You know the type.
Snobs. The people who immediately bring up the fact that their Frisbee-loving buddy “Prince” is a purebred golden retriever, complete with show-winning parents. “I don’t care how many blue ribbons Prince’s mum won at Westminster,” I like to joke. “She’s still a bitch!”
Apparently misunderstanding my hilarious canine humor, these Serious Purebred Owners tend to scowl, grab Prince by the collar, and drag him away before I can explain the painfully obvious and wonderfully innocent punch line. It’s probably for the best anyway—I’m a bit of a mutt myself. They’d probably have me neutered.
When it comes to choosing a dog, it seems to come down to two trains of thought: those who want a good, healthy dog, and those who want a dog with pedigree. With breeding. With distinction. In short, they want a dog with genuine, validated papers of authenticity.
Why? Because even if it looks, feels, smells, and acts like an actual [insert breed here] but doesn’t have papers, it could be an imposter. Without decades of genetic verification, that Labrador look-alike could actually be a—hush your tone, now—mixed breed. What would the neighbors say?
Never mind that in the U.S., between six and eight million dogs—and cats, who nobody really likes anyway*—enter shelters each year. Never mind that most of these abandoned beasts would make fantastic trail-running partners or drift-boat co-captains. Never mind that of those millions, approximately half are euthanized. Never mind that approximately one quarter of shelter pets actually are purebred. Without papers, they suck and deserve to die.
No, if you want a good dog, you must acquire only dogs of pure, mutt-less blood from breeders who perpetuate this self-fulfilling cycle of elitism for the sole purpose of making exorbitant sums of money. All those lowly shelter dogs are probably filthy heroin addicts anyway, gleefully shooting up between violent liquor-store robberies.
But back to the “neverminds.”
Nevermind that purebred simply means, “inbred.” Never mind that “inbred” simply means “brothers humping sisters.” It’s cool. They’re dogs. It’s not like they have DNA that might get twisted into unrecognizable helices of incest-borne physical and mental deficiencies. And it’s not like those genetic mutations often manifest in crazy behavior and physical maladies that can be expensive to treat and miserable—for you and your dog—to endure. Never mind! Purebreds rule and mutts drool, so to speak.
Know who else believes strongly in retaining pure bloodlines? Aryans. White supremacists. Skinheads. Whatever you want to call them (as long as you say it with the proper amount of contempt), these ignorant, mouth-breathing hate-mongers subscribe to the same basic ideals as your friendly neighborhood dog snob. How can they all be wrong?
Now, before you get your trousers in a bunch, Dog Snob, notice that I say that you share similar beliefs regarding genetic supremacy, not that you are skinheads. You’re welcome, Outside Bozeman legal department…
But I fear I’m diverging from my point: mutts are awful. I’d probably be a better writer (if not better looking) if I weren’t a crossbred NorFinGermander. But I’m pretty damn healthy, and only slightly more deranged than average, which is more than I can say for that poor purebred Pug down the road, whose hips blow out of its sockets every time it sneezes—which is often, due to its insanely poor (but carefully bred) sinus and respiratory system. At least when it dies 50% sooner than an average mutt, it can rest in peace knowing that its tortured life was better on account of its esteemed purebred status.
So, in summary: mutts are bad, purebreds are the only dogs worth loving, shelter dogs do heroin, skinheads are assholes, I’m not very funny, and sarcasm is awesome. And please don’t get upset, Dog Snob. That would be below your breeding.
*Note: some people do like cats.