Who’s Your Daddy?

“What do you suppose he is?”  Tom asked as we walked with Steve and Willie along the trail at the Pea Island Sanctuary in Rodanthe, NC. “I don’t know,” I said, “but his PetFinder listing described him as a ‘long-haired Chihuahua crossed with a Toy Fox Terrier’, but his adoption coordinator admitted the breed descriptions in those listings are really just their best guess – a way of describing with references people can easily understand.  She also told me the family where those pups came from called them ‘pug mixes,’ yet none of them displayed any characteristics of a pug.”

“And he doesn’t really have the snout or the bulging eyes you associate with Chihuahuas,” Steve said

“So what do you think he is?” Tom asked.

“Well,” I began, “he has the tri-color markings of a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, the bat ears of a Papillon, and the spotted legs of a bird dog; I think he looks most like a miniature Border Collie, but he’s really just a central Louisiana mutt.”

Willie, at the end of the leash, seemed to me very much his own thing, his own being.  Utterly present and un-selfconscious — and without harboring any thoughts of his ancestry – Willie just was and busied himself sniffing the sawgrass, the signposts, and the perimeter of the gravel path as we made our way from the parking lot of the Pea Island bird sanctuary toward the first observation area – a boardwalk and deck cantilevered out over the marsh.  I stopped at the end of the walk and leaned back against the gray, weathered hand rail, then picked Willie up to give him a better view of the migrating ducks and snow geese paddling and drifting in this bit of fresh water – a welcome stopover on their long journey.  Standing on the observation deck with my friends and my dog I felt a bone-deep sense of contentment and well-being.  Breathing deeply of the clean, fresh air, the faint breeze blowing off the water seemed balmy compared to my memory of other walks here – winter sojourns with shoulders hunched, scarves wrapped around stinging faces, cameras and binoculars held in red, freezing hands.

Later, on an after-dinner Willie walk with Julie, we again pondered the dog’s possible origins.  As Julie took the leash from my hand she said, “I think it’s funny that Richard first described him as looking something like a Bernese Mountain Dog, which are literally ten times Willie’s size.”

“You’re right – but there are breed similarities in Willie’s face and his coat markings.”  I pondered this as the three of us walked along the street of darkened rental cottages, waves breaking on the beach.  “It occurs to me that when you adopt a mutt you can highlight the breed characteristics you imagine or admire and then make them your own.  You know, ‘Oh, our little Spike here is a cross between a Pitt Bull and a White Lab with a little Cocker Spaniel thrown in.’ What does that mean?  No one really knows where his or her dog came from.”

“Have you thought about a DNA test?” Julie asked.

I laughed.  “What – to find our his haplogroup?  To learn that he’s descended from wolves?”

“Right – like you’re descended from Adam!”

“You can do your own DNA test,” I said, “with a ‘spit kit’ you mail off to a lab that then emails your results.  I wonder how they do this with dogs – and how they determine the breed mix.”

Back inside the beach cottage I removed Willie’s leash and harness and gave him his ‘goodnight’ biscuit.  As the house grew quiet and then dark, I lay awake in my bed and listened to Willie stir in the crate beside me.  I thought about the day’s conversations and, slowly, ideas that seemed goofy and indulgent began to seem irresistible.

Just who, exactly, is Willie?  And who am I?