Exercising Options

Baxter is a walker. He will go anywhere with gusto, smelling every tree, checking every shrub for birds (or cats) and maintaining a lanky lope that I can barely keep up with. Kirby, on the other hand, only likes to walk within a five block radius of our house, and only on days when it isn't too hot or too cold or too noisy or too windy. So every time I try to take both dogs on a longer walk, I end up with Baxter pulling me forward and Kirby pulling me backward (until I turn toward home when the whole thing reverses).

I've been nursing a shoulder injury of late -- dog-related. I'll save it for another time. In short: it's really hard for me to manage this "push-me-pull-you" style of dog walking. So I've started exercising the dogs separately, and they love it.

One of Kirby's favorite things to do, of late, is fetch a tennis ball. He sprints with joy, grabs the ball with laser accuracy (most of the time) and returns it to my feet and stares at it with the intensity of a collie until I throw it again (his DNA is showing through). Kirby will repeat this until he wears himself out or it gets too hot. He then either lays down in the shade or, as he did this morning, jauntily carries the ball back to the door of our house. Perfect.

I open the door, Kirby runs in and Baxter comes out with me for a longer walk, which he absolutely loves. I think not having the little guy under foot suits him better. He doesn't pull on the leash as much as he used to when he was younger. I think he's just content to keep a brisk walk going with an occasional detour to get a whiff of something that's just inches beyond the reach of his leash.

Everyone is happy with this set-up. And it keeps us all a wee bit fitter.

Gentle Reminders

Every once in a while I have one of those days that is so blindingly busy -- you know, that vaudevillian sense of all the plates on all the sticks wobbling and you'll never get them all going again without something crashing to the floor -- that I almost lose my sense of time and place. These are the times I pay the least attention to the dogs, but the times when I most appreciate them. They don't have days like that. For them, it's just another boring day, watching me type and stare at a screen with squiggles on it. And every once in a while the dogs decide to do something about it.

Baxter's style is the big paw on the lap and the earnest look, straight into my eyes, that says "It's time for you to step away from the infernal glowing squiggle machine now."

Kirby usually takes a more verbal approach. Sometimes he'll put his paws on my leg, but usually he'll just sit, staring intensely at me, and start making little growly noises that almost sound like words. Humpf. Humpfrrr. Humpfrrowrow.

It must be time for dinner...

Desert Road Trip

We recently returned from a desert Southwest road trip with my mom and the dogs. We timed it to see the peak bloom of wildflowers in Death Valley (next to 2005, one of the most spectacular blooms of the century I'm told). We drove to Las Vegas, met family who flew in, rented a van and spent an entire day just tooling around DV. Baxter and Kirby, who are accustomed to having their own gated space at the back of the Subaru, were thrilled to ride unfettered in the minivan. Well, almost unfettered. I elected to play dog wrangler, sitting in the far-back seat with the other half folded down. The dogs frolicked in the back, but soon decided the seat would be more comfortable and both decided to jump onto my lap at the same time. Thank goodness my lap isn't big enough for both of them...but that didn't stop them from trying.


Of course, Death Valley was spectacular. It's always spectacular for its geology, but when you add a blanket of greenery and wildflowers that seem to spurt from impossible sandy soils and rocks, it's off the charts. I don't think the dogs quite appreciated the sweet smell of sand verbena on the wind -- something I couldn't get enough of and ended up spending a great deal of time on my knees bending down to get a stronger whiff. But they were pretty excited to find a nice patch of grass at the oasis around the visitor's center at Furnace Creek. Three days on the road and not a whole lot of grass to be found.


We turned in the van, said goodby to our air-traveling kin and went on to Sedona, Arizona (another of our favorate places). While both Baxter and Kirby are good travelers, I think they were glad to spend a few days on terra firma.


Kirby visited the area briefly as a pup, but Baxter has been to Sedona many times over the years and has a few favorite spots. He started whining as we drove down Verde Valley School Road in the Village of Oak Creek...winding our dusty way toward Red Rock Crossing. There, where the smooth red rocks slope gently down to Oak Creek, the water widens into a pool that is one of Baxter's all time favorite stick-fetching spots.


Now, while Kirby is far better at fetching on land (Baxter pretty much refuses, choosing instead to run off with the stick and chew it) Baxter is the king of fetch in the water. As soon as we released the dogs, Baxter made a beeline for the creek. With the enthusiasm of a dog half his age, Baxter took a leap into the ice cold water and gleefully swam out to fetch sticks over and over and over.


Kirby, who isn't a big fan of swimming, waited on the shore. Each time Baxter returned to dry land with a stick, Kirby proceeded to grab one end of it and run alongside him... A couple of times Kirby successfully wrested the stick from Baxter and cheerfully carried it over to drop it at our feet, as if to take credit. Bax didn't seem to mind, because he knew he was the only one who would venture back into the creek to fetch it again.


It was a warm, sunny day so we took a little walk to dry off the dogs and stretch our legs. We found a lovely spot in the trees, rested in the shade and admired the view of Cathedral Rocks (which Jamie painted and I attempted to sketch). It was a lovely afternoon.


The next day we went for a hike with the dogs, who were more than happy to hit the trail. But like any weekend warriors who are a tad advanced in age, Baxter started showing a bit of wear and tear. Between running across the sandstone and padding up the rocky trails, Baxter's feet were a little sore and his hips seemed a tad stiff. He stepped gently and slowly (no more pulling!) and decided he would only walk on pavement, avoiding the rocky yard at the front of the hotel. After a day of rest he was back in ship shape and rearing to go.


Kirby, whose pads are small and extremely thick (it's as if they have Nike air technology that allows him to bounce), didn't seem to notice any wear at all. Of course, he's young. It's amazing how resiliant young bodies are...a fact of which I am constantly reminded now that I'm no longer a kid myself...


The trip home, through Death Valley again, provided even more spectacular wildflower sightings. The blanket of desert sunflowers covering the hills was at least three times thicker the second weekend. We drove North along the East side of the snow-capped Sierras, up through our old haunts in Ashland (where we had a lovely Easter brunch with friends and Baxter and Kirby got to celebrate Baxter's 11th birthday (which fell on Easter, just like the day he was born) playing with their old friend Jackson.


It was a lovely trip. And while the boys seem very happy to be back home and into their normal routine, I think they had a pretty good time too.

Lumps and Life

Baxter is an elegant dog. He has always been a tad tall for his breed, Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, but his long legs and lean body create a perfectly balanced and graceful form beneath his scruffy hair. Baxter is a dog who looks as good wet as he does dry (Kirby, on the other hand, rather needs the fluffy hair). But as he's gotten older, Baxter's beautiful tweedy coat has camouflaged his increasing lumpiness. Thank goodness, the vet tells us these lumps are only lipomas -- benign, fatty growths that are quite common in older dogs, particularly retrievers and other hunting dogs.

It's very hard for me to admit Baxter is getting old. On April 4 he will turn 11 -- he is, most definitely, in his golden years. But he has so much energy, such joie de vivre, it's sometimes hard to see the signs of age. But they're there. When I run my hands down his sides, I feel the landscape of a half-dozen lumps beneath his skin. More on his neck, his chest, down his thighs. All covered by that glorious hair.

The vet always takes meticulous measurements to ensure none are growing at a rapid rate that might suggest some other form of tumor. So far, nothing to worry about, he says. I hope so. I just wish there was something I could do. Some way I could hold off the inevitable decline that begins with a few lumps and the occasional shaky back leg. I don't want to see my boy grow old. I want him to always be the spry, athletic, goofy yet soulful pup I've known and loved for the past decade-plus.

Among other things, one lesson I learned from my father's death is that we must cherish every moment we have with our loved ones. But I sometimes forget this. I too often take my family members -- including our dogs -- for granted. When I get done working, doing all those important things I need to get done, I just know they'll be there.

But they won't.

So today I took a nap with the dogs. Something I haven't done in a while. I stepped away from the computer and curled up next to Baxter on the floor. He stretched and nestled into the crook of my arm. Kirby curled up next to my leg. And we snoozed.

Pure bliss.

Kato: A Sad Story with a Happy Ending

Another long period without writing my blog. It has been such a strange few months since we got back from Japan. Some good things have happened. And some sad things have happened, one of which was the passing of my dear uncle in Iowa and the drama that ensued around the fate of his little dog, Kato.

My uncle had no children. His wife had passed away a couple of years ago, leaving him and their new puppy, a little white pomeranian named Kato, to fend for themselves. Life was never quite the same for my uncle after my aunt died, and while Kato was quite a handful for an arthritic fellow in his mid-80s, that little dog seemed to be the only joy in my uncle's life.

Kato was, of course, the little prince of the household. I'm not sure he ever heard the word "no." My aunt and uncle had always had poms, but Kato was by far the liveliest (and, I think, the cutest) puppy they'd ever had. He bounced. He could spin blindingly fast in circles. He did laps around the house. He loved to play in the snow for hour on end. And, as all puppies do, he created mischief.

According to reports from my uncle, Kato mellowed a bit as he matured, but he still maintained an energy level unrivalled by any of his predecessors. Kato's greatest asset was his sweet disposition. He never growled. He seemed to be smiling all the time. He absolutely loved sitting in your lap and would bathe you with kisses if you let him. And it was that loving personality that kept my uncle going day after day.

I took this video of Kato with my phone when my mom and I went to visit my uncle last fall. At the time, I had no idea how significant this little video would be to Kato's future.



We learned the news of my uncle's passing when we returned from Japan. My heart sank. Then my sadness quickly turned to concern -- what about Kato? He had stayed in my uncle's house and was being fed by a neighbor while my uncle was in the hospital. Now what? He needed an immediate temporary home and, at some point, a permanent home.

Still jetlagged from my trip and overwhelmed with a combination of grief and a nasty chest cold, I made finding a safe place for Kato a number one priority. I contacted the national Pomeranian rescue and learned there wasn't a rescue organization taking poms anywhere near my uncle. So I put the word out to some of my friends and family on Facebook... And here's where I most appreciated Facebook's capacity to make connections with old friends.

Through Facebook I had re-connected with Lisa, a dog-loving friend from my childhood days, who still lives in the town where I grew up (the town where my uncle lived). Lisa (dear soul) immediately ran down to the local shelter and asked about rescue resources... Within the day she connected me with Linda, a woman who provides temporary care for dogs in her home. Linda agreed to care for Kato until our family could get back to Iowa or until we made arrangements for his adoption...whichever came first.

The next morning Linda was at my uncle's house, picked-up little Kato (who was, by now, quite confused and lonely) and took him straight to the vet, where I had made arrangements to have him neutered. She picked him up from the vet, took him home, cleaned him up and proceeded to give him as much love and comfort as a sweet, lonely little dog could take.

I turned again to my dog-loving connections and sent around the little video of Kato...hoping that someone among my friends or family back there would want to give him a permanent loving home. A few days later I got a note from one of my cousins...she had sent the video to some dear friends in Minnesota who were looking for a little dog, and Kato's video had simply charmed them.

To make a long story a wee bit less long... I had some long talks with Kato's temporary caregiver (who had also fallen in love with Kato, but couldn't keep him permanently due to family concerns). She said he had been wonderful with her grandchildren, got along splendidly with her cat and would make a fine companion for a family with children. He was just in need of some basic training.

I had a few long talks with the prospective family, asked them questions, told them of Kato's sweet and gentle nature, and made sure they knew Kato would require some firm guidance to learn the rules of the house. They were OK with it all. They seemed like wonderful people. We had a new home for Kato!

When I went back to Iowa for my uncle's funeral I had a chance to visit Kato before his new family came to pick him up. When he saw Mom and me, his little brow furrowed and he got this look of concern on his face... Did he remember us from my uncle's house? He snuggled into my arms and looked up at me with his sweet, dark eyes. At that point I almost had a hard time not packing him up and taking him back to Oregon myself. But I knew this was the right thing...so many people had come together to help this little dog. And there was a nice family just a couple of hours away who were incredibly excited about adopting him.

I spoke with Kato's new family recently. He's settling in. The kids love him. It took the cats a while to warm up to him, but now they play chase and get along just fine. He adores playing in the snow and snuggling up in the evening. He's had a few behavior issues to resolve, as expected, but with love and firm guidance, he is making progress. Most of all, he's happy. And his new family is happy. And I know that's what my uncle wanted for his sweet little Kato.

Japan Has Dog People

ScruffyDog has been on a bit of a blog holiday... Actually, I was on a real holiday -- in Japan -- and dealing with all the craziness that happens when work compresses leading into and out of a vacation. We had a wonderful time. Mom house-sat with the grand-dogs and the neighbor was our dog walker.

Upon our return, after being away for two weeks, the boys were happy to see us and jumped all over us for at least five minutes...slightly longer than the greeting we usually get for being away for a day. I think we were even happier to see them.

For me, a vacation in another culture is such a departure from familiar things, it almost feels as if reality is suspended for a while. Even so, it doesn't take long for us to start missing the presence of our dogs. My husband and I joked that we were dog stalkers on the streets of Takayama and Kanazawa. We'd spot a dog, make eye contact with dog and walker, and soon we were petting the dog and all parties were smiling. It's been pretty easy to spot the dog-people in every country we've visited... They share knowing glances...recognizing the looks on our faces that say "we have dogs at home and we miss them, can we just pet your dog for a minute?"

Happy 7th Birthday Paco!

Paco, a long time canine friend of this blog, Ashland dog park playmate and Kirby look-alike is celebrating his 7th birthday today.

Baxter, Kirby and the Scruffy Dog family wish Paco a rip-roaring, treat-laden, fun-filled day. Wish we could be there to help celebrate with a few laps around the dog park!

Kirby Likes Kohlrabi

We don't feed our dogs from the dinner table. But occasionally, over the course of dinner, a wee morsel of something we're eating accidentally makes its way to the floor. For years, if that morsel has been cheese, meat or anything sweet, Baxter is all over it. Veggies pretty much stay where they fall.

Enter Kirby, the veggie-loving dog. I have yet to drop a vegetable on the floor that Kirby didn't gobble up as if it were a liver biscuit. Carrots, potatoes, greens and tonight, kohlrabi. I wasn't even sure I would like kohlrabi. It's a relatively new vegetable for me. We keep getting it from our CSA farm and I'm never sure what to do with it. Someone recently told me "just slice it and eat it raw." So I cut this week's kohlrabi into little sticks and served it with some dip. Rather than double-dipping, I decided to break a stick in half. I lost my grip and the kohlrabi stick went flying. Kirby pounced on it and immediately took a bite. He decided he liked it and chomped down the rest in about 10 seconds.

Interestingly enough, Kirby frequently turns up his nose at the offer of a milkbone or other common dog biscuit but will usually accept a meat-based, grain-free, fancy dog biscuit if given the opportunity. I guess the scruffy little shelter pup has a refined and healthy palate. I wish I could be more like that myself!

Face-off

Baxter's Tiger-watch vigil at the back door finally paid off in a photo opp. (and probably saved a bird or two as well). The other day, as we were walking past Baxter at his usual post by the back door, we spotted this perfect moment (thank goodness Jamie's camera was within arm's reach).

Tigerchen, the cute and crafty neighbor kitty, recently discovered that the base under our potted bamboo plant provided a perfect perch from which to hunt the birds in the feeder overhead.

Alas, this was a once-in-a-lifetime photo... Much to Tiger's chagrin, we have since covered this nice, flat platform with pointy rocks, making it unsuitable as a launch pad for pouncing on unsuspecting dining chickadees. The doorway, however, still provides an excellent spot for bird and cat-watching and, when open, a perfect launch pad for Baxter to take-off after neighbor cats hanging out on our patio...

Baxter and Kirby on Cat Watch

Jamie captured this quiet, watchful moment this morning on our patio. I love this picture!

Hot Pants X Deux

The heat wave in our area has kept us hiding in the air conditioning for several days now. Baxter seems to be the only one who wants to be outside...probably to keep tabs on the neighbor cat. Kirby always seems excited to go out, then hits the hot air and changes his mind. Attempts at dog walks end up with Kirby getting about a block from home, then making a 180 to pull toward home.

Bax has a pretty high heat tolerance -- he's off the ground enough to catch the occasional breeze under his belly. But Kirby, being dark and rather close to the ground, overheats almost immediately.

What's Baxter's secret for beating the heat? A very large tongue. When I'm out with him in the heat (because trips outside must happen, heat wave or not), and he's walking along beside me with his tongue dangling out the side of his mouth, I'm always amazed at just how long and wide that tongue is. A veterinarian friend of mine told me Bax has the biggest tongue she's ever seen. Evaporative cooling.

Feeding Tigerchen, Baxter's Nemesis

We've been asked to feed Tigerchen (aka Tiger or Baxter's nemesis, the orange neighbor cat who prances around behind our house while Baxter sits inside whining) while Tiger's family is away this weekend. I am certain we'll get the 3rd degree each time we come home...Will Bax ever forgive us?

Baxter's obsession with Tiger has gone a bit too far. Our back window is, essentially, Tiger TV. Baxter will sit there for HOUR ON END at full attention, watching Tiger saunter back and forth, roll in the lawn, weave in and out of the bushes. The other day Kirby actually flushed Tiger out from under a shrub and both he and Baxter went crazy as Tiger took off, hissing. (So I hear, I wasn't there, but now every time we go outside both Baxter and Kirby have to examine that shrub just in case...)

Tiger is a young cat. We're not moving any time soon. Will this obsession with Tiger ever wear off? I seriously doubt it. Baxter had a similar "relationship" with our neighbor cat Lucky in our first home. Baxter actually caught Lucky once and then didn't know what to do...He just stood there, frozen, awe-struck by his own luck.

All I can say is, I hope our screen door on this house is stronger than the screen door on that one.

Howling at Sirens

Today as Baxter, Kirby and I were out for our morning walk, we heard an ambulance coming down the road. We were stopped at a crosswalk and as the ambulance drew closer -- and louder -- Baxter became quite concerned. Suddenly, just as it passed us, he barked and then threw his head back and howled. I haven't seen him howl at a siren since he was a puppy. Baxter definitely has his own, unique howling voice...somewhere between Satchmo and a Bavarian yodeler. Nonetheless, it was quite the dramatic moment. Suddenly he stopped and just stood there as if nothing had happened. It was rather like an out-of-body howling experience, I think.

I wonder if he's been taking notes from the local coyotes...? A few nights ago, as we were watching a movie at home, we heard some very loud howling outside...it sounded like the coyotes were practically in our yard. Oh, we hear the occasional howl when a siren goes by. In the springtime we could hear a pretty good sized group that rather sounded like adolescents yipping and howling in the woods across from our home. But this was something quite spectacular and it was loud enough to be heard OVER the movie and the air conditioner and with the windows closed. Baxter and Kirby were silent. Baxter looked curious. Kirby looked nervous. My husband and I paused the movie and ran outside to listen. There must have been a dozen or more coyotes, very close by, singing along with a siren. It was quite the chorus of vocal stylings, apparently from coyotes of all ages and sizes. It went on for a few minutes and gradually tapered off as the siren disappeared into the distance. What a treat.

I love that feeling of wildness being so close to our home... And when Baxter or Kirby howls, it's a reminder that a little bit of that wildness lives with us in our home too.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Kirby!

Bring on the squeaky toys...for today we celebrate Kirby's third birthday! I say we celebrate it because we don't really know exactly when Kirby was born. Apparently the folks who rounded him up on the farm somewhere in Northern California didn't know how long that litter of puppies had been running around before they brought them in. When we adopted him, the folks at the shelter thought he was a wee lad of 10 weeks or so. His vet subsequently told us that, based on his teeth, he was probably a few weeks older than we thought. We counted back appropriately and decided 7/7 was a mighty fine day for a birthday.

So here's to Kirby -- Happy 3rd!

Life is Better with Dogs

It has been a while since this picture was released, but I have to say it is one of my favorite POTUS pictures ever. I can't even begin to say all the reasons why I love this picture, but most could be categorized under "dogs bring joy."

Flights of Stairs

We met a fellow at the dog park the other day. He had two Irish Wolfhounds and said he lived with them in a relatively small townhome. Wow. These were BIG dogs. I thought about Baxter, who looked small in comparison. We also live in a townhome. And while Baxter is normally pretty low energy in the way he pads around the house, there are times I sense that he's cramped. He just can't cut loose and run around the way he used to when we had a bit more space. This makes visits to the dog park an essential element of life.

Kirby, on the other hand, is just the perfect size for townhome living. He runs around and under the furniture with ease and considers the stairway a recreational area. He likes to take his rubber bouncy artichoke toy and drop it from the top of the stairs, chase it down, grab it at the bottom and run back up to start again. If I sit at the top, he brings the toy to me to drop in a sort of stairway fetch routine (that's the collie in him coming out).

What's most interesting about watching Kirby navigate the stairs is the way he seems to effortlessly "fly" down them. I swear, the movements of his feet are so quick and slight, it appears as if he's not touching at all. His back legs extend fully behind him and from the rear he seems to be sliding down on a cushion of air mere inches from the surface. His feet seem to touch ever so briefly at the landing (appropriately named), as he makes a sharp left then continues "flying" down to the bottom, landing squarely on all fours. It's quite a sight.

It gets even more interesting when Baxter and Kirby attempt to descend the stairs at the same time. Baxter has to take it relatively slowly, as an increase in momentum would likely result in crashing into the landing or a long skid on the hardwood floor at the bottom (we've seen it). Bax is pretty elegant in his stairway style and he usually maintains control. But there's no doubt all four feet are taking turns on the steps. Kirby usually navigates around or under Baxter on the way down, completing the flight in about half the time.

At the dog park, the situation is reversed, however. Baxter takes longer to get up to speed, but once he's there, he glides with an elongated, elegant gait. Kirby starts out fast and scampers at a top speed that's about half of Baxter's.

While both dogs enjoy the dogpark, I tend to think of it as Baxter's time. He needs room to run. And seeing the joy on his face is worth the trip every time.

Not Acting One's Age

I struggle with this one, and apparently so does Baxter.

I feel younger than I am. I'm still working on what I want to be when I grow up. I would still much rather play than do anything else. And I still have the sense that my body should behave like it did 20 years ago; the realization that it doesn't usually comes in the form of aching muscles and kinks in places I didn't know could kink.

Baxter has similar issues, although he doesn't seem to worry about them nearly as much as I do. Hanging around the house he's still the same loafer he's always been. At 10 years old, he's a tad less riled by strange noises than when he was a youth -- he's figured out what's worth getting upset over and what merely warrants a lift of the head and a sigh before going back to sleep.

But at the dogpark, it's play time. And in this milieu he frequently forgets that he's not the limber puppy he used to be. He'll run with abandon, spin around, dip into a play bow, jump up and tag a dog to start a chase. Only once in a while all that running and jumping and spinning results in the kink, the pulled something-or-other that stops him in his tracks. He suddenly gets quite solemn and limps toward the gate. Time to go.

It usually works itself out in a few hours. But when that happens, it always makes me feel a little sad. Like me, Baxter still just wants to play. He doesn't know he's getting older, he just gives it his all. And sometimes his body just doesn't have as much to give. When I stop to think, relative to his expected lifespan, how much older Baxter is than I am, I'm quite amazed and encouraged by his youthful exhuberance. I hope I'm as enthusiastic and curious as he is when I'm his age.

The part that's hard for me to think about is how much faster his life is going by than mine. It's hard to think of Baxter as growing old. I see the little lines around his eyes, the freckles on his light brown nose and the eyes that have a little less shine than they did when he was a youth. But if you didn't know Baxter up close, you would never dream he's in his elderly years. He's in great shape. And when he's running across a field he's beautiful thing to watch -- the elegance of his long stride, nose in the wind, ears flying.

I don't want to see him hurt himself, but I also hope Baxter never loses his playful nature, his joie-de-vivre. And I hope the same for myself. I guess we'll just have to pace ourselves.

DNA Update

I've been having a pleasant email conversation with one of the staff people at Canine Heritage (very nice and responsive). She provided me with a bit more detail around Kirby's DNA results. Turns out, only about 50% of his DNA can be matched to specific breeds. It's likely that some of that other 50% is one or more of the terrier breeds that haven't yet been DNA mapped, such as Jack Russell Terrier. So the guessing game continues!

Also, she provided some clarity on the numbers...

There is approximately 23% to 25% Chihuahua in Kirby. I asked if that meant a grandparent was all or part Chihuahua or if it just all adds up to that percentage. She said that when it states that Chihuahua is Secondary, that could be more than one Chihuahua in his background, and "it certainly doesn't mean that a purebred Chihuahua was in the woodpile either."

Lhasa Apso is approximately 14 to 15% and the Collie / Shetland Sheepdog is approximately 10%. The rest of Kirby is unknown.

While I had a good time with the DNA test, I am not at all bummed to only get half of it... I've always found a certain comfort in mystery. What we don't know keeps us curious, and curiosity keeps us thinking and asking questions and pondering possibilities. And it provides more fodder for dog park conversations...

Kirby's DNA Results are In!

The results of Kirby's Canine Heritage DNA breed test have arrived! Drum roll please...

Primary DNA: None

This is not surprising according to the CH people..."very few mixed breed dogs have a breed listed in Primary. The dog must have a purebred parent to have a breed in this category. Even then, the breed can end up in Secondary."

Secondary DNA: "Reports the DNA of breeds detected at significant levels within your dog. Breeds in this category can have a strong influence on your dog’s appearance and/or behavior." Kirby has only one in this category:


Chihuahua?!?

Ok, that was totally unexpected...


In the Mix DNA: "In the Mix category identifies breeds that appear in your dog’s DNA, but only in small amounts. Sometimes, they may represent breeds earlier in your dog’s ancestry. They may have no bearing on your dog’s appearance and/or behavior."

Lhasa Apso

Collie

Shetland Sheepdog

Unknown DNA: Says CH: "We have the markers for 106 breeds. However, there are 1100 dog breeds in the world. It is apparent that your dog is also comprised of another breed or breeds that we do not have the markers for."

The "In the mix" breeds are not as surprising to me as the Chihuahua. I had considered Lhasa Apso previously, given Kirby's body shape and underbite. We had also guessed that some sort of collie or sheepdog might be in there because of the way Kirby herds us down the beach...and there's a bit of that sheltie look about him at times, especially through the face.

But Chihuahua? That breed has not come up in ANY conversation about Kirby EVER. Wow.

I'm really surprised there isn't any terrier there. Or Schnauzer. Or Dachsund. And while he doesn't look particularly like a German Shepherd other than his coloring, the shelter thought his mom was a German Shepherd mix, so we figured it was a given. But based on her picture and Kirby's DNA, she must be some sort of collie mix.

But does this mean his dad was probably some sort of Chihuahua/Lhasa Apso mix? Apparently "Chi-Apsos" are one of the latest designer dogs - yes, people are actually crossing them on purpose. Although I think it's more likely Kirby's dad was the "design" of some teeny little Romeo who dug his way under the neighbor's fence...

Now that I think about it, Chihuahua might explain the Baja connection. Our friend Cheryl, who spends the winters in Baja and has a little Kirby look-alike dog named Paco, says there are little dogs that look like Kirby and Paco running all over the beaches of Baja. Perhaps some Kirby ancestor made the trek up to Northern California from Mexico, bringing his ancient Toltec dog DNA and some scruffy, non-DNA-mapped Baja dog along with it.

In any case, Kirby's the same loveable, sweet, spunky, bouncy, waggy, happy little dog he's always been. And after all the pondering and blog posts and dog park conversations we've had whenever someone asks "what kind of dog is he?" we're now going to have to get used to giving some different responses.

Chihuahua/Lhasa Apso/Collie/Shetland Sheepdog/Mystery Dog.

A Fetching Chase Scene

Playing fetch with a dog can be a very satisfying experience. You send some object off and it is cheerfully returned to you. It's a lovely, complete circuit.

I can't say that I've had the satisfaction of that completed circuit when it comes to receiving Kirby's DNA test results... Yes, I had the test kit for a couple of months before actually doing the test and sending it off, but now that it's done, I'm in a big hurry for the postman to fetch me the results. I haven't been this interested in getting the mail since I was in college, hoping for a parental check or a box of cookies.

On the subjects of DNA and fetching...I think we've pretty much confirmed that Kirby has at least some collie blood: sheltie, border collie, Australian Shepherd, something along those lines. As I've reported from our previous beach trips, Kirby is a natural born fetcher. Add to that his keen ability to herd us as we stroll down the beach, and I think we can be pretty sure of at least one bloodline on the DNA test. Kirby may have some definite terrier traits, but I've never met a terrier who would herd and fetch right out of the box. Kirby's eyes light up at the prospect of chasing a stick and his execution is near perfect...the stick is thrown, he makes a beeline for it (no stopping to smell jellyfish or roll on dead birds), he grabs the stick, turns on a dime and brings it immediately back to drop it at your feet. Kirby will do this over and over and over with the same gusto each time.

We made another trip to the beach this past week, where Baxter did his usual "take the stick and run off to chew it to sawdust" version of "fetch." Kirby, in the meantime, was doing a superb job of demonstrating his keen retrieving ability. Perhaps it was Kirby's success at pleasing the alphas with his fetching prowess. Or perhaps Baxter just had a wild hair. But all of a sudden Bax decided it was time to steal the stick away from Kirby before he had a chance to bring it back to us. What ensued was a chase scene that brought to mind a combination of Buster Keaton, barrel racing and Wild Kingdom.

Kirby realized that Baxter was gaining on him. He darted left, darted right, ran around us, between us, around us again with Baxter in hot pursuit. I have to say, for a 10 year old dog, Baxter was doing a spectacular job of keeping up with a dog 1/3 his age and his size. But every time Bax was just about to get his jaws on the stick, Kirby would escape by mere centimeters. After about a dozen laps Bax finally gave up and Kirby brought the stick back to us for more. By this time the two had attracted a smiling audience.

So we threw the stick again and the whole thing happened a second time. This time it ended in a dog tug of war and the whole fetching mood evaporated as the two of them finally decided it was a draw, dropped the stick and stood there panting and looking at us as if to say "now what?"

Next time I'm bringing the video camera...