The film Best in Show presented the dog-show circuit as a caravan of loopy narcissists. Omitted from the script were the contributions of the fancy to everyday canine society -- rescue efforts, training classes, consumer advice, the millions raised, the efforts donated to health research.

There is no profit in showing dogs, for costs quickly negate the returns. It's an esoteric pursuit, driven by love of breed, competitive reward, and that appreciation of form and symmetry shared by all artists, a thing we know as "beauty." The Doberman's "look of eagles," the merle collie's loud and luxurious coat, the silhouette of the Skipperke -- those things that fill the eye can determine the fate of breeds, for it is their beauty that so often attracts and inspires human beings to devote resources to their perpetuation.

The distance between a breed and extinction is five years, for this is the average reproductive lifespan of a female. For rare breeds and those with limited genetic diversity, it takes only one ill-conceived edict on the part of policy makers to start it down the road to collapse.

It seems like a small thing, this battle for a veterinarian's liberty to practice as he sees fit, a dog breeder's quest for perfection. After all, no one needs to crop ears on a Boxer. But then again, no one needs a Boxer at all, or any sort of pet. Purebreds (of all species) carry health risks derived from their genetic founding fathers. Breeds weren't created to compile longevity records, but to perform tasks for mankind -- to dispatch vermin, predators, and enemy barbarians, locate game, retrieve over water, to pull sleds, or warm a dowager's bed on a cold winter night. And so, they remain imperfect.

The Borzoi is living history of czarist Russia, the giant Mastiff a modern echo of ancient Rome -- but they suffer high rates of bloat. Poster artists recruited the English bulldog as a symbol of resolve in World War II, but the massive head that encouraged a nation results in caesarian sections. The Dalmatian's spots are beloved of Disney and children everywhere, but the genetics that create them can result in deafness. The merry spaniel can wag an undocked tail to bloody pulp, but no one hunts woodcock in these parts. Better no cocker, they say, than no tail.

Like so many other small things in this brave new humane world -- history, property rights, individual liberty, and the beholder's permission to declare something "beautiful" -- the eradication of the purebred dog is underway, aided and abetted by those we once considered friends. And yet, to this breeder at least, so seldom has one small thing carried with it such symbolism for what it is we are allowing them to destroy.

There is an air of nihilism in what they do. Like "green" zealots who insist millions will die from climate change unless we reduce the earth's population by billions, their ideological sisters in veterinary activism would solve the problems of purebred dogs by eliminating them altogether. They seem oddly disconnected from the reality that for veterinary medicine to survive, the patient must reproduce.

 

- Catherine McMillan lives in Saskatchewan and runs the blog "Small Dead Animals." In 2009, Miniature Schnauzers descending from her "Minuteman" kennel line include those ranked #1 in the breed in the USA, Canada, Brazil and England, along with the #2 MS in Australia and the Jr. World Winner at the World Show in Slovakia.