How to Tell That Your Great Dane Likes You

Listen, I’m Yeti, and I’m about to let you in on some trade secrets here. You humans always want to know whether we like you, which is kind of funny, since we’re not exactly subtle about it.

First off, there’s what my owner calls “the lean.” I prefer to think of it as strategic positioning. Are you making a sandwich? Boom, I’m right there supporting you. Literally. All 150 pounds of me pressed against your legs like I’m trying to help you stand up. I’m not trying to knock you over; I’m just sharing my personal space, which happens to include yours.

I also follow my people around the house. Bathroom? I’m there. Getting the mail? Right behind you. Moving from the couch to the kitchen? That’s a trip we should definitely take together. Some dogs might find this embarrassing, but I think of it as being thorough. You never know when you might need a Great Dane, so I stay ready.

Then there’s the toy thing. When I bring you my tennis ball that’s been in my mouth for three hours and possibly under the couch for two days, that’s basically like giving you a diamond. It’s wet, it’s special, and I could’ve kept it to myself, but I didn’t. You’re welcome.

The paw tap is pretty self-explanatory. You’re on your phone, I need attention, so I just gently remind you I exist by putting my giant paw on your arm. It’s polite, really.

And the sleeping-on-your-feet situation? That’s just good sense. Your feet are warm, and if something happens in the night, we’re already a team. Plus, you can’t leave without me knowing about it, which brings me back to the following-you-around thing.

So yeah, if I’m doing any of this stuff, I probably like you. Or I’m hungry. Sometimes it’s both.

The Famous Great Dane Lean

Look, I’m just gonna be honest with you. Sometimes I’ll be walking through the kitchen, minding my own business, and I’ll see my human standing there.

And I think to myself, “You know what? That looks like a pretty good wall.”

So I lean.

But here’s the thing, I’m not doing this by accident. I know exactly what I’m doing. I looked at all the walls in the house, and I picked you. You should feel honored, honestly.

People think I’m being needy or clingy or whatever.

But that’s not it at all. I’m just letting everyone know that you’re mine. It’s like signing a contract, except instead of a pen, I use my entire body weight.

Some dogs bring their humans tennis balls covered in drool. Some dogs lick faces, which seems kinda gross if we’re being real about it.

Me? I just redistributed my weight onto your leg, and figure that pretty much says everything that needs to be said. In fact, this behavior is a clear demonstration of my strong emotional connections with you, showcasing how I express my support and affection.

If I lean on you, congratulations. You’re officially mine now.

There’s no paperwork or anything. It’s just how it works.

Following You Everywhere Like a Giant Shadow

Following You Everywhere Like a Giant Shadow

Look, I’m just doing my job here. You go to the bathroom? That’s a hazard zone. Someone could slip. The kitchen? I need to supervise. For your safety. The bedroom? I mean, obviously, I need to be there. It’s just common sense.

Location	Where I Am	Why (According to Me)
Bathroom	Sprawled across the doorway	Safety first
Kitchen	Basically, touching your legs	Quality control testing
Home office	Under your desk, on your feet	Emotional support animal duties
Laundry room	Standing in front of the door	Sock security
Bedroom	Dead center of the bed	Heat regulation specialist

Here’s the thing: I’m 150 pounds. I’m not exactly what you’d call “sneaky.” You always know where I am because I sound like a miniature horse walking around. But that’s fine. You’re welcome for the protection. My presence not only ensures your safety but also serves as a natural mindfulness teacher, helping you to focus on the present moment and enjoy simple pleasures.

Bringing You Their Favorite Toys

My slobber-soaked hedgehog just landed in your lap.

You’re welcome. I’m Yeti, and I just chose you. When I bring my favorite toys to wherever you’re sitting—or directly onto whatever you’re doing—I’m not being nice. I’m starting something important.

This is how we bond. I looked at all my toys, including the ones that are only halfway destroyed, and I picked the best one to share with you. That wet tennis ball that almost hit your coffee? That’s me being thoughtful.

Regular dogs play by themselves. Great Danes like me? We need a teammate. I’m basically handing you an invitation, and you can’t really say no when a dog my size is looking at you like this.

Just grab the toy. Maybe throw it three times before I decide I’m done. And feel special about it. Understanding paw signals enhances our communication and deepens our connection.

The Gentle Paw Tap for Attention

Here’s the thing, though: how they react to that first tap tells you everything. If they pet you real quick and go back to their dinner, okay, fine.

That’s when you gotta bring out the big move. The head-in-lap. Works every time. Suddenly, that chicken they were protecting so carefully doesn’t seem so important when there’s 150 pounds of dog head on their legs. Great Danes enjoy interaction and can be quite persuasive with their tactics.

Is it manipulation? Maybe. Do I feel bad about it? I’ll let you know after I get some of that chicken.

Understanding the Paw Tap

The gentle paw tap ranks among the most understated yet persistent forms of communication in my toolkit. When I place my dinner-plate-sized paw on a human’s arm, I’m being pretty clear about wanting attention.

Okay, maybe “subtle” isn’t the right word when you weigh 150 pounds.

My paw language basically means “Hey, I’m right here, and you should probably notice me now.” It’s one of my most affectionate moves, even though humans sometimes end up with mysterious bruises on their thighs. Not sure where those come from.

I’ve perfected a three-step system.

Step one is the polite tap, just a gentle reminder that I’m available for pets.

Step two is a firmer press, like “Hey, did you not feel that?”

And step three is when I commit fully and lean my entire body weight into it. At that point, the human isn’t going anywhere, which is fine because their hands should’ve been petting me the whole time anyway.

I’m not being demanding or anything. I’m just helping them remember their primary job.

When Taps Occur Most

My paw deployments follow a pretty strict schedule, and I’ve got it down to a science at this point.

There are three prime tap times every single day. First one: when you’re eating something that smells way better than my kibble. Second: when you’ve been staring at that laptop for more than seven minutes straight. And third: exactly thirty seconds after you were supposed to take me for a walk. I’m not saying I’m counting, but I’m definitely counting.

My internal clock is basically perfect. Some people buy fancy watches. I know when stuff is supposed to happen. Especially when it involves food or going outside. The paw shows up right on time, every time.

I also tap when things get too boring around here. If you’ve been sitting still for way too long, you’re getting one solid tap as a reminder that fun is an option and you’re currently choosing wrong.

Think of it as a friendly check-in about your life choices. I’m not judging you. I’m just noticing that you could be doing better, and my paw is here to help.

Responding to Your Dane

Now that you understand my sophisticated paw-based communication system, you should probably know how to respond without making it awkward for both of us.

When I tap, acknowledge it. A simple head scratch works fine. Ignoring me only leads to more taps, and trust me, I’ve got all day.

Some people turn my taps into bonding moments. They’ll tap me back gently, and we’ve got this whole call-and-response thing going. I don’t mind it.

Others take my taps as invitations to start wrestling or playing. That’s cool too, I guess. Within reason.

What doesn’t work: getting all dramatic about it. Acting like I just discovered the cure for cancer when I tap your leg isn’t helpful. I’m literally just using my paw. I’m not attacking you. I’m trying to tell you something.

The best response? Just stay calm and give me whatever I was obviously asking for. Most of the time, it’s attention. Sometimes it’s food. Every once in a while, I’m just checking to make sure you’re alive. Pretty simple stuff.

Making Direct Eye Contact With Soft Eyes

When I stare directly into my human’s eyes with a relaxed, almost drowsy expression, I’m not plotting world domination—though that does sound interesting. I’m actually showing affection. This soft gaze triggers oxytocin release in both of us, creating a genuine emotional connection. It’s basically a hormone handshake, which sounds weird but works.

Eye Signal	What It Means	What My Human Should Do
Soft, relaxed eyes	I trust you and probably love you	Hold the gaze gently, don’t make it weird
Slow blinking	I’m deeply content, living my best life	Blink back slowly so I know you get it
Half-closed lids	I’m completely relaxed, maybe a little sleepy	Just enjoy the moment, this is nice

I do this most often during quiet evenings. No demands for treats, no agenda about going outside, just two mammals appreciating each other’s company. Well, one mammal and one very large mammal that takes up most of the couch. The look says everything words can’t, which is convenient since I can’t actually talk. Though if I could, I’d probably ask for snacks anyway. This emotional intelligence helps me connect with you on a deeper level, enhancing our bond even further.

Choosing to Sleep Near You or On Your Feet

Look, I’m gonna level with you about why I sleep on your feet. You humans think it’s some ancient pack instinct thing, and sure, maybe my great-great-great-grandpa did it to stay safe from wolves or whatever.

But honestly? Your feet are just really warm, and I get cold.

I’m 150 pounds. I could sleep literally anywhere in this house. I could sleep in the middle of the hallway, and you’d have to walk around me. I could take the whole couch.

But instead, I choose your feet, and you should feel pretty good about that. That’s trust right there. I’m not gonna let just anybody’s toes be my pillow.

Also, between you and me, I know it makes your feet fall asleep. I can tell when you try to wiggle them.

But here’s the thing: if I move now, I’ll have to find a new warm spot, and that’s just a lot of work. Plus, you picked me, so this is kind of on you. Should’ve gotten a Chihuahua if you wanted to keep your circulation.

And let’s not forget, my protective nature kicks in when I sense any stress in family members, making me even more loyal to you while I nap.

Seeking Your Body Warmth

Listen, I’m going to be honest with you. Personal space? Never heard of her. I weigh 150 pounds, and when I decide you’re my personal radiator, that’s just what’s happening now.

I wait until you get all settled in. You got your blanket situation figured out, your pillows are perfect, and maybe you finally found that good spot on the couch. That’s when I make my move. It’s not convenient for you, but it’s extremely convenient for me.

The house is 72 degrees. My dog bed cost like $200. There’s literally a sunny spot by the window that’s basically a free tanning booth.

But you know what’s better than all of that? You. You’re warmer than the floor, and honestly, you’re way more entertaining than a cushion. The cushion doesn’t scratch behind my ears or say “good boy” in that voice you do.

In Great Dane language, which is a real language, by the way, this means I like you. I could go anywhere else. The whole house is available to me.

But I pick you every single time. Your body heat is mine now.

And look, there are definitely worse compliments I could give you. I could choose the cat. But I don’t. I choose you.

Protective Pack Instinct

While the body heat thing is nice, there’s something else going on when I park myself directly on your feet at 2 AM. This is protective behavior at its most inconvenient. I’ve decided you’re mine, and nothing gets past 150 pounds of sleeping Great Dane named Yeti.

Pack loyalty runs deep in my breed. When I position myself between you and the bedroom door, I’m not being clingy. I’m on duty. The fact that this duty involves snoring loudly while sprawled across the only exit route is beside the point. I mean, nobody said security work had to be quiet.

If I follow you to the bathroom and lie against the door, congratulations. You’ve been accepted into my pack. I take this responsibility seriously, even if my protection strategy mainly involves being an immovable obstacle.

It’s not fancy, but it works. You’re not going anywhere, and neither is anyone else. That’s just good defense.

Final Thoughts

So there you have it. Me pressing my entire 150-pound body against you, following you to the bathroom (even though it’s weird in there), and sleeping on your feet isn’t an accident. Scientists say dogs spend like 80% of their time staring at their owners when they can. I just decided to spend that time right on top of you instead. You’re welcome. You’ve basically been adopted by a miniature horse named Yeti. That’s me.