Breed Profiles

The first time my Pharaoh Hound blushed, I thought she'd been stung. Her ears and face flushed pink, the whole head went rosy, and she looked absolutely mortified. It turned out she was just excited and a bit overwhelmed, and the breed does this. They blush. It's real, it's adorable, and it's the single best party trick any dog has ever owned.

Pharaoh Hounds come from Malta, where they're called the Kelb tal-Fenek, the rabbit dog. They're one of the oldest looking breeds we have, all clean lines and amber eyes, built like a slender greyhound with bigger ears. They're sighthounds, which means they chase first and think later, and the lead is not optional unless you fancy a three-mile sprint after a leaf.

Svelte, soft, and secretly clingy

Mine, called Anouk, looks like she should be aloof. She isn't. She follows me room to room and panics if I shut a door. The breed is affectionate in a low-key way, not a lapdog, more a shadow that occasionally demands a cuddle and then leaves the moment it's given. Independent but attached. A contradiction with a tail.

They're quiet in the house. No yapping, no drama, just a soft whuff if the doorbell goes. Outside, they transform into a velociraptor with good hair, locked onto anything that moves. Recall is a gamble, so I keep her on a long line in open spaces and let her run the garden fence where the rabbits are behind wire and the screaming is one-sided.

Coat is a dream. Short, glossy, no grooming to speak of, and they're clean. The downside is the cold. A Pharaoh Hound feels the chill like it's personal. Anouk owns three jumpers and wears them from October to May, and she accepts this with the dignity of a dog who knows she loses the argument.

What to know before the blush

They're delicate. Thin skin, easy to cut, and they feel heat and cold hard. Good with older kids, wary of rough handling, and they need a sofa that's theirs. Health is mostly sound, a few heart and eye screens worth doing, but they're a long-lived, low-drama sighthound if you respect the prey drive.

The recall lesson took a summer. I started with a long line in a field, a pocket of liver, and the rule that freedom only grew when she chose to check in. She learned the check-in before she learned the come, and the come followed once the check-in paid. Now she ranges, looks back, and ranges again, and I can almost trust her near a hare. Almost. The breed is a sighthound first, and a sighthound forgets her name at the sight of a running thing.

Training is gentle work. Harshness shocks them; they'll freeze and stop trying. Soft, food-led, short sessions, and they'll learn what matters. Anouk sits, waits, and gives a paw, none of which helped when the neighbour's cat appeared, but I love her for trying.

Would I have another? Yes, blush and all. There's something about a dog that's been around since the pharaohs and still can't hide when she's pleased to see you. The pink ears give her away every time.

The cold is her kryptonite and my winter wardrobe problem. Anouk has three jumpers and a coat, and on a frosty morning she stands at the door, looks at the sky, and looks at me, and I know the negotiation. We go out, she trots, she shivers, we come back, she climbs onto the radiator-adjacent sofa and defrosts. A Pharaoh Hound in a snowy country is a dog in the wrong climate, and the owner who loves her dresses her for it.

If you want an ancient, elegant sighthound with the emotional range of a teenager and the ears that blush, you'll adore her. If you want a dog for off-lead parks full of rabbits, you'll spend your life holding a lead. I hold the lead. The blush makes it worth the grip.

Anouk's blush has become the family's weather report. Excited, she goes pink. Bashful, she goes pink. Once, at the vet, she blushed so hard the nurse laughed and said she'd never seen a dog do that. It's the most honest thing about her, this dog who can't hide a feeling even when she wants to. The pharaohs bred her for the hunt; I keep her for the ears, and the ears tell me everything. A dog that blushes is a dog with nothing to hide, and after a life of stoic pets, that openness is the part I didn't know I'd been missing.

If you ever meet one, watch the ears. The blush is the honest part of a breed that's spent millennia looking regal, and the regal is real, but the blush is the truth.