Irish Wolfhound Lore
A Trio of Tales to Celebrate an Irish Icon BY DAN SAYERS
T he printed word came to Ireland in the 5th century as an adjunct of Chris- tianity. Prior to St. Patrick’s arrival in 432 A.D., literature— and history—was the exclu- sive domain of the ruling class- es. The filid or “seers” passed down sagas and geneologies through an oral tradition that remains part of the Irish char-
impending arrival. As a result, Culann had already released his most savage of hounds to guard the premises. (Accord- ing to legend, the beast required the control of three men using three separate chains.) When the hound came upon a young stranger trespassing on the property, it launched into a ferocious attack. In response, Sétanta thwacked his sliotat, or hurling ball, with perfect aim toward the animal’s head. The hound was killed instantly. When he learned that he’d just destroyed his host’s most trusted guard, Sétanta offered to protect Culann ‘s property himself until a new hound could be reared for the task. Impressed with the boy’s offer, the guests at the feast agreed that Sétanta should be given a new name in honor of his altruism and bravery. Cú Chulainn, or the “Hound of Culann,” was chosen and it is by this moniker Celtic authorities claim that Fionn mac Cumhaill was Master of the King’s Hounds under King Cormac mac Airt in the third or fourth century. So valued was his position that Fionn (also known as Finn MacCool) was considered the king’s chieftain or “right-hand man.” Poems from the Fenian cycle of Irish literature glorify the battles fought by the king’s men and the prowess of Fionn’s hounds in the field—and on the battlefield. So beloved were these hounds that the poet Oisín wrote, “To the son of Cumhaill, and the chiefs of the Fiann, it is sweeter to hear the voice of hounds than to seek mercy.” To Fionn, his hounds made music as they bayed throughout the forest, their chains clinking in time to their cries. The sound must have terrified his ene- mies, since Fionn’s pack is said to have been comprised of 300 adults and 200 puppies. Hundreds of these hounds are mentioned in the historical record by name, including a pair called Bran and Sceolaun. When Bran died, Fionn is said to have lost his pleasure for the hunt. This melancholy did not go unnoticed by the chieftain’s stewards who acquired several hounds of the same type as replacements. Fionn responded to only one, a hound that resembled Bran and was thus permitted to sleep on his master’s bed. As noted on the Irish Wolfhound Club of America’s website, “Finn had a favorite Hound named Conbec, and not in all of Ireland might any stag whatsoever, at which he was slipped, find covert that Ireland’s earliest hero is still known today. CONBEC OF PERFECT SYMMETRY
acter to this day. Notwithstanding biblical accounts of antiq- uity, centuries of Irish bards with the “gift of gab” introduced fantastic stories of giants, fairies and leprachauns based, at least in part, on real life historical figures. No part of Irish cul- tural identity has been immune to this hyperbole, including the recorded histories of the islands’s native dog breeds. In fact, the foundations of Éire’s homegrown hounds are built as much on revere as they are in reality. In the case of the Irish Wolfhound, the breed’s iconic status in the nation’s mytho- logical record is simply a matter for the faithful to decide. CÚ CHULAINN, THE HOUND OF CULANN According to the Táin Bó Cúailgne, an Irish epic that dates from the first century B.C., Cú Chulainn was a 17-year-old boy who single-handedly (with help from a series of supernatu- ral figures) defended the province of Ulster from attack by the Connacht queen Medb and her husband Ailill. However, before he found himself the central figure in the Heroic cycle of Irish literature, the young man was known by his given name, Sétanta. While still a child, he left his parents’ home in Muirthemne Plain to join up with a troop of boys in ser- vice to Conchobar mac Nessa, King of Ulster. In short order, the new recruit demanded that the entire troop fall under his protection. Apparently, they all agreed. One day, while playing a game of hurling with his subordinates, Sétanta caught the attention of the king and received an invitation to accompany him at a feast being prepared by a smith named Culann. As the story goes, Sétanta promised to join the king at the conclusion of the game. When he arrived late, he was unaware that the king had neglected to inform his host of his
“IN THE CASE OF THE IRISH WOLFHOUND, THE BREED’S ICONIC STATUS IN THE NATION’S MYTHOLOGICAL RECORD IS SIMPLY A MATTER FOR THE FAITHFUL TO DECIDE.”
84 • S how S ight M agazine , M arch 2018
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