Archive for January, 2015
Merle is one those things.
The color itself is inherited through an incompletely dominant allele, which means you can easily transmit it from breed to breed. All you have to do is cross a merle dog of one breed with a breed that doesn’t yet have the color, and then you just breed back into that second breed until the dogs all look like like that breed, just with the merle color.
The problem with the color is that it can be risky. It is often frowned upon to breed merle to merle, because there is risk that some of the puppies that are born double merle can have closed ear canals or eye deformities that might be as severe as the dog having no eyes at all.
All the breeds that have a standard merle color have a way of dealing with this problem, though, to be fair, not all breeders follow those guidelines.
The problem happens when you have cryptic merles– dogs that have the merle variant but you can’t tell by looking at them. The dog simply doesn’t show the pattern at all, and when someone breeds that merle to a known merle, you can get the defective puppies.
Also merle can be hidden in yellow or cream colored dogs, simply because they don’t produce any pigment on their fur but yellow or cream. French bulldogs come in this color. (Though I don’t think their fancier use this name).
So you could run a risk in creating double merles entirely upon accident.
Now the dog in the photo doesn’t look to be that far removed from the crossbreeding that introduced the merle variant into that particular strain of French bulldog. But there are breeders who are producing merle French bulldogs with much more typical conformation.
I don’t see the point in adding merle to a breed that also comes in cream or yellow. It’s way too risky.
I’m sure the French bulldog clubs are thrilled to know that this color is being produced. It’s not a standard color in the breed.
But the issue is managing merle in a breed population, and I guarantee that the people who started producing these dogs aren’t thinking about breed management issues.
People love that merle color, but if it’s going to exist in any breed, there have to be guidelines about how to produce it.
Otherwise, it’s just asking for misery.
It’s better off left out of most breeds.
This is not one of those dogs that craps in the house because of a little cold dew on the ground.
A thick, double coat and a body without exaggeration, and it’s an all terrain model.
I like a dog that looks like a dog, and it goes without saying that it better be a smart one, too.
Through selective breeding we can shape dog muscle and bone, but in a lot of ways, we’ve selected for terrible structure in the name of vanity.
If a dog can’t enjoy a good run in the snow, it’s really missing out on one of the greatest features of being a dog.
As we all know, dogs have a hard time ridding themselves of heat, but when they get to run in the snow, it’s like they are getting a constant cooling splash with every galloping stride.
Which makes them run harder than they normally would.
The cooling effect of the snow splashing up on their bodies gives them just that little edge they need to go wild in the snow cover.
It is truly a beautiful thing to observe.
Remarkable discovery in the snow!
When I was eleven years old, I went hamster crazy.
At that age, I was a connoisseur of books on pets and wildlife, and I owned countless Barron’s books on pets. I had ones on all the common breeds of dog, including one on golden retrievers. I discovered that the dog book were all written by Americans or by people living in America or writing for an American audience, and often, the books would just have enough filler about that particular breed, which would be followed by chapters that were essentially the same in every single book. Breed did not matter.
However, there were a few exceptions to this rule. Some books were really detailed and had fascinating narratives about the dogs they kept. They were really good. The book on dachshunds by Leni Fiedelmeier was unbelievably good. The author actually told stories about her dogs as a way illustrating the best way to care for them.
I noticed very quickly that the book was a translation from German. The dogs all had German names, and most of the dachshunds in the photographs in the book were wire-haired, which is the least common variety in North America.
So it was a good book.
I noticed that the only books from that series that were any good were those that were originally written in German. German-speaking pet owners were much more willing to get personal in their books. They were much more willing to help you understand the animal and appreciate it for what it was.
And that’s what brought me to hamsters.
The book on hamsters was by Otto von Frisch. I had no idea who that was, but years later, I learned that Otto was the son of the famous ethologist Karl von Frisch. He was a respected director at the Brunswick Natural History Museum, but he was a master naturalist. His descriptions of hamster behavior and natural history captured my imagination as nothing had before.
I knew that I had to have a golden hamster.
And not just any golden hamster.
Throughout the translation, every time the author mentioned the hamsters that possessed the original coat coloration, they were always referred to as “the wild type.”
That term captured my imagination, and I knew that I wanted to have a male golden hamster of the wild type.
When I went to the pet store to buy my first hamster, all that was available was a female black-eyed cream. She was a nasty biter, and though I gave her the name of Linda, we always called her the Black-eyed Bitch.
I was given an ancient Teddy bear hamster soon after I got my first one, and then I bought a cinnamon and banded one. The banded one was wild-type, but only on her front and back.
It turned out that the cinnamon hamster was pregnant, and she gave birth a litter of ten. Nine of the babies were banded wild-types, which told me that the wild type was dominant, as were the bands. But one of the little ones was a true wild type without any banding at all.
I kept him, and he was my first male hamster. I came to prefer the males to the females. The males, although smaller, were pluckier and more confident. They matured more muscled up and svelte. I came to notice their scent glands on their hips, which they would rake along the sides of their enclosures. On a wild type male, these glands would stain their fur a bright yellow, almost like epaulets on their tawny sable forms.
They were tame in that they tolerated my presence and handling. As solitary animals, I doubt they ever gave me a passing glance. They were other beings, prisoners in our civilization that somehow adapted to our plastic “labyrinth” enclosures, water bottles, and exercise wheels.
My eleven-year-old mind could not comprehend that these animals were derived from a single litter captured in Syria in 1930. I could not grasp the concept of how inbred these animals were. They were all derived from single litter– indeed a single male and single female from that litter– and that they had somehow survived that bottleneck and were available at virtually every pet shop for $5.00.
I did not anthropomorphize them. No, I did worse than that. The animals I knew all around me were dogs, and I began to project upon them the essence of canines. I even tried to train them a few tricks, which they never learned.
If I owned a hamster now, I think I would have greater appreciation for them as hamsters. I would think of them hanging out in some of the most ancient fields of wheat, occasionally stealing a bit of the grain store for themselves or perhaps falling prey to those first domestic cats.
When I reread Frisch’s book on hamsters, I am able to appreciate this creature. It lived unknown to science until 1839, when a British zoologist first described a specimen of mid-sized hamster from what is now Syria. But they are creatures of the cultivated field, and they knew about our kind for thousands of years before we came to know them.
And yet they remain so distant.
As prisoners in a foreign land should be.
Ridge-running dogs don’t care about the weather.
They run the ridges as their avocation, their metier, their being.
The snow can blanket the forests and hills, but a good ridge-running dog will take to it as if her paws were meant to grace the snow and ice as they were the softest of rugs.
They live life for boisterous winter days when nothing is stirring but the wind, which casts the scents of forest denizens into her quivering nose.
These are the days for the gentle retriever to become a big more lupine in manner, questing over through the thickets where grouse and rabbits have sought refuge from the ever-peering eyes of the red-tails circling above.
It is a time of near limitless freedom, of the spontaneity of the chase, and of the sudden abandon of a running fit.
And it s time of a state of Zen to which we mere humans can only hope to aspire.
And that, folks, is why I like to be out with an old ridge-running dog.
My neuroses and failings slip away into the cold air. I am free for the moment. I can finally be.
Thank you, dear ridge-runner, for bringing me back so many times to your world of wild thickets, fluttering grouse, squacking squirrels, and bounding rabbits.
It is but a taste of the world that both our species once knew when we walked that ancient taiga in search of game. Our time together in the wild is but a facsimile of that time and place, but it is one where you play the part so much better than I do.
All that I can say is that I’m humbled to have this time with you, and I know that I cannot show you enough appreciation for the joy you have brought me.
Just to be in the presence of a dog with a sagacious mind and a body well adapted to running up and down hills is to be taken on a journey outside of modern human experience.
It is an attempt to taste what it means to be natural again.
That mere taste is the greatest gift that the ridge-runner can bestow upon me, but it makes me yearn for more.
The taste is just that sweet.