While my human laces up those weird paw covers and gets ready for another adventure, I’m already bouncing around because I know we’re going exploring! My tail is wagging so hard it might knock over a tree. But what happens if we run into something scary on the trail, like a squirrel that refuses to be chased?

Don’t worry – my human always brings water for both of us, and I’ve got my super nose to sniff out any trouble. Additionally, my long legs are ideal for stepping over rocks and logs. So, are we ready to sniff every single bush in the forest? The woods are calling my name, and I bet a million new smells are waiting for me around the corner! Maybe I’ll even find the perfect stick – one that’s almost as tall as me!

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But doesn’t all that noise make you nervous?” Well, let me tell you something – I LOVE our movie nights! Sure, sometimes I get a little jumpy when I hear a doorbell sound on TV (because, obviously, I need to protect the house from fictional visitors), but mostly it’s awesome.

Music is pretty great too. I’ve got to admit, I’m not a massive fan of heavy metal – all that banging hurts my sensitive ears. But put on some nice jazz or classical music? Now we’re talking! It makes me feel relaxed and sophisticated, as if I’m wearing an invisible tuxedo.

The best part about TV time is snuggling with you on the couch. Yes, I know I’m basically the size of a small horse, but your lap looks so comfy! Don’t worry, I’ll just put one paw up there. Okay, maybe two paws. Fine, I’m basically sitting on you now, but isn’t this cozy?

What I really love is watching animal shows together. Those nature documentaries are fascinating! Though I do get confused when other dogs appear on screen. Where are they? Why can’t I smell them? Are they hiding behind the TV?

The key is picking the right stuff for us to enjoy together. I promise I’ll try not to howl along with the theme songs… but I make no guarantees about that one commercial with the squeaky toy sounds.

To sum up, getting walked by my humans isn’t just some boring daily thing—it’s the best part of my day! It strengthens our friendship and keeps my large body healthy. When my humans pay attention to whether I’m a bouncy puppy or a wise old dog, they make sure every walk is perfect for me.

So, humans, grab those leashes and let’s have some fun! After all, isn’t life way better when you have a gentle giant like me as your walking buddy? Together, we can turn every walk into the most exciting adventure ever!

Woof! So there you have it – keeping my giant paws looking good is super important for my health and happiness. When my humans learn the correct way to trim my nails, it makes everything so much better for both of us. Trust me, it’s not just about making me look fancy – it’s about keeping me comfortable so I can run around without my nails hurting. I know nail trimming can be scary at first, but if my humans stay calm and patient, we can actually make it fun! With practice, my nail care time might even become something I look forward to. After all, happy paws make for a happy Great Dane!

Hello, hello! And welcome - to Danes Delight, the podcast where I, your friendly neighborhood Great Dane, Yeti, tell you what life looks like from down at paw level, though let’s be honest, I’m taller than most coffee tables. Some even say I’m a sofa with legs.

Today we’re diving into a question humans love to wonder about: How many words does a dog like me actually understand? Spoiler alert: it’s more than you think, and sometimes a lot less, depending on how distracted I am by snacks.

You humans are a funny bunch. Always talking, talking, talking. Words spill out of you like kibble pouring from a bag. But here’s the thing. we dogs don’t need all of those words. We tune our satellite ears to the ones that matter.

Researchers have actually measured this. Average dogs tend to understand between 100 and 200 human words. The star students—Border Collies, German Shepherds, and the occasional show‑off poodle—may know closer to 1,000.

Now, where does a Great Dane like me fall? Well, we’re not exactly known for being professors of linguistics. We’re more the "gentle giant, strong cuddle, occasional clumsy tail-wag that knocks over lamps" type. But don’t count me out—we do listen. Trust me, if you say “walk,” “treat,” or “outside,” my ears perk up faster than you can say “who’s a good boy?”

Let me give you my personal dictionary of “must‑know” terms:

Food Words: "Dinner," "treat," "cookie," "bone." Offer me those and I don’t just understand and I teleport.

Adventure Words: "Walk," "outside," "car ride." These are like golden tickets to the chocolate factory… except, I can’t have chocolate.

People Words: "Grandma," "Mom," "Pup Cup." Yes, I know who Grandma is, and I know exactly which humans sneak me snacks under the table.

Trouble Words: "No," "drop it," "off." I understand those too, even if I pretend sometimes that my giant ears didn’t catch it.

If I counted them right, I probably know at least 150 words—and pick up new ones all the time. The trick? Tone of voice. You humans could say “grapefruit” in the same tone as you say “walk,” and I’d probably bounce to the door ready to go.

So how do we learn words? It’s not like we’re thumbing through dictionaries. We connect sounds to actions or rewards. For example:

You say "sit," I bottom down, I get a treat. Boom! Word locked in.

You say "vet," I suddenly remember something about thermometers in unpleasant places… and I vanish to the other room.

Over time, we also learn patterns. You don’t even have to say the word "walk" anymore. If I see shoes going on and a leash rattling, I know what’s about to happen. Dogs are body-language experts. But toss in the right word, and I have confirmation that my guess is correct.

Now, let’s be honest, I don’t know Shakespeare, and I’m never going to recite poetry. I’m not memorizing grocery lists or solving crossword puzzles. If you’re debating philosophy, most of your words are just pleasant background noise to me—kind of like a lullaby.

But here’s a secret: what matters most isn’t the vocabulary size, it’s the connection. I may not know 1,000 words, but I really know the ones you say with warmth, love, and that funny voice you use when scratching behind my ears. Those are the words that make my tail thump instantly.

Sometimes, just for fun, I like to test my humans. They’ll whisper a word across the room—“cookie…”—thinking I won’t hear. But these ears? Giant radar dishes. I hear, I process, and I’m in the kitchen faster than thunder.

Other times, they’ll try to outsmart me by spelling words: “Maybe we should take him for a W‑A‑L‑K.” Newsflash humans: we cracked that code ages ago. Start spelling "park," I’m already at the door.

So, how many words does a Great Dane understand? Enough. Enough to make life full of fun,...

A bored Great Dane makes for an escape artist.

How to Keep Your Great Dane From Escaping - Great Dane Tips

The most challenging part of owning a Great Dane is knowing when to let them go.

Welcome back, everyone, to another episode of Danes Delight! I’m Yeti, your giant lapdog host with paws bigger than your dinner plate. Today we’re wading into a tender topic—one every Great Dane, and especially our devoted humans, must face eventually: Great Danes & Euthanasia.

Let’s set the scene. We Danes are built for grandeur—long legs, deep chests, massive hearts. I’ve been told more than once I take up the whole couch, and frankly, I consider that a personal victory. But this size comes at a price. We burn bright, but often not for as long as smaller breeds. So, how do our humans—our packs—know when it’s time to say goodbye? Why is this conversation so especially urgent for Danes like me?

Let’s dig in, nose first.

First off, Great Danes are among the breeds most susceptible to certain acute health crises. One that keeps seasoned Dane owners up at night is called gastric torsion, or bloat. When this hits—our stomachs fill with gas, twist on themselves, and cut off blood supply—it’s a true emergency. Some Danes, even with the fastest care, don’t make it.

In heartbreaking cases, when the pain is unmanageable or surgery isn’t possible, euthanasia becomes the kindest, most loving decision.

But health issues aren’t the only reason. We’re prone to joint diseases, like hip dysplasia, and spinal conditions, especially as we age. Losing mobility—imagine my paws not working, not even being able to chase the morning sunbeam on the floor—leads to deep frustration, pain, and confusion. For some Danes and their humans, when pain steals all the good days and barely leaves crumbs of joys, letting go is the last, brave act of love.

Behavior is another sadly common factor. My cousin—a healthy 1.5-year-old Dane—once faced what humans call behavioral euthanasia. He had unpredictable aggression, anxiety that meds couldn’t fix, and in a dangerous moment, he hurt the very humans who loved him. His family was crushed. Behavioral euthanasia, as grim as it may sound, is sometimes the only safe option—especially for big, strong breeds who are hard to rehome and can be dangerous if their minds work against them.

There’s also a harder subject—the choices humans make out of convenience. I’ve heard some stories that sting. Sometimes people bite off more Dane than they can chew. A big puppy grows into a dog heavier than their kid, stronger than their will, and with more energy than they can handle. Instead of training, adapting, or finding help, a few may see euthanasia as an escape. Some vets struggle deeply with these cases, knowing a healthy Dane could have more to give with the right family. Responsibility, my dear listeners, means thinking long and hard before you bring a dog like me into your life.

But let’s not dwell only on the heavy. What is it like from my side? Speaking as Yeti—a Great Dane with a philosopher’s outlook and an endless appetite for treats—I’ll tell you that every day matters. We Danes don’t untangle calendars or life expectancy curves. We know this moment, this patch of sun, this wag, this ear scratch. But, when enough of the good is taken by pain, by the fog of failing health, or by a mind that doesn’t recognize family anymore, we count on you. You’re our pack leader. Your strength lets us leave with dignity, free from fear and suffering.

I know many of you have held your Dane’s great head in your hands at that last moment. You’ve whispered thank yous, let the tears fall onto soft fur, and kept a piece of us in your hearts forever. Those memories aren’t of the struggle—they’re of the zoomies in the park, the warm sighs on the foot of the bed, the way we found you every time you needed comfort.

To my fellow Danes listening in—remind your humans to look for the good days, tally the tail wags, and talk openly with their vet. And for the humans—listen, learn, and...

Great Danes are clingy dogs. Tips on how to prevent Separation Anxiety.

Woof! Welcome back to Danes Delight, the podcast where everything is better when you're looking down at it from six feet tall. I'm your host, Yeti.

Today, we're talking about something that hits close to home for a lot of us four-legged friends - separation anxiety. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Yeti, you're a Great Dane, you're practically the size of a small horse, what could you possibly be anxious about?

Well, my friends, size doesn't matter when it comes to missing your humans. Trust me, I've done extensive research on this topic, mostly by testing how long I can dramatically sigh by the front door.

Let me paint you a picture of what separation anxiety looks like in the Yeti household. Picture this: my human reaches for their keys, and suddenly I transform from a dignified Great Dane into what can only be described as a 150-pound furry tornado of emotions.

The tail tucking, the puppy dog eyes that could melt titanium, the subtle yet effective strategy of becoming a living roadblock between them and the door. You know, standard Tuesday stuff.

But here's the thing about us Great Danes - we're oversized lap dogs with the emotional complexity of a Shakespearean drama. When our humans leave, it's not just "oh, they'll be back.

Oh no. It's "WHAT IF THEY'VE BEEN CAPTURED BY SQUIRRELS? WHAT IF THEY'VE FORGOTTEN WHERE THEY LIVE? WHAT IF THEY'VE REALIZED I ATE THEIR FAVORITE SHOE AND THEY'RE NEVER COMING BACK?"

I've tried various coping mechanisms over the years. There's the classic "rearrange the furniture with my body" technique. Nothing says "I missed you" quite like a coffee table moved three feet to the left and a Great Dane-sized impression on the couch.

Then there's my personal favorite: the "redecorate with toilet paper" method. It's artistic, it's expressive, and it shows your humans that you've been thinking about interior design while they were gone.

But let's get serious for a moment - and by serious, I mean as serious as a dog who once got his head stuck in a cat door can be. Separation anxiety is real, and it affects a lot of dogs, especially us Danes who form powerful bonds with our families.

We're not just pets; we're furry family members who happen to shed more and have questionable taste in what constitutes food.

The first step in dealing with separation anxiety is understanding that it's not about being "bad" or "destructive." It's about genuine distress.

When I turn my human's bedroom into what looks like a pillow explosion, I'm not being vindictive. I'm expressing my feelings through interpretive home decoration. It's art.

Now, there are some practical strategies that have helped me and my fellow anxious canines. First, there's the desensitization approach. This is where your humans practice leaving for very short periods - like, going to check the mailbox for a short time.

At first, I thought this was just my human were being indecisive. "Are we going for a walk? No? Okay, I'll just wait here and practice my concerned face."

The key is making departures and arrivals low-key. No big emotional goodbyes that sound like they're heading off to war against the vacuum cleaner army. Just a casual "see you later," like they're going to the kitchen for a snack.

Though let's be honest, if they said they were going to the kitchen for snacks and then left the house, that would create a whole different kind of trust...