Why Great Danes Like to Sit on Humans
Real Reason Great Danes Sit on Humans
Listen, I’m gonna level with you here. Yeah, I sit on you. And before you start with the whole “Yeti, you weigh 150 pounds” thing, let me explain something: in my mind, I’m basically a Chihuahua. I don’t know when or how this happened, but that’s just facts.
Here’s the deal. When I plop down on your lap, I’m doing like three things at once. First, I’m bonding with the pack that’s you, by the way. Second, I’m basically putting a “Property of Yeti” sticky note on you, except it’s my smell instead of a sticky note. And third, you’re warm. Like, really warm. You’re basically a heated blanket that also gives me attention.
The thunder thing? Look, I’m not proud of it, but when the sky starts making those boom noises, you turn into my personal 98.6-degree safety zone. You’re like a security blanket, except you can also scratch behind my ears, so that’s a win-win.
I know what you’re thinking: “Yeti, you’re huge.” But see, that’s where you’re wrong. Size is just a number. In my heart, I’m lap-dog sized, and that’s what really matters. There’s actually this whole history thing about why we Great Danes are like this, but honestly, I just like sitting on you.
Pack Bonding and Social Connection
Listen, when I decide your lap is the perfect spot, I’m not trying to be funny about how big I am. I actually forget sometimes. Okay, that’s not totally true, I know I’m bigger than a Chihuahua. But your lap looks comfortable, and I want to be there, so that’s where I’m going.
It’s a pack thing. We Great Danes are basically just wolves who got really tall and learned to live inside. When wolves hang out, they pile up on each other. It’s how they say “you’re in my group” without having to talk about their feelings. Way easier than texting.
So when I sit on you, I’m not trying to be the boss. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite. I’m telling you that you’re my person and I feel safe with you. Also, you’re warm. And soft. Well, softer than the floor.
I know your legs are going numb. I can feel you trying to shift around under me. But look—I’m making eye contact with you right now, and I’m perfectly happy. This is what love looks like. It’s heavy, it cuts off your blood flow a little bit, and yeah, maybe I’m drooling on your shirt. But it’s love—one hundred and fifty pounds of it. Plus, my emotional sensitivity allows me to gauge your feelings, which makes our bond even stronger.
Seeking Warmth and Comfort
Look, I’m not trying to be clingy or whatever, but my mom is basically a walking furnace, and I’ve got this coat that’s about as thick as a bedsheet.
Also, I’m pretty much just legs and ribs held together by appetite, so yeah, I’m cold. Like, all the time.
The way I see it, we’ve got a pretty good deal going. I lean against her for warmth, and she gets me as this giant heated pillow she claims she never wanted.
But I’ve seen her Instagram, she’s taking pictures of me on her lap with little heart emojis, so let’s not pretend she’s upset about it.
My ancestors probably had some fancy cave they’d curl up in when it got chilly.
Me? I’ve evolved. Why squeeze into some dark hole in the ground when there’s a perfectly good lap right here?
Sure, I’m like 150 pounds, but that’s beside the point. Her lap called to me. It’s basically my den now. That’s just science. Plus, the comfort of being close to my mom offers emotional support that enhances our bond.
Body Heat Exchange
Body Heat Exchange
Look, I know what you’re thinking when you see my coat—”That dog probably runs hot.” Wrong. Despite looking like I’m dressed for a blizzard, I’m basically walking around freezing all the time. My body temperature is supposed to be 101-102°F, which sounds warm until you realize I’ve got the coat thickness of a beach towel and about as much body fat as a green bean. I’m just out here trying to stay comfortable, okay?
Here’s how you can tell I’m using you as my personal heater:
- I rest my spine right against your kidneys while you’re watching TV. It’s the perfect spot—bony for me, uncomfortable for you. Win-win in my book.
- I lay across your lap like I’m a normal-sized dog and not 150 pounds of pure neediness. You asked for a weighted blanket at some point, right? You’re welcome.
- I squeeze myself between you and the couch cushions even though the math doesn’t really add up. Physics is more of a suggestion anyway.
- I follow you around the house just waiting for you to sit back down. The kitchen? I’m there. The bathroom? Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. I’m basically your shadow if your shadow weighed more than you.
You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re just a warm piece of furniture that occasionally feeds me. And honestly? I appreciate that about you.
Cozy Bonding Moments
Listen, I know you think I’m just using you as my personal radiator with a Hulu account, but there’s actually some science stuff happening here. When we cuddle up, our brains start making this thing called oxytocin. Basically, I’m not just warm anymore—I’m chemically stuck to you. Like, in a good way.
| What You Think I’m Doing | What I’m Really Doing | What Happens |
|---|---|---|
| Just getting warm | Getting warm AND hanging with my favorite person | We’re bonding now |
| Picked a random lap | Specifically picked YOUR lap | Building trust |
| Bad timing | Perfect timing (for me, anyway) | Getting closer |
Here’s the thing about shared warmth—it’s kind of like a trap we both fall into. You’re cozy, I’m comfortable, and before you know it, we’ve been on this couch for four hours. Neither of us wants to move because that would ruin everything, and honestly, I’m not about to be the one to break up this situation.
Natural Denning Instinct
Look, I’m gonna level with you. Nobody tells humans this before they bring us home, but when you get me, you basically become furniture. Not regular furniture, though. You’re like a heated recliner that also gives me snacks.
Here’s the deal: my great-great-great-grandparents figured out that piling up in caves kept everybody alive. That was smart. And I inherited all that smarts. Your lap? That’s my cave now.
You can tell I’m following my instincts by how I do these things:
- I walk in three circles before I sit on you. I don’t know why it’s three. Could be two, could be four, but it’s always three. Then I just drop. Usually on your stomach area.
- When it gets cold, all 150 pounds of me end up on your legs. It’s not personal. It’s science.
- Sometimes I just lean. Real slow. Real steady. Next thing you know, you’re smashed against the armrest, and you can’t reach the remote. That’s on you for sitting at the end.
- You keep pointing at my dog bed like I don’t see it. I see it. It’s nice. But it’s not warm like you, and it doesn’t have a heartbeat, so… no thanks.
I’m not being extra about this. My brain says “warm thing equals safe thing,” and you’re the warmest thing in the house. Well, you and the dryer, but I can’t fit on that.
Claiming Territory and Ownership
When I park my giant self on your lap, I’m basically planting my flag on Mount You and declaring victory. What I’m really doing is rubbing my smell all over you like some furry lawyer, making everything official. It’s scent transfer behavior, which is just a fancy way of saying I’m marking you with invisible stamps that say “YETI’S HUMAN” all over your clothes. Sorry, but you’ve been claimed. And honestly, even if there was a customer service number to call about it, good luck explaining that one. This behavior is part of my territorial instincts, which help me feel secure in my environment.
Marking You as Theirs
Look, I’m not trying to be weird about this, but yeah, you’re mine now. That’s just how it works.
When I sit on you, I’m basically putting up a sign that says “This human is taken.” It’s not complicated. I weigh like 150 pounds, I smell like a dog, and when I’m on top of you, everyone knows the situation.
Here’s how you can tell I’ve claimed you as my person:
- I squeeze myself between you and the cat—every single time
- When your friends come over, I immediately sit on you like “Hey, just so we’re all clear…”
- I put my head in your lap and just stare at your spouse until it gets uncomfortable
- I follow you to the bathroom because apparently, we do everything together now
The thing is, dogs have this whole scent-and-presence thing going on. I park my giant body on you, you end up smelling like me, and boom—territory marked. It’s efficient, really.
I know what you’re thinking. “Yeti, I’m supposed to be the owner here.” And I get that’s what you tell people.
But between us? You’re definitely the one being owned in this relationship. I don’t make the rules, I sit on them.
Scent Transfer Behavior
The science behind why I need to physically press my entire body against you is actually pretty straightforward.
Us dogs rely heavily on smelling stuff to communicate, and I’m basically using you as a walking billboard. When I sit on you, which, let me tell you, as a Great Dane is a whole production – I’m transferring my scent onto your clothes, skin, and general existence.
Scent recognition matters in the dog world. Other animals can smell me on you from across the park. It’s efficient, really. Instead of following you everywhere and growling at strangers like some maniac, I just marinate you in my personal fragrance. It’s like Febreze, but it’s me.
My apocrine glands do most of the work here. They’re concentrated in specific areas, and when I press against you – all 150 pounds of me – I’m leaving invisible business cards everywhere.
You mightn’t notice, which is probably for the best, but every dog you encounter definitely will. They’ll be like, “Oh, that’s Yeti’s person.” And then we can skip all the awkward introductions and get straight to sniffing each other’s butts or whatever.
Anxiety Relief and Security
Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this. I get nervous sometimes. Thunder happens. Fireworks happen. The mailman happens. And when those things happen, I need my person’s lap. All of it.
I know what you’re thinking. “Yeti, you’re 150 pounds.” Yeah, and? That’s exactly why this works. When I’m up here crushing my dad’s legs, I can’t see the scary stuff anymore. Problem solved.
Here’s how I know I need some emotional support:
- I start walking over real slow with what my mom calls “whale eyes,” which is rude, by the way.
- My whole body starts shaking, and I gotta press against someone’s chest for stability.
- There’s a thunderstorm I’m definitely not acknowledging while I’m sitting on dad’s spleen area.
- I sigh really heavily right in their face until whatever’s scaring me goes away.
The way I see it, if I can’t see the thing, the thing can’t see me. That’s just science. It’s important to remember that Great Danes, like me, often have separation anxiety when faced with stressful situations.
And if I happen to block my person’s ability to breathe while I’m invisible? That’s called sacrifice. They get it.
I’m not being dramatic. I’m being smart. There’s a difference.
Attention-Seeking Behavior
Sometimes I’m not even trying to scare him. I’m just doing my thing, maybe looking for a snack, when I notice the human’s lap sitting there empty. Like, why would you waste perfectly good lap space when there’s 150 pounds of me that could be sitting there?
The strategy is pretty simple. Make eye contact. Walk over real casual. Then just… sit.
| What I Do | What I Want | What I Get |
|---|---|---|
| Sit on him | Pets and attention | Pets and attention |
| Stare without blinking | Immediate head scratches | Immediate head scratches |
| Lean in with my full weight | Maximum love | Maximum love, weird noises from his legs |
Training humans is honestly not that hard. Every single time I sit on him, and he starts petting me, he’s basically telling me, “Yes, Yeti, this is correct behavior.” He thinks he’s in charge, but I’ve got the whole system figured out. This is my house. He just pays for it and lives under me. Plus, my ability to sense human emotions allows me to provide emotional support whenever I feel my human is stressed or in need of comfort.
Breed-Specific Traits and History
Listen, I’m gonna let you in on something about us Great Danes. We didn’t start as furniture testers. My ancestors were back in Germany? They were going after wild boar. You know what a wild boar is? It’s basically an angry pig with tusks that wants to murder you. And my great-great-great-great-however-many-greats grandpa was like, “Yeah, I’ll fight that.”
So we got bred for some pretty specific stuff:
- Being 150 pounds but still thinking laps are for us (they told us we were lap dogs as puppies and we just… believed them)
- Having legs so long, we don’t even have to try to steal food off the table; our chin just naturally rests there
- Bodies built for chasing dangerous animals that we now use exclusively for taking up three couch cushions
- The ability to see perfectly fine, but still knock over every single thing in a room
Here’s the thing about those old jobs guarding estates and standing next to rich people, we had to stay close to our humans. Real close.
And I guess we just… never stopped doing that. Except now, instead of protecting you from intruders, I’m protecting you from ever sitting alone or closing a bathroom door.
Interestingly, our strong attachment to family enhances our protective instincts, making us ever-present companions.
It’s funny when you think about it.
Final Thoughts
So there you have it. Your 150-pound “lap dog” isn’t confused about his size; he just doesn’t care. Like Harold from down the street, who sat on his dad’s laptop during a Zoom meeting and didn’t move for forty-five minutes. I mean, that’s commitment right there. Whether it’s bonding, warmth, anxiety, or just because we can, us Great Danes are gonna keep claiming human laps as our rightful thrones. You’re basically furniture now. Which is actually a pretty good gig when you think about it. You’re welcome.
