My Purebred Dachshund Is My White Privilege |
The way people treat my dog says more about how they see me than I ever imagined.
My fiancée and I bought our purebred sausage dog from a farm breeder in Normandie, France. She’s not your typical sausage dog; her official certification lists her as a Dachshund, a word I still struggle to spell, and more precisely, she’s what you call a Harlequin, or “Dapple” in English. She has light amber eyes, a speckled coat, and a sweetness that draws people to her instantly. Her name is Umutuzo, which means serenity in Kinyarwanda, the native language in Rwanda.
Umutuzo’s presence in our lives has not only made me a devoted dog mom, but also shed light on an unexpected observation: how race, class, and social status silently intertwine. Having a rare purebred dog changed how the world responded to me in her presence.
Without Umu, I experience predominantly white spaces by minding my own business, not really paying attention to who’s around me. But walking with her? That’s a different story. People melt at the sight of her. They squeal, coo, bend down to the ground just to greet her, practically laying flat to scratch the exact spot behind her ear that she loves most. Some have offered to buy her on the spot. Others ask for our breeder’s information. They rush to take their phones out to take pictures of her.
When they also have a Dachshund, they joke that maybe the dogs are distant cousins, pull out their phone to offer a playdate, and suggest we become friends. One little lady, after we shared conversations about our precious little puppies, suggested Umu and I follow her to her home for a snack and some tea. I was so........