It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a vizzla!
Ever since we adopted Luke, everywhere we go people try to guess what breed he is. And when we tell them what the rescue group told us (that his mother was a Rhodesian Ridgeback and they think his father was a Lab), they get indignant! They get up in our faces, challenge us as to how we know his breed (one woman last night actually said, "Oh?!? And did you see the parents yourself???"), and then proceed to tell us what he really is. So far, we've been told that he's a Doberman, a Red Doberman, a Great Dane, a Greyhound, a Weimaraner, a Brown Weimaraner (what?), a Viszla, a Viszla/Doberman, and (my personal favorite) a "Vizzla." (For the record, if he is a Viszla he's obviously been taking steroids since birth, as he's at least twice the size of one.) What I think is comical is that these people get so huffy about it when really, it doesn't matter. He's a beautiful, friendly dog. And we adore him, no matter what his pedigree is.
