ON SATURDAY mornings, I always walk through a nearby dell for a couple of hours with my beloved Westie, Coll. Invariably, depending on the weather, we meet a lot of other people walking their pooches. Most dog owners talk to each other, usually about their loved ones, I mean the four-legged variety.
I cannot tell you the number of times in the past year or so that I have been introduced to a dog which is some strange cross between two pedigrees.
I have met colliedoodles, labradoodles, cockapoos and goldendoodles and other, even more ridiculous, concoctions. They are beautiful dogs, unusual, certainly different.
But last week, I met a man who had a rescue dog – a mix between a lurcher and a collie, he thought. He referred to the dog as a mongrel and said he had got her for nothing from the cat and dog home.
I joked that he should say his dog was a lurchalollie and then he would be able to sell her for £600.
On a more serious note, I do not understand this new craze at all. Until relatively recently, a mixed breed was a mongrel, end of story. Now, mixed breeds are what posh people pay a lot of money to own.
The creation of these crossbreed dogs is a highly controversial practice. But that doesn’t stop ruthless people having a go.
The main problem with crossbreeding seems to be that the temperament and appearance of the original breed are bound to be compromised to some extent.
Some idiotic dog lovers look for crossbred dogs and are willing to pay a higher price for them just because they are distinct – an accessory to attract attention, almost a talking point, definitely very trendy.
This fad for designer crossbreeds is dangerous. I know there are some serious people out there who want crossbred dogs which are part poodle because they are good for allergies. But, for goodness sake, why not just buy a poodle?
All this tinkering does not bode well for our four-legged pals.
Of course, when you cross two breeds deliberately, you may be lucky and end up with the best of both types of dog, but equally you could find yourself with the worst characteristics. It is asking for trouble.
Think back to the scandal of the BBC TV Panorama programme of 2008. Back then, we learned how common inbreeding was – still is – among people who rear pedigree dogs. Panorama exposed some unscrupulous people, creating a public outcry which verged on the deafening.
The most disgusting aspect of the programme was the fact that so many cavalier King Charles spaniels suffer from syringomyelia, a painful condition caused by the dog’s skull being far too small for its brain; a condition which, thanks to dubious practices, now affects one third of the breed.
These dogs are prone to having fits, basically because their brains are too big for their skulls.
The public protest which followed led the BBC to refuse to show the Crufts dog show unless 14 of the “at-risk” breeds were withdrawn.
Those of you who saw that Panorama will remember the poor Pekingese gasping for breath – bred to possess a perfectly-flat face, the creature eventually needed soft-palate surgery to enable it to breathe properly. Cruelty doesn’t come close to describing this sort of behaviour.
Most shocking of all was the news that, despite this poor animal’s pitiable condition, it won the Best in Show at Crufts in 2003.
People like these breeders should not be allowed within 100 miles of a dog.
The Kennel Club did not come out of that documentary smelling of roses, either. The club administers a registry which records the lineage of pedigree dogs, licenses dog shows in the UK, including Crufts, and controls The Kennel Club Breed Standard, which crucially lays down the characteristics and physical attributes necessary for each type of dog.
Of the UK’s 7million or so dogs, 75% are pedigrees and, worryingly, cost their owners more than £10million in vet fees every week.
That came as no surprise to me.
It is all in the breeding – or in-breeding, in this case.
Like all Westies, my Coll is prone to skin problems. We have spent a lot of time and money on vets because of inter-digital cysts which keep appearing on Coll’s front paws. The cyst appears and swells up, then he licks at it relentlessly and sometimes it bursts. Other times, it becomes so painful he can hardly walk.
We have tried pills, expensive creams, potions, an MRI scan, diets, elimination and otherwise. Nothing has worked.
Then, one day, out of the blue, our vet said he suspected Coll was the product of a puppy farm.
I felt so angry. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t that I was worried about his roots. Coll has a wonderful personality and we adore him.
It took me a while to realise that what was making me so angry was the suffering he has had to endure in his relatively short life.
We now know he has Cushing’s disease. He always seems to have something wrong. We bought him from someone in Glasgow.
If he did come, originally, from a puppy farm, that would explain the problems we have had. In such places, money is the sole motivator. Puppy farms can mean bad conditions, careless breeding, between father and daughter, brother and sister. It can mean the mother is bred too often, until she is tired and unhealthy.
Wales used to be the puppy farm capital of the world. Now, Scotland has that dubious title.
The trouble is we dog lovers are so easily persuaded. You walk in, you see a puppy and that’s it – you’re in love, desperate to get your new baby home. It’s only later when the problems begin and the vet’s bills pour in that your suspicions are aroused.
As with children, there is nothing you won’t do for your dog. But at least with your children you know their origins.