the herds as well as protectors of the farmers’ homes and families, the guarding instinct was very strong... Butcher shops were end-users of the farmers’ goods. Taverns were encountered along the path to markets. Both of these businesses generated a good deal of money and were often targeted by thieves.”

And so a combative life, befitting my physical appearance — the harsh beard and eyebrows; that keen, sagacious expression, reminiscent of a pre-war prep-school geography teacher piercing a boy’s soul over half-moon glasses — coloured the next chapter of my breed’s narrative. Indeed, were canines in charge of the linguistically vivid German tongue, there would be a word that translates as ‘changes in life purpose induced by human industrialisation and urbanisation’.

Lately, another change to our general purpose has been thrust upon us — and not an unwelcome one. Due to our intrepid natures (we’re described, invariably, as a bold and valiant figure of a dog by our advocates in cynophile circles), and because our innate obedience, agility and herding skills translate so readily to search and

rescue tasks, we’re now being utilised by law enforcement. Followers of Scottish print media will have heard of Hondo — not of my acquaintance but merely two degrees of friend separation from me on Snoutbook — who is now undergoing training to work for the Inverness constabulary, with whom he will be engaged to help with crowd control, suspect pursuit, and the location of missing persons.

“Giant Schnauzers are an athletic breed with great noses, and we hope that Hondo follows in his relatives’ paw prints,” a jocular Police Scotland post put it, referring to Hondo’s relatives having “found vulnerable people” and also having “caught violent suspects” during their work with Devon and Cornwall police.

Indeed, a new chapter playing a vital role in community safety and societal wellbeing awaits me and my closest relatives. And if the more Alpha-male members of the constabulary north of the border can’t resist gratuitous big-knob gags, so be it. Even-tempered sanguinity, after all, is among the many traits that make us ‘working’ dogs in the truest, and most dignified, sense of that phrase.