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When you walk through a bad neighborhood, you don't want a poodle by your side. You want a Rottweiler.

We have nine hungry Rottweilers on the farm.

A stereotype may be negative or positive, but even positive stereotypes present two problems: They are cliches, and they present a human being as far more simple and uniform than any human being actually is.

All the ranchers I know have had back surgery, operations on their rotator cuffs. They all have new knees. I'd like to think I belong to that breed, but I don't.

I would overhear these conversations of people who show purebred dogs. They spoke about them as if they were their children.

I'm a small dog guy. I don't want to be pattin' with the big Rottweiler or Great Dane. I like those little guys that jump on your lap and don't knock you over when they do.

In an interesting inversion of status, the reigning breed in the dog park these days is the really-oddball-unidentifiable-mixed-breed-mutt-found-wandering-the-street or its equivalent. The stranger the mutt the better; the more peculiar the circumstance of it coming into your life, the better.

I always disliked dogs, those protectors of cowards who lack the courage to fight an assailant themselves.

The attitude we have towards our personal pets as opposed to the animals that suffer under the factory farm is hypocritical and delusional.