Taryn Sherlock of Pinehurst
Irish Goodwill Ambassadog
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“I will give thee dog which I got in Ireland.
He is huge of limb and, for a follower, equal to an able man. Moreover, he hath man's wit, and will bark at thy enemies but never at thy friends. And he will see by each man's face whether he be ill or well disposed towards thee. And he will lay down his life for thee.” – The Icelandic Saga of Nial |
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It is impossible to walk my Irish Wolfhound, Sherlock, without drawing a crowd.
Yes, Sherlock is indeed quite large at 185 pounds and 35” tall at his shoulder. And, yes, his big brown eyes speak of intelligence and gentle disposition, but most impressively, his very presence in public brings out a childlike sense of wonder in young and old alike. On our ventures about town, we are barraged with questions and requests to pet him, complement him, or take a photo with him.
Years ago, I was a stand-up comedian, so I have a variety of wisecrack responses to break the ice with strangers before answering expected questions about Mr. Big Dog.
Some recognize his breed, others say, “I’ve never seen a dog that big before!” “You never saw one like this before because he’s a Chihuahua on steroids! Actually, he's a Reverse Werewolf... at night he becomes a Romanian proctologist!”
Laughter and smiles all around. I know it’s a bit of Carny mixed with Blarney, but no one walks away until they get all their answers answered. The ice being broken with a laugh, the serious Wolfhound spiel begins:
“His name is Taryn Sherlock of Pinehurst kennel. He's four and a half years old and as gentle as a puppy. He loves people, especially kids who pet him. Sherlock is nearly two hundred pounds and, standing on his hind legs, over seven feet tall. Sherlock sleeps on his own bed – a baby crib mattress on the floor next to my bed – but his head and behind hang off the sides.
For breakfast, I hand-feed him five hot dogs, two plain donuts, and two apples, all cut into chunks, then give him three scrambled eggs and a cup of milk in his bowl. During the day he free-feeds around two pounds of dry food but, when you pet him, you'll find he's solid muscle and not fat at all. Tell him `Give me a high five!' and he'll shake your hand with his big paw. When he runs he can hit nearly 40 miles an hour."
The images I describe seem to cast a spell of wide-eyed wonder that fills the heart with grace and delight. Sherlock stirs the imagination and brings out the humanity in all those he meets.
If you live in wide-eyed wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.
Taryn Sherlock of Pinehurst comes from good stock; a long line of United States Champion and Grand Champion Irish Wolfhounds. Just this year, Taryn Hamilton of Pinehurst was the 2020 Westminster Best of Breed (OS). The 2012 Best of Breed was Grand Champion Pinehurst Garrett, and the legendary United States Champion Pinehurst Haxton is Sherlock’s Great Granddoggy. His pedigree ancestry is documented back to the early 1900’s.
Last week we arrived at our daily walk at Massabesic Lake Park, here in New Hampshire, and met a huge crowd. Over 200 bikers known as the Addiction Awareness Motorcycle Club were meeting before a long-distance run. These good people are committed to helping addicted people get clean and remain sober.
When they saw Sherlock, he became the center of attention. They welcomed Sherlock and me and, after a petting and hugging (HIM, not ME!), the leader of the club asked us to be at the front of their group photo.
Wolfhounds tend to be natural mascots.
Yes, Sherlock is indeed quite large at 185 pounds and 35” tall at his shoulder. And, yes, his big brown eyes speak of intelligence and gentle disposition, but most impressively, his very presence in public brings out a childlike sense of wonder in young and old alike. On our ventures about town, we are barraged with questions and requests to pet him, complement him, or take a photo with him.
Years ago, I was a stand-up comedian, so I have a variety of wisecrack responses to break the ice with strangers before answering expected questions about Mr. Big Dog.
Some recognize his breed, others say, “I’ve never seen a dog that big before!” “You never saw one like this before because he’s a Chihuahua on steroids! Actually, he's a Reverse Werewolf... at night he becomes a Romanian proctologist!”
- ”How much does he eat?” "He eats EVERYTHING! But he really likes small dogs… if they are properly prepared.”
- "Who's walking who?" "I don’t take him for a walk, he takes me out for a drag.”
- "He looks like a pony! Does he have a saddle?" "Yes, but unfortunately I can't locate a 3-foot tall jockey."
- "How much does he poop?" "Well, in his kennel I have a dumpster and a snow shovel."
Laughter and smiles all around. I know it’s a bit of Carny mixed with Blarney, but no one walks away until they get all their answers answered. The ice being broken with a laugh, the serious Wolfhound spiel begins:
“His name is Taryn Sherlock of Pinehurst kennel. He's four and a half years old and as gentle as a puppy. He loves people, especially kids who pet him. Sherlock is nearly two hundred pounds and, standing on his hind legs, over seven feet tall. Sherlock sleeps on his own bed – a baby crib mattress on the floor next to my bed – but his head and behind hang off the sides.
For breakfast, I hand-feed him five hot dogs, two plain donuts, and two apples, all cut into chunks, then give him three scrambled eggs and a cup of milk in his bowl. During the day he free-feeds around two pounds of dry food but, when you pet him, you'll find he's solid muscle and not fat at all. Tell him `Give me a high five!' and he'll shake your hand with his big paw. When he runs he can hit nearly 40 miles an hour."
The images I describe seem to cast a spell of wide-eyed wonder that fills the heart with grace and delight. Sherlock stirs the imagination and brings out the humanity in all those he meets.
If you live in wide-eyed wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.
Taryn Sherlock of Pinehurst comes from good stock; a long line of United States Champion and Grand Champion Irish Wolfhounds. Just this year, Taryn Hamilton of Pinehurst was the 2020 Westminster Best of Breed (OS). The 2012 Best of Breed was Grand Champion Pinehurst Garrett, and the legendary United States Champion Pinehurst Haxton is Sherlock’s Great Granddoggy. His pedigree ancestry is documented back to the early 1900’s.
Last week we arrived at our daily walk at Massabesic Lake Park, here in New Hampshire, and met a huge crowd. Over 200 bikers known as the Addiction Awareness Motorcycle Club were meeting before a long-distance run. These good people are committed to helping addicted people get clean and remain sober.
When they saw Sherlock, he became the center of attention. They welcomed Sherlock and me and, after a petting and hugging (HIM, not ME!), the leader of the club asked us to be at the front of their group photo.
Wolfhounds tend to be natural mascots.
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The history of Ireland includes many stories about Wolfhounds. These large sighthounds are mentioned in a description of the Celts attack on Delphi some six hundred years before the birth of Christ and subsequently became the preferred dog among kings and royalty. Many were kept as hunters or for personal protection, and often they were bred into huge packs of War Dogs.
Greyhounds of Ireland - sometimes referred to as Wolfdogs, Big Dogs, or Great Hounds of Ireland, became so popular around the world that, by the 1600’s, they had been exported into near extinction. Ireland restricted their export, but they had become so rare the breed was nearly lost. The bloodline was revived in the late 19th century by Captain George Graham by collecting a few dozen remaining dogs and conscientiously breeding over 300 pedigrees. (http://www.irishwolfhoundtimes.com/graham99.htm)
The Wolfhound’s legacy as a fierce War Dog is commemorated by New York City’s “Fighting” 69th Infantry Regiment. This elite military unit was founded in 1849 by Irish immigrants preparing for a return to Ireland to liberate it from British occupation. They are the most decorated regiment in the United States and have been active from the Civil War to recent Afghanistan deployment.
Greyhounds of Ireland - sometimes referred to as Wolfdogs, Big Dogs, or Great Hounds of Ireland, became so popular around the world that, by the 1600’s, they had been exported into near extinction. Ireland restricted their export, but they had become so rare the breed was nearly lost. The bloodline was revived in the late 19th century by Captain George Graham by collecting a few dozen remaining dogs and conscientiously breeding over 300 pedigrees. (http://www.irishwolfhoundtimes.com/graham99.htm)
The Wolfhound’s legacy as a fierce War Dog is commemorated by New York City’s “Fighting” 69th Infantry Regiment. This elite military unit was founded in 1849 by Irish immigrants preparing for a return to Ireland to liberate it from British occupation. They are the most decorated regiment in the United States and have been active from the Civil War to recent Afghanistan deployment.
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The Fighting 69th later provided security at West Point and vital transportation hubs before being selected to deploy to Iraq in 2004/05 as the core unit of “TASK FORCE WOLFHOUND” (named for the Regiment’s mascots), as part of the 256th “Tiger” Brigade Combat Team. Nineteen soldiers of the Fighting 69th were killed in action in Iraq.
The Regimental Motto is “Gentle when stroked, fierce when provoked,” and each March 17th, the Sixty-Ninth Regiment leads the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in New York City. Their rank and file is lead by two fine-looking hounds. |
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The 1928 Irish sixpence was struck with the image of Finbarr, the international wolfhound champion, and the coin remained unchanged into the mid 1960’s.
Wolfhounds are beloved in Eire, represented on postage stamps, bottles of Tulamore Dew and Wolfhound whiskey, and Belleek Pottery.
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What good could we do in our life to deserve the unconditional love and loyalty
we receive in exchange for, food, water, a place to sleep, and an occasional pet? - MJH
we receive in exchange for, food, water, a place to sleep, and an occasional pet? - MJH
I’m sure my Big Guy is aware of his animal magnetism, and he walks and poses like a Show Dog, but I chose him for a much more important role in my life.
At the end of summer, 2014, my wife Laura was diagnosed with Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer. We knew her treatments were going to be a rough battle and, although we had faced other critical medical procedures together, we prepared ourselves for the debilitating chemotherapy endurance run that lay ahead. Our previous Irish Wolfhound, Preston McGinty, had been acting strange for a couple months; seeming overly concerned with Laura and needing much more affection. We came to understand that occasionally dogs can sense a difference in a person's scent and it raises their anxiety level. We believed this was the case.
Laura said, "Preston knew something was wrong and was trying to tell me."
I didn't know what to say. There was so much uncertainty and morale maintenance that lay ahead I thought it better to let her words fade into troubled silence.
She said, "Preston is seven years old. I fear I will see him die, then I will die." As I mentioned above, Wolfies have an average lifespan of about eight to nine years. My breath caught in my throat for a moment until I could find words that made some sort of sense.
"You are not going to die. We will beat this. And Preston just needs a pup to pick up his spirits. We are all going to be okay. Okay? We'll get a pup."
I didn't know if we were all going to be okay. What else could I say to make the words stop and our alive-but-worried life resume?
Our daughters were in shock about the diagnosis and I looked to Preston as I would to a son for some sort of bravado support. I couldn't let him worry his life away. I told him he was getting a little brother. It made so little sense then. It makes perfect sense now.
We contacted Karen Catov-Goodell at Pinehurst Kennel in Monument, Colorado, where Preston was born and explained the situation. Karen said she had a litter due soon, but it was owned co-jointly with Taryn Kennels in Texas. She cautioned, "It may be a problem to get on the waiting list for a pup on such short notice... and, if it is possible, it will probably be expensive."
I understood. I also understand Cancer is a medical term that means expensive.
Sherlock was born on February 18th, 2015 at Taryn Kennels in Collinsville, Texas and the owners – Brenda and Gary Fairbanks – graciously delivered him to our home in Parker, Colorado. The following Summer and Winter he truly was Preston’s baby brother and became Laura’s heartfelt sunshine each day.
Once again, there was a ray of joy and life in our house. Laura smiled.
Decades ago, when I served in Vietnam, I was the Army's liaison to Mau Than Orphanage in Bien Hoa. Many of the children and babies were handicapped or mixed-race. Some were parentless while others were abandoned offspring of Vietnamese women and military men. The mixed-race children were shunned by their society, who referred to them as máu xâu (bad blood), and abandoned at the orphanage. I threw myself into helping the priest and nuns make a better life for the children.
At the end of summer, 2014, my wife Laura was diagnosed with Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer. We knew her treatments were going to be a rough battle and, although we had faced other critical medical procedures together, we prepared ourselves for the debilitating chemotherapy endurance run that lay ahead. Our previous Irish Wolfhound, Preston McGinty, had been acting strange for a couple months; seeming overly concerned with Laura and needing much more affection. We came to understand that occasionally dogs can sense a difference in a person's scent and it raises their anxiety level. We believed this was the case.
Laura said, "Preston knew something was wrong and was trying to tell me."
I didn't know what to say. There was so much uncertainty and morale maintenance that lay ahead I thought it better to let her words fade into troubled silence.
She said, "Preston is seven years old. I fear I will see him die, then I will die." As I mentioned above, Wolfies have an average lifespan of about eight to nine years. My breath caught in my throat for a moment until I could find words that made some sort of sense.
"You are not going to die. We will beat this. And Preston just needs a pup to pick up his spirits. We are all going to be okay. Okay? We'll get a pup."
I didn't know if we were all going to be okay. What else could I say to make the words stop and our alive-but-worried life resume?
Our daughters were in shock about the diagnosis and I looked to Preston as I would to a son for some sort of bravado support. I couldn't let him worry his life away. I told him he was getting a little brother. It made so little sense then. It makes perfect sense now.
We contacted Karen Catov-Goodell at Pinehurst Kennel in Monument, Colorado, where Preston was born and explained the situation. Karen said she had a litter due soon, but it was owned co-jointly with Taryn Kennels in Texas. She cautioned, "It may be a problem to get on the waiting list for a pup on such short notice... and, if it is possible, it will probably be expensive."
I understood. I also understand Cancer is a medical term that means expensive.
Sherlock was born on February 18th, 2015 at Taryn Kennels in Collinsville, Texas and the owners – Brenda and Gary Fairbanks – graciously delivered him to our home in Parker, Colorado. The following Summer and Winter he truly was Preston’s baby brother and became Laura’s heartfelt sunshine each day.
Once again, there was a ray of joy and life in our house. Laura smiled.
Decades ago, when I served in Vietnam, I was the Army's liaison to Mau Than Orphanage in Bien Hoa. Many of the children and babies were handicapped or mixed-race. Some were parentless while others were abandoned offspring of Vietnamese women and military men. The mixed-race children were shunned by their society, who referred to them as máu xâu (bad blood), and abandoned at the orphanage. I threw myself into helping the priest and nuns make a better life for the children.
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My story, Chieu Hoi, is here: http://www.martinhiggins.com/chieu-hoi.html
Working with them, helping them, feeding them, I watched a miracle every day. Kids would tune-out the war and play soccer, dress dolls, help in the kitchen, and take care of each other as if nothing posed a threat to them. They knew there was violence war around them, but their “kid energy” was irrepressible. They were fully alive, despite their jeopardy. Living one's life, regardless of the prognosis, is just that important.
I was hoping that puppy Sherlock would ignite Laura’s kid energy; have her embrace life while she suffered in pain, lost her hair, had bouts of nausea, and grew weaker before my eyes. And, thank you, Big Dog, you did it. He and Preston gave Laura that which filled her heart with joy, the way our first Wolfhound, Brock Enroll, did long ago when each day was a carefree, dream come true.
That was a Sherlock's Wolfhound miracle; his royal bequest.
Working with them, helping them, feeding them, I watched a miracle every day. Kids would tune-out the war and play soccer, dress dolls, help in the kitchen, and take care of each other as if nothing posed a threat to them. They knew there was violence war around them, but their “kid energy” was irrepressible. They were fully alive, despite their jeopardy. Living one's life, regardless of the prognosis, is just that important.
I was hoping that puppy Sherlock would ignite Laura’s kid energy; have her embrace life while she suffered in pain, lost her hair, had bouts of nausea, and grew weaker before my eyes. And, thank you, Big Dog, you did it. He and Preston gave Laura that which filled her heart with joy, the way our first Wolfhound, Brock Enroll, did long ago when each day was a carefree, dream come true.
That was a Sherlock's Wolfhound miracle; his royal bequest.
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Laura died on March 18th 2016, 13 months to the day after her new puppy entered the world. After Laura was gone, Preston, the poor old boy, would walk to the front door to look for Laura’s car, then climb the stairs to our bedroom, hoping to see that she was there. He did that for several days. Then he laid on the floor next to Laura's side of the bed and did not move or respond to his name.
I woke the next morning to find him lifeless. I am sure he died brokenhearted and defeated.
Sherlock and I have been together ever since. We are joined by Dave the Dog, my 24-pound cat who is, in every way, a canine except for his raspy “meow.”
My sad backstory was not the point of this piece. Sherlock is still “sunshine” in many people’s lives, even if only a brief meeting. Some want to get a photo to show friends who have never seen a Wolfhound in the flesh… children often say he is Falkor the Flying Luckdragon of The Neverending Story or Clifford the Big Red Dog (who grew so large because all the love his girl showered on him)… and delightful women who are spellbound by my “wingman hound” - making me wish I was younger and looking for love.
On our walks I’ve had people say, “He is so amazing!” and “I am so glad to meet you, Sherlock!” and walk away smiling and imagining how they might fit a Big Dog into their life.
And a bit of Sherlock’s royalty rubs off on me. I’m not a King, but I walk with my Queen’s dog.
I will never forget that.
This morning a young guy stopped his pick-up truck when he saw the Big Boy, got out, and we talked for several minutes. He said he wife wanted an Irish Wolfhound and he never realized how big they are, or how gentle they can be. He took a lot of pictures and I shared with him everything I know about these noble beasts. He said he would tell his wife, “Yes! They are great dogs! Let’s get a Wolfhound!”
I thought of Laura and how Sherlock carries a bit of her brave spirit in his swagger. I felt my throat tighten and my breath begin to stoke, so I said, “Have a good morning, Sir.” and turned to walk on with My Boy.
Damn it. Four years and I’m still having spur-of-the-moment downpours.
The guy climbed back into his pick-up truck and, as he drove past me, honked his horn and yelled, “You two have made my day!”
I felt tears forming. “And you, mine, Sir! And you, mine.”
I woke the next morning to find him lifeless. I am sure he died brokenhearted and defeated.
Sherlock and I have been together ever since. We are joined by Dave the Dog, my 24-pound cat who is, in every way, a canine except for his raspy “meow.”
My sad backstory was not the point of this piece. Sherlock is still “sunshine” in many people’s lives, even if only a brief meeting. Some want to get a photo to show friends who have never seen a Wolfhound in the flesh… children often say he is Falkor the Flying Luckdragon of The Neverending Story or Clifford the Big Red Dog (who grew so large because all the love his girl showered on him)… and delightful women who are spellbound by my “wingman hound” - making me wish I was younger and looking for love.
On our walks I’ve had people say, “He is so amazing!” and “I am so glad to meet you, Sherlock!” and walk away smiling and imagining how they might fit a Big Dog into their life.
And a bit of Sherlock’s royalty rubs off on me. I’m not a King, but I walk with my Queen’s dog.
I will never forget that.
This morning a young guy stopped his pick-up truck when he saw the Big Boy, got out, and we talked for several minutes. He said he wife wanted an Irish Wolfhound and he never realized how big they are, or how gentle they can be. He took a lot of pictures and I shared with him everything I know about these noble beasts. He said he would tell his wife, “Yes! They are great dogs! Let’s get a Wolfhound!”
I thought of Laura and how Sherlock carries a bit of her brave spirit in his swagger. I felt my throat tighten and my breath begin to stoke, so I said, “Have a good morning, Sir.” and turned to walk on with My Boy.
Damn it. Four years and I’m still having spur-of-the-moment downpours.
The guy climbed back into his pick-up truck and, as he drove past me, honked his horn and yelled, “You two have made my day!”
I felt tears forming. “And you, mine, Sir! And you, mine.”
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copyright (c) 2020
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved