Italian Greyhound

You watch your Italian Greyhound fold themselves into an impossibly small ball on the couch, tucking that needle-thin nose under a blanket like a creature who has never once been warm enough. Then five minutes later they're a blur — a 10-pound missile launched off the back of the sofa, banking off a cushion, and landing on your lap at full speed with zero regard for your coffee or your dignity. They tremble, and you'll spend the first year explaining to every single person who meets them that no, they're not scared, they're not cold, they're just... vibrating. It's what they do. Your Iggy has the soul of a Renaissance painting and the impulse control of a bottle rocket. They'll drape themselves across your neck like a living scarf, press their bony little chest against yours, and stare at you with those enormous dark eyes until you understand that this dog doesn't just want to be near you — they want to be inside your skin. You didn't adopt a pet. You adopted a 4,000-year-old Italian aristocrat who requires a heated blanket, a lap, and your undivided emotional attention at all times.