Actually I want all the Hovawarts for myself. My blogging efforts so far have been mainly about trying to scare you away, which I have not been very successful with. So for one time I will indulge myself in this shamelessly positive sales pitch on behalf of the Hovawart breed.
Photo by Christel Janssen, from left to right, Biko, Lara and Aico
We're back at the West-coast after spending two weeks at home in Copenhagen. Walking the old neighborhood reunited Tilde with many of the friends she was used to meet almost every day.
Two weeks ago I came across this heartfelt shout-out of Carmen Töller on Facebook:
The post was shared in a couple of Facebook groups dedicated to Hovawarts and quickly went "viral" - or, as viral as a post about Hovawarts can possibly go.
It was such a great question, "Is she friendly?" I just had it difficult to find the right answer for the family of four and their Golden Retriever to describe Tilde, my Hovawart, best.
The windchill of a strong breeze instantly dropped the temperature even further below zero. The sun composed a scenery worthy of a beautiful day in Summer and only the freezing cold reminded me we were in the heart of Winter.
We were preparing the guest room, and Tilde knows what that means. The anticipation of guests arriving thrilled her. Or was it skepticism, as she wasn't involved in the invitation?
You could be actually reading this because you have just run into a beautiful dog, that looked a lot like a retriever.
Maybe
you had a talk with the owner, who explained it was not a retriever,
but a ... what was it she said ... a Hova...What? ... ah yes, a
Hova...Wart.
The three of us reached a clearing in the forest we were hiking. Tilde, Dok-dek, and me. Dok-dek was our guest on the West-coast for the week, to escape the noise of the New Year's celebratory fireworks of the city. It was freezing cold, -5 C with a sturdy breeze. The clearing we entered offered no refuge for the sudden drop in temperature caused by the wind chill. I put my hat back on, looked down in an attempt to keep the wind out of my face and stepped up the pace to reach the other side of the clearing.
While we walked past some bushes along the trail it was as if a fish hook had caught Tilde's nose. In a split-second she made a sharp, almost cat-like turn. Her head positioned perfectly aligned with her body. Her intense facial expression and the focus in her eyes left no doubt. She was on a hunt, but what? and where? I looked around me but couldn't see anything, until a dark shadow jumped out of the small bush right in front of me and made me look down.
When Tilde and me were driving on our way to meet Baxter the Hovawart I was filled with anticipation. Baxter would be one of the few 13½ year aged Hovawarts I would have the privilege of meeting face to face.
Standing in front of the gate I thought it was just how I imagined the place would look like. A painting of rural contentment, with a lot of land, animals, and patrolled by two Hovawarts. In many ways, it embodied the Hovawart dream, the medieval tale of the "Hofwart" alive in modern times.
"Tilde!" A handful of sand hit me on the back of my head, and I felt it seeping down my neck where it changed the inside of my jacket's color into a piece of sandpaper. I reached out for Tilde, who was digging a sandpit behind me, when the next salvo hit my outreached hand and the sand continued its path up my sleeve.
My heart skipped a beat when I realized what Tilde was sniffing. We just got out the door for a walk and hadn't even reached the end of the driveway when she noticed something and rushed over for a sniff. It was a viper - the common European viper, or adder - the only venomous snake living in Denmark.
After two busy weeks in which an army of workers, inspectors, real-estate agents and curious neighbors visited our house, I am now one hundred percent sure. Tilde will never display any behavior of a guarding dog. She officially now is the Hovawart, that won't "wart".