Free Dog and I by Roy Macgregor Page A

small enough to fit in her makeup kit. Afghans somewhat superseded the Irish setter, and soon enough both breeds—perhaps given up on by owners tired of spending all their free time cutting out burrs—gave way to a fad that wasn’t even a breed at all but rather the strange art of “puppy repackaging.”
    There was a time when, if someone had a poodle that went into heat and took off on the lam with the neighbourhood spaniel, the owner of the female would simply deal with the consequences of that lapse of judgment—or, more accurately, lapse of backyard fence. Weeks would pass, perhaps a couple of months, and the owner now of several dogs would pay whatever it cost to put a small ad in the local paper saying “Puppies: poodle and spaniel mix, free to good home.”
    But no longer.
    What the pet stores started to do—no one knows exactly where this devious practice began—was take that poodle running off with that spaniel and turn their natural byproduct into brand-new faux “breed,” which they then flog for the price of a used car. Once pet stores discovered that whatever came of that poodle and spaniel dalliance could be marketed as “spoodles,” the entire dog world underwent a paradigm shift in common sense. Soon there were cockapoos and terripoos—and, for all we know, Great Poos—until today there are nearly two dozen “poo” mixes available. Which only goes to prove that a poodle running loose is even looser than anyone ever imagined.
    The falling in and out of dog fashion was all brought home when a recent issue of Country Life, the rather snooty British leisure magazine, ripped into readers for choosing certain colonial dog breeds—the Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever and the Labrador retriever—over homegrown breeds. Canadian dogs, it seems, are suddenly hot. We have only four “recognized” breeds, and here were two of them on the list of most popular dogs in Great Britain, which everyone knows is the pet-loving centre of the universe.
    The tolling retriever I am not familiar with—they apparently have the ability to attract ducks and, oddly, Scandinavia has more of these dogs than North America does—but the Labrador retriever is, of course, familiar to all. Labs are, in fact, the most popular registered dog in the world, according to most lists released by the various kennel clubs.
    The German shepherd usually runs second or third in such lists, but the British are apparently in a dither over the fading popularity of such standard fare as the cocker spaniel and the bull terrier. The bull terrier has had its reputation somewhat shaken, however, by Princess Anne’s two bull terriers, Dotty and Flo, and their predilection for attacking small children, corgis, and maids’ knees.
    No one fully understands what makes a breed popular one decade while it vanishes the next. Labs are easygoing and great with children, which explains their continuing popularity, but the Chihuahua seems to have popped up on the lists in response to Paris Hilton and Taco Bell ads. And not that long ago, the Jack Russell terrier was enjoying a popularity that could be directly attributed to the Frasier television show and its endless reruns.
    I asked a friend who is a vet where the Afghan went, and he wasted few words in explaining its quick demise: not particularly smart, not particularly good with children, and too time-consuming to groom. “What I’d really like to know,” he said after summarily dismissing the poor Afghan, “is where did the standard collie go? You know, the Lassie dog—I hardly ever see one any more.”
    Nor have I, come to think of it. And yet there was a time when Lassie was Hollywood’s greatest star, appearing in movies with everyone from Elizabeth Taylor to Jimmy Stewart. The dogs were everywhere, big and friendly and as much a symbol of the happy suburban family as the Lab is today.