A classic stereotype of a small dog is a yapping, shaking, teeth-bearing creature that tolerates kisses from its owner and genuinely hates the rest of the world. Sort of like a hamster on steroids.
Of course, just like other stereotypes, this one is a misrepresentation and exaggeration; yet it is informed by a single grain of truth. That is, an absolute majority of small dogs tends to be hopelessly spoiled. Spoiled in a sense that they are allowed to get away with an outrageous number of bad habits and terrible behaviours.
As I see it, there are three main factors contributing to such perception.
The first is, obviously, a small dog’s perceived frailty. On more than one occasion I have heard from owners of small dogs about their fear of inadvertently injuring their dog by correcting them, or of their increased environmental awareness – their dog’s feet get cold, the rain is too wet, the sun is too hot. In this context, a fragile small dog is equivalent to a dog that has lots of special needs, and therefore, it has valid reasons to not undergo training to go potty outside; it is allowed to be reactive towards humans and dogs, and it is free to climb on the counters and steal food.
The second factor is human’s ability to tolerate bad things that are not yet too bad. A small dog usually cannot inflict as much damage as a large dog can. Let me illustrate this point with an example.
I once had a client with a Yorkie who liked to sit with their 9-months-old baby in a high chair. They would give a spoonful of baby food to their son, then to their dog. At some point, this dog started to resource-guard these spoons and would growl whenever the spoon went into the baby’s mouth. Not long after, the dog bit the baby on a cheek, leaving a wound that required stitches. The scar was still very much visible when I met these people – their baby was 18 months old then. They were considering seeking training advice at this point because on top of resource guarding, the dog started marking inside.
In other words, this dog’s bite did not strike them as something significant on its own—after all, it was only a small dog, and the marks it left on their baby’s face were, too, small.
The third factor has to do with the convenience of a small-sized dog. Ninety percent of problems can be solved by simply physically removing the dog from a certain situation. A small chihuahua barking its head off at a passing dog? It can be picked up and carried away. A maltese refuses to walk over that puddle? It can be picked up and carried away. A yorkie lays down in grass and does not want to leave a specific spot? It can be picked up and carried away.
The takeaway – pun intended! – point here is that if you remove the word “small” from “small dog” the only defining characteristic of a specific animal you will be left with will be a “dog.” A canine, humanity’s loyal companion, one of the oldest of domesticated species, and one of the most misunderstood, anthropomorphized and, as a result, abused one. Stop thinking about your pup in terms of its size, and instead start prioritizing the nature of the animal you took in your care. This approach will make both of you much, much happier.