The Water Dogs of Newfoundland

On the island of Newfoundland, there exists a dog not found anywhere else. They can be found in small outports, maneuvering the Atlantic ocean, retrieving waterfowl for their masters, and occasionally sleeping at the foot of a child's bed.

They are known as Cape Shore water dogs, and they are the descendents of the St John's water dog (or perhaps they are one in the same), a said to be extinct type that was the foundation of the popular Labrador Retriever many decades ago.

These dogs are working dogs through and through, untouched by kennel clubs. They have not been made victim of closed stud books, nor have they been watered down by years of show breeding or bred for fancy colours and traits. They are selected only for raw working ability.

I can not bring myself to label the Cape Shore water dog a breed, because in order to be a true breed, there would have to be an established breed standard. Such a thing doesn't exist, and pedigrees are kept in personal books -- if at all, as new blood is still added to the population when a dog is deemed an adequate worker.

Instead, they are a landrace of some kind. A type of dog developed over time, with minimal human intervention, for a unique purpose. This doesn't quite mean they are the same as your average, run of the mill mutt, but they are also a far cry from established retriever breeds. I quite like them that way.

Little is known about these dogs' genetic make up or what makes them special. Never before has anyone ventured to learn more about the Cape Shore water dog, beyond a vague history and the fact that they are solid workers. This year, that finally changed.

In July of 2018, I teamed up with Embark DNA for a small project in which we tested a handful of Cape Shore water dogs. These DNA results are still pending but can be expected in late September. One step at a time, I am cracking the mystery.

See also:

"Are They Still There?" by Scottie Westfall

The Bond Between Man and Beast

Last month, I went on a hike with my dog. This was important for two reasons. First, it was my first time hiking alone, just me and my dog. Second, it was the longest hike Cinder had ever been on.

Things started out a little rough with some steep inclines, and we stopped to rest more than once, but we persevered and by the time we reached the end of the trail, I was feeling fantastic. In fact, I felt so good that we kept going, making our own path up the mountain.

Cinder bounded gracefully from rock to rock, while I... well... I fumbled along, one step at a time. She circled back to check on me more than once before we reached the summit, tilting her head as if to say, "hey slowpoke, what are you waiting for?"

When I took that last step and turned around to see the landscape stretched out before us, I felt, both literally and figuratively, on top of the world... until, all at once, I felt my confidence begin to crumble. I didn't know how to get back down; the route looked a whole lot steeper from way up there.

I felt myself begin to sweat and my heart rate begin to quicken, and I wandered aimlessly for a moment until I found a place to sit down. At this point, I was in the midst of a panic attack, realising I was all alone on the top of a mountain with nobody there to guide me. Except, I wasn't.

An insistent paw nudged my thigh and a soft, furry head pressed itself in to my hands, my companion's way of saying "we're OK, I've got you" somehow without any words. We sat there for what must have been ten or fifteen minutes, just breathing while I stroked her ears.

Cinder fits the technical definition of a service dog, being that she is task trained to mitigate my disabilities, but she is not temperamentally sound enough to work in public so she is only able to do her job and lend a helping paw when we are at home.

This was the first time she had done what she had been taught in a completely new, real world scenario, and she did it well, grounding me until my heart rate was stable and I could once again think clearly. She could have descended from the mountain at any time, just as nimbly as her ascent had been, but she chose to wait for me.

Once my anxiety had passed, we began pacing the top of the mountain. I was looking for the easiest way down, and she was looking out for me. I don't think she took her eyes off me again until we finally began the painstaking process of climbing back down to safety.

When we were hiking back to the car, I had a moment. The gravity of the situation struck me: I don't know if I would have had the courage to get back down on my own if my little furry shadow wasn't by my side to support me. I felt so much gratitude.

I look at this dog from time to time and ponder how lucky I am. It's been a bumpy ride, but we have built a solid bond that can get us through thick and thin. She is truly my best friend and my life saver.

Are Domestic Dogs Truly Carnivores?

Whether or not domestic dogs should be considered carnivores or omnivores has been a point of controversy for years and years.

Many people argue that because dogs can and have survived on a diet of plant matter, the label of "omnivore" is more apt. After all, vegan kibbles exist, and occasionally you hear mention of a dog with meat intolerances that has to be plant based in order to soothe allergic reactions.

Homemade vegan dog food by @fitlauraxo.

Anecdotes aside, studies suggest that the ability to efficiently digest plant matter played a big part in the domestication process. Unlike wolves, domestic dogs produce amylase not only in their pancreas, but also in their saliva. It is speculated that this occurred during the early days of the dog, when they were subsisting on a diet of food scraps and human feces.

A pair of village dogs.

I must admit that the evidence is compelling, but then...

There is no denying that fresh food diets are better for anyone, human or animal, and I've seen many dogs not only survive but thrive on diets of fresh meat, bone, and offal. They have teeth built for tearing flesh, not for grinding like ours.

Homemade raw dog food by @rawfed365.

I watch my dog run down a rat, shake it, and break its neck so fast it doesn't have the chance to squeal. I hear her break bones with her teeth, and I see her rip intestines from the abdomen of a hare. I think to myself, "this is it, this is what she was designed to do. She is a predator."

Cinder eating a whole prey hare.

So, where does that leave me? Well... on the fence. My own answer to the question I present is "inconclusive."

For Additional Reading:

Detection and Measurement of Alpha-Amylase in Canine Saliva 

The Genomic Signature of Dog Domestication Reveals Adaptation to a Starch-Rich Diet

The Science of Raw Pet Food

It's NOT All in How They're Raised

A Labrador Retriever throws himself in to churning waters to fetch his owner's quarry. His paws fight the current and he swims strongly, holding its head above the water. Several times, the waves threaten to pull him under, yet he perseveres until he is close enough to close his jaws, softly but firmly, around the prize.

Painting by Karl Edwards

A Hungarian Vizsla sniffs the air, gazing at the horizon with keen, watchful eyes. Once she finds what she is looking for, she raises her petite, russet paw, tucking it toward her chest: this is a sign her handlers know well. She is still as can be, the puff of her breath in the crisp air the only thing betraying her from a statue.

Painting by Ross B Young

A sharp eyed Border Collie slinks down the fell. His paws barely make a sound as he moves, ghost-like, across the ground. At the sharp sound of a whistle, he veers to the left, circling the sheep and crowding them together before they move as one toward an open gap in the fence.

Painting by Sue Deutscher

We find it easy to conjure up these images in our heads. They are accepted, even expected traits within their breeds. When a Cattle Dog nips the neighbour's heels, or a Terrier digs holes in the yard, we are more inclined to disregard these behaviours. It's just who they are!

So why, then, is it that the American Pit Bull Terrier, a breed which was created decades ago for dog on dog combat, is marketed as misunderstood? When a Pit Bull acts on its natural predisposition and shows aggression toward other animals, society cries that it must have been mistreated, the owners did something to make it that way.

Painting by Edwin Henry Landseer

Nature and nurture work side by side, you can not train or love the genetics out of a dog. This blatant lie, that it is "all in how they're raised," is the reason for the increased number of attacks perpetuated for pit bull type dogs, for the hordes of people petitioning for breed specific legislation.

If only we were transparent about what these dogs were built for, perhaps we could prevent them from falling in to the hands of amateur owners who can not handle them, who are told the dog is sweet as pie and are then blindsided when he rips in to the neighbour's Chihuahua.

If you love the breed, love it for all that it is, the good and the bad. Don't love it for the animal activist's greatest hoax: the "nanny dog."

For additional reading:

Genetic Mapping of Canine Fear and Aggression

Understanding the Heritability of Aggression in Dogs

First Validated Canine Behavioral Genetics Findings of Nine Fear, Aggression Traits in Dogs

Canine Behavioral Genetics: Pointing Out the Phenotypes and Herding up the Genes 
How Both Sides of the Pit Bull Debate Get it Wrong
Game Dog History: American Pit Bull Terrier

How it all Began

When I first laid eyes on Cinder, my heart melted.

She was one of nine wriggly potatoes, barely coordinated enough to wobble around the closet in which they were kept. Pitch black but a stripe on her chest and a spot on her chin, the first thing she did was hobble over to me, squat down, and pee on my shoe. I loved her then and there.

I had chosen to get a puppy on a whim. After years of struggling with mental illness, and with several suicide attempts under my belt, I felt that something had to give and so I set out to find and train a service dog. Spoiler alert: she never did become a service dog, but she saved me all the same.

I cradled her in my arms on the car ride home. She was tiny and sickly, and she threw up on me more times than I can count, but I just wiped her mouth and stroked her head, whispering sweet words in her ears. I looked in to her eyes, still puppy blue, and knew that this was my reason to keep on going.

There were ups and downs... oh, there were a lot of downs... but we tackled them head on, and even when I felt like throwing in the towel, we made it work. She grew to be lean and beautiful, with the build of a Whippet and the heart of a Retriever. A sight to behold.

I look at this dog, and I see the trust in her eyes. I know deep down I would move mountains for her, and she would do the same for me. I can't wait to share our adventures, new and old, with the world.