For most of my adult life, I’ve lived with big dogs, specifically, Ibizan Hounds. If you know the breed, you know they’re a bit like leggy frat boys with refined taste: endlessly athletic, absurdly dramatic, surprisingly emotional, and absolutely ridiculous. They’re elegant in the ring, yes, but at home they’re likely to be found upside down on the couch, sighing loudly because someone moved their blanket two inches.
But before I was an Ibizan person, I was a child growing up in a house run by Toy dogs. My mother had Italian Greyhounds and Chinese Cresteds, and those little dogs were the heartbeat of our home. They slept in our beds, rode shotgun on car rides, and ruled over our lives like benevolent (and slightly chaotic) monarchs. And while they looked dainty, trust me: these were not delicate little flowers. These were sturdy, clever, hilariously weird dogs.
Like the Ibizans, the Toys were full of quirks. Italian Greyhounds, for all their bone structure and balletic movement, are absolute clowns. They’re just as silly as the big dogs—maybe more so. Where the Ibizan is a jock doing backflips off the furniture for attention, the Iggy is a tiny drama queen wrapped in a cashmere sweater, screaming because it’s 68 degrees indoors. You learn quickly that they aren’t fragile—they’re theatrical.
What always amazed me was how easily the Toys fit into our household alongside the big dogs. They didn’t tiptoe around the Ibizans. They held their ground, sometimes quite literally, planting their tiny paws and staring down a dog four times their size who dared to approach their sunbeam. The Chinese Cresteds, in particular, had no use for hierarchies. They were in charge, and everyone knew it.
People who don’t live with Toy dogs tend to underestimate them. There’s this idea that they’re pampered, or somehow less “real” than Working or Sporting dogs. But anyone who’s had a Toy breed knows better. These dogs were bred with purpose, not just as companions but as companions who live in your life. They’re not outdoor “yard dogs.” They’re “in your lap while you work, in your bed while you sleep, and under your arm while you make coffee” dogs. They embed themselves.
And let’s be honest, they’re weird in the best of ways. The Iggies love warmth so much that they’ll burrow under the laundry the second it comes out of the dryer. Cresteds sunbathe like lizards and have surprisingly strong opinions about what you’re watching on TV. They dance, they pout, they strut. You cannot ignore them. They may be under ten pounds, but they take up a huge part of the room… and an even bigger part of your heart.
As someone who spent decades devoted to hounds with long strides and louder voices, Toy dogs have brought a different kind of joy to my life. They’ve reminded me that dogs don’t have to be big to live big lives. They’ve taught me to find value in stillness, in snuggles, and in the daily rituals that make up a life shared closely with another being.
So yes, the Ibizans still reign in my house, often draped dramatically across furniture or leaping six feet into the air to see what’s on the counter. But when my mother is in town, just off to the side, tucked under a blanket or peeking out from a sliver of sunshine, you’ll find the Toy dogs. Watching. Waiting. Judging. Running the show.
They’re small, yes, but they are never secondary.
They are, and always have been, the main characters.
