I grew up with a breathtakingly beautiful German Shepherd, so I always thought I’d get a purebred myself. But when it came time to getting my own dog, I didn’t have much money. I decided to look for my dog at a local shelter, and fell head over heels in love with a fluffy gray adult of indeterminate heritage.
He was seriously matted and after I took him to a groomer I discovered his hilarious underbite. Friends stuck out their lower jaw to ask, “How’s your dog?” Bruiser was so sweet; I miss him still.
When it came time to get my next dog, it was a sense of urgency that drove me to the shelter again. I didn’t care anything about the breed. I cared about getting a companion for Bruiser who was so anxious he was shredding my house, and I didn’t have time to wait for a litter to be born.
Along the way I’ve discovered that mutts appeal to my sense of humor, particularly those dogs with identifiable aspects of different breeds jumbled together, like a Lab’s big head stuck on a Corgi’s long short body. Purebreds are beautiful (see Why I chose a purebred), and I adore them too, but their appearance doesn’t make me laugh.
I suppose there’s a social element to my preference as well; I like saving a life and it’s mostly mutts who need to be saved.
But mainly, I like the idea of a casual dog with no fanfare, a no big deal dog. A mutt is reproduction without interference from man, a nod to Mother Nature’s true control. A mutt feels like wearing jeans instead of a suit,comfortable and down to earth — and that’s just like me.
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