Miniature Schnauzer Quotes

I leaned against my car and sighed, rubbing a hand over my eyes. “It’s been a long day, James. A long, somewhat odd day. Let’s not cap it off with me sitting in the yard talking to a cat, okay?”   James gave a derisive snort—strangely suiting his feline persona—and shifted into his dragon form, which is about the size of a schnauzer. He flapped his wings once and settled in, puffing a ring of smoke at me while he did.   I tried not to sigh in exasperation. “Yes, that’s much better . Talking to a cat was weird, but speaking to a miniature dragon completely fulfills my desire for normalcy.” He blew a thin jet of fire at my shoes. I jumped up with a yelp, and he snickered.   “Cute...” James had three forms: cat, small schnauzer-sized dragon, and human. The third had been a surprise until I moved in and asked him how he’d managed to do all of Douglas’s errands with no opposable thumbs. He’d morphed, poked me on the head with one of said opposable thumbs, and finished by stealing my yogurt. I still hadn’t quite figured James out.

dinner in their house. As she walked along the canal, Moira saw a small man surrounded by dogs walking towards her. It was Noel’s father, Charles Lynch, marching along with dogs of different sizes and shapes: a spaniel, a poodle and a miniature schnauzer trit-trotting on their leads on one side and a huge Great

Albert’s our dog. He’s a black Miniature Schnauzer. Bit like a child though, I suppose. They’re super clever.

Stupid dog, do you realize you have actually LITERALLY bitten the hand that feeds you?" Schatzi looks at me with a withering stare, arching her bushy eyebrows haughtily, and then turns her back to me. I stick out my tongue at her back, and go to the kitchen to freshen her water bowl. Damnable creature requires fresh water a zillion times a day. God forbid a fleck of dust is dancing on the surface, or it has gone two degrees beyond cool, I get the laser look of death. Once there was a dead fly in it, and she looked in the bowl, crossed the room, looked me dead in the eye, and squatted and peed on my shoes. I usually call her Shitzi or Nazi. I suppose I'm lucky she deigns to drink tap water. Our bare tolerance of each other is mutual, and affection between us is nil. The haughty little hellbeast was my sole inheritance from my grandmother who passed away two years ago. A cold, exacting woman who raised me in my mother's near-complete absence, Annelyn Stroudt insisted on my calling her Grand-mère, despite the fact that she put the manic in Germanic, ancestry-wise. But apparently when her grandparents schlepped here mother from Berlin to Chicago, they took a year in Paris first, and adopted many things Française. So Grand-mère it was. Grand-mère Annelyn also insisted on dressing for dinner, formal manners in every situation, letterpress stationary, and physical affection saved for the endless string of purebred miniature schnauzers she bought one after the other, and never offered to the granddaughter who also lived under her roof. Her clear disappointment in me must have rubbed off on Schatzi, who, despite having lived with me since Grand-mère died neatly and quietly in her sleep at the respectable age of eighty-nine, has never seen me as anything but a source of food, and a firm hand at the end of the leash. She dotes on Grant, but he sneaks her nibbles when he cooks, and coos to her in flawless French. Sometimes I wonder if the spirit of Grand-mère transferred into the dog upon death, and if the chilly indifference to me is just a manifestation of my grandmother's continued disapproval from beyond the grave. Schatzi wanders over to her bowl, sniffs it, sneers at me one last time for good measure, shakes her head to ensure her ears are in place, like a society matron checking her coif, and settles down to drink.

Schnoodles are, as the name suggests, a cross between a Schnauzer and a Poodle. It is one of the most popular hybrid breeds, due to its easygoing nature, friendly temperament, and high intelligence. Schnoodles are, for the most part, very easy to train (a genetic gift from the Poodle, whose intelligence and trainability has made it a favorite amongst dog owners for hundreds of years). Despite having a long coat, they don’t shed much and are hypoallergenic, like their Poodle parents. Their slightly curly hair comes in a wide variety of colors—white, black, gray, silver, tan, apricot, gold, and every shade in between!

while a Schnoodle bred from a Miniature Schnauzer and a Toy Poodle will usually be very small. Most Schnoodles are bred from miniature parents, meaning they will be small.

most popular dogs in the world! Schnoodles inherit the Poodle’s curly coat, remarkably high intelligence, and easygoing nature. For the most part, Schnauzers and Poodles are bred within their weight classes (Miniature Schnauzer with Toy Poodle, etc.), creating three different types of Schnoodles;

Schnoodle The Miniature Schnoodle is the smallest breed variant and the most common type of Schnoodle. It is created by breeding a Miniature Schnauzer with a Toy Poodle. This tiny, energetic, adorable Schnoodle can weigh anywhere from 5 to 15 pounds (2.2 to 6.8 kilograms) when

The Standard Schnoodle, or the medium-sized Schnoodle, is a cross between the Miniature Poodle and the Standard Schnauzer. It’s more energetic than the Miniature Schnoodle, which is more suited to indoor and apartment living than its larger counterpart.

One of the Schnoodle’s best traits is its intelligence. The Schnoodle is an incredibly smart dog, which makes it easy to train. Who says that dogs can’t be both cute and smart? The Schnoodle is so smart because it is bred from two of the most intelligent dog breeds in the world: the Schnauzer and the Poodle. In Stanley Coren’s famed book, The Intelligence of Dogs, the author gathered information and performed tests to rank different breeds of dogs regarding their intelligence. Over time, Mr. Coren’s findings became more or less commonly accepted by most breeders, trainers, and dog enthusiasts as a viable tool to measure dog intelligence.

The Poodle was ranked in second place, just behind the Border Collie. While the Schnauzer didn’t do quite so well, it still ranked very high—the Miniature, Standard and Giant Schnauzers are respectively listed at the 12th, 18th and 28th places on the listing.

One African grey I know, Throckmorton, pronounces his name with Shakespearean precision. Named for the man who served as an intermediary for Mary, Queen of Scots (and was hanged in 1584 for conspiring against Queen Elizabeth I), Throckmorton has a wide repertoire of household sounds, including the voices of his family members, Karin and Bob, which he uses to his advantage. He calls out Karin’s name in a “Bob voice” that Karin describes as spot-on; she can’t tell the difference. He also mimics the different rings of Karin’s and Bob’s cell phones. One of his favorite ploys is to summon Bob from the garage by imitating his cell phone ring. When Bob comes running, Throckmorton “answers” the call in Bob’s voice: “Hello! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.” Then he finishes with the flat ring tone of hanging up. Throckmorton imitates the glug, glug sound of Karin drinking water and the slurping sound of Bob trying to cool his hot coffee while he sips it, as well as the bark of the family’s former dog, a Jack Russell terrier dead nine years. He has also nailed the bark of the current family pet, a miniature schnauzer, and will join him in a chorus of barking, “making my house sound like a kennel,” says Karin. “Again, he’s pitch perfect; no one can tell it’s a parrot barking and not a dog.” Once, when Bob had a cold, Throckmorton added to his corpus the sounds of nose blowing, coughing, and sneezing. And another time, when Bob came home from a business trip with a terrible stomach bug, Throckmorton made sick-to-my-stomach sounds for the next six months. For one long stretch, his preferred “Bob” word was “Shhhhhhhhiiiit.

We walk up to the counter. Surprisingly, there is no line. I recognize the barista as a young woman whose miniature schnauzer I killed last year. She was reading a book at the city park, letting the pup run about. I cornered it behind some bushes and removed all four of its legs with a pair of garden loppers. It was alive when I left but the newspaper reported the next day that it had died. I still have the legs. Sara orders a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin. I order a red eye and a brownie. I pay for both orders even though Sara says she is happy to pay.