For years we wondered exactly what kind of dogs we have. Because they're from a shelter, they didn't come with any breed information other than what was guessed by volunteers. I mean, sure, we could tell a lot about Maisy and Loki's heritage from their looks and their proclivities, but we didn't really have any concrete proof of their ancestry.
We always wanted to do a doggie DNA test but wondered how to go about this - would we find a testing facility on the internet? Bring them to our vet? Go on the Maury Povich show?
We planned to do the test years ago but we were broke and even spending a dime on something so silly was out of the question. The good news is that the prices have come down since we initially looked and now kits are available in many pet stores. All the owner needs to do is take two samples from the back of the dog's mouth and send them in to the lab for analysis in a handy pre-paid envelope.
Naturally, this chore proved easier on Loki than Maisy. While Loki stood there and panted obediently as we swabbed his gums, Maisy reacted as though we were trying to stuff a live snake in her maw.
I'd expect nothing less from her.
Maisy's results came in first. I always knew she was mostly pit bull, probably American Pit Bull Terrier specifically, but I figured she had to have something else mixed in, maybe some English Bulldog or possibly even a touch of Beagle or Jack Russel. She's a little on the small side and she's got a wicked underbite, so didn't quite conform to some of the APBT breed's standards.
Turns out Maisy is 100% American bulldog, which is a type of pit bull that's directly descended from the English bulldog. This neatly explains why Maisy's stockier (read: fatter) than the garden variety APBT or American Staffordshire Terrier and why she has all those kissable face wrinkles. It also accounts for why she's so strong, so sweet, and so damn stubborn.
Loki's results took a bit longer because there was some confusion on my email address. While we waited in anticipation, we couldn't help but speculate on his parentage. Would the tests show exactly how much wolf we believed he had in him? Or could his lupine tendencies be better explained by traces of Husky or Akita? Naturally he'd have tons of Shepherd in him because he's a dead ringer for their body type. I mean, just google images of "black German Shepherd" and every single one of them looks exactly like Loki.
Finally I received the email telling us our results were ready.
"Fletch, Fletch! Get in here! We got his results!" I shouted down the hallway. Fletch dashed into my office and hovered over my shoulder. "Okay, I've got to put in our last name here and plug in his sample number here... and... here we go!"
The test form displays what breeds are associated with the dog from minor (meaning 12.5%) to significant (meaning more than 50%.) The more a dog has of a specific breed, the larger and lower-down the label is displayed on the heritage grid. As the test found nothing but American Bulldog in Maisy's ancestry, her parentage was displayed as a big button on the bottom of the screen.
The first thing we noticed once our grid was populated was that Loki didn't have any significant heritage, which was kind of a shock as we figured him for at least 50% Shepherd.
Actually, the bigger shock was that the test found no traces of Shepherd whatsoever.
We weren't prepared for what it did find.
"No. NO. That can't be right," Fletch exclaimed, glowering at the screen.
"Okay, now you really do sound like one of those guys on Maury Povich's show. DNA doesn't lie, honey," I replied. "That's why it's such a popular daytime television topic."
"But it's impossible," he gasped, staring at the screen. "Seriously, it is NOT POSSIBLE."
"Fletch, he's still the same dog regardless of what this test says. This changes nothing. He's still funny and sweet and will bark his head off protecting us from every squirrel in the neighborhood."
Fletch was steadfast. "I want another test."
"Oh, please. Paying for one test is fine. Paying for a second test is ridiculous," I countered.
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Fine," he conceded. "Maybe I could see a little Labrador in him, even though he hates the water and refuses to retrieve anything."
True enough. Just try to toss something to Loki and see what happens. Loki will simply stand there and be all, "Hey, look at you, throwing that thing in which I have no interest." For a while we wondered if he had bad depth perception and started tossing toys right to his face. Tennis balls would bounce off his snout and then he'd get upset because he thought we were mad at him. (We don't try to play fetch any more.)
"What I refuse to accept," Fletch continued, "is that he's a quarter POODLE. Poodle! This dog is not a poodle!"
"Look on the bright side. Maybe he's not a Lab and a Poodle. Maybe he's a Labradoodle like the people next door own. Perhaps that means we should buy him some sweatshirts with his name embroidered on them, too." Then I collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Fletch eventually stalked off, spending the rest of the night researching how DNA tests can be inconclusive.
The thing is, at least 50% of Loki's parentage is unknown. The test people say that some of this could be attributed to his last three generations being mixed breeds and some might be because the test doesn't cover every breed, particularly if that breed happens to be a wolf. And there was some confusion about my email address, so it's entirely possible that some poor purebred owner is demanding a refund based on Loki's results. But if that's the case, I don't want to know because the notion of him being a Labradoodle is too hilarious.
Seriously, I've been laughing about our "new" Labradoodle for weeks. Actually, I love that Loki had a completely unexpected DNA test. I swear to you that this dog has a sense of humor and were he capable of pulling a prank, this is exactly the kind of thing he'd do.
A couple of nights ago I was looking at Cute Overload and they had video of dogs howling. I pressed PLAY and cranked the volume on my speakers to see what Loki would do. Then I started to google different dog howls to see how Loki might react to each of them. Off and on, Loki would bay and bark. Fletch heard all the noise in my office and up to investigate.
"Look up 'wolf howl' and see what he does," Fletch demanded.
So I googled 'Labradoodle howl' and played it.
Loki completely lost his shit.
"See? See how he reacted to the wolves?" Fletch said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Except those were Labradoodles."
"Don't be cute. Try it again and do a wolf this time," he demanded.
So I googled 'Labradoodle' again.
Same reaction.
Fletch got (adorably) righteously indignant. "I'm serious! Pull up 'wolf cub howling.'"
So I pulled up 'Labradoodle puppies howling' and Loki went crazy. I couldn't suppress my laughter and that's when Fletch stepped behind my computer and did his own google-searching.
He played 'wolf howling' and... nothing.
He tried again. No reaction.
He tried a third time, evoking nothing but a few staccato bursts of farts from Maisy. (American Bulldogs are a particularly farty breed.)
Fletch said Loki was probably just too tired to react, so I played the Labradoodles again and Loki - with his impeccable comedic timing - completely mimicked the video dog's cry, causing Fletch to skulk off, grumbling about shopping for embroidered sweatshirts.
Then Loki stretched and yawned on the bed across from where I sat at the computer.
And I swear that bastard winked at me.
"I am not a frigging Labradoodle. But I would take a sweatshirt."
