The Floppy Disk
Portable storage for computers used to be bound into the spines of magazines. I would go down to the local bookstore and buy magazines just to see what those floppy disks had in store. As you would expect, the disks contained previews for programs. Yeah, that sales model has been around for a while. The programs could be about anything, but they were most often teasing games.
I don’t remember any of the other programs on those disks, but I do remember the one that got this started. It was a program to help someone select a dog breed. The program provided sliders to let the user quantify attributes of their life and ideal dog: family composition, living arrangements, local climate, desired size, activity, grooming needs, trainability, etc. Then the program would tell the user which breeds best met their circumstances and ideal. The teaser only had a few breeds in its database, but for a small price, I could order the full program.
I had just finished my PhD and felt fortunate enough to have a full-time position at my university. At some point during the prior year, I began to think that my graduation present to myself should be a puppy. I grew up with a toy poodle, and although I didn’t always appreciate her – hey I was a kid – I really liked having a dog. And being that I made enough money, that dream now seemed possible.
The program, as I recall, came in the mail on a 3.5-inch “floppy” disk nestled in a jewel case. Standard for the day. I got right to work programming my dog. Looking back on it, I didn’t have a clue what I should be doing. I mean, I had an image in my head, but I couldn’t realistically consider what dog ownership meant and how that would play on my ideal. That would come with time. At this point I really wanted a German Shepherd. Consequently, my programming headed in that direction. I didn’t realize that I anticipated attributes that would have the program suggest German Shepherd despite any other considerations. I think my first try failed. The German Shepherd did not appear among the breeds suggested. I couldn’t even cheat at this.
I slowly opened up to the thought of owning another breed. As much as I try to fit in, I really like having unique things. Thus, owning a dog from a less common breed might be cool. I went back to the program, but decided this time to be honest in my assessments. At the top of my list now appeared the Belgian Tervuren. Nice. The program had pictures and these dogs were beautiful. For those of you who don’t know, a Belgian Tervuren, aka Terv, is one of the Belgian Shepherd breeds. Yes, Belgian, as in from Belgium, which is next door to Germany. Now we’re talkin’. This would be my uncommon German Shepherd. Ignorance really can be blissful at times like these.
Now what? How in the world do I find one of these things?
The Internet wasn’t a thing yet. I had to go back to the bookstore. I thought that they must have a dog version of Popular Science. Pup-ular Science? You know, a magazine with an oversized classified ad section. I really loved Popular Science when I was a kid. I would go through the ads in the back looking for the word “Free”. I would order the free stuff just to get mail. Simpler times. Looking through the racks I was thrilled. The store had two magazines dedicated to dogs. And they had classified ads in the back! And they were organized by breed! And there were ads for Belgian Tervurens! No turning back now. After buying one of the magazines, I went home and punched in the number for a Terv breeder in St Louis. I am quite sure that my enthusiasm far outstripped my preparation for this phone call. “Umm. Hello, my name is Matt and I am looking to purchase a Belgian Tervuren.” Really?
To many of you this seems like an acceptable approach. A nice introduction followed by a direct, I’m not going to waste your time, declaration. Well, if this seems okay, you clearly haven’t experienced interactions with dog breeders that advertise in the back of magazines. How can I say this? Imagine a librarian sitting high above you behind some poorly lit checkout counter glancing down over their reading glasses after you have interrupted them. An archivist professor on my masters committee did this frighteningly well, but he had nothing on these dog breeders.
The interrogation began. You would think that these dog breeders don’t want anyone to acquire one of their puppies. You won’t be worthy, no matter what you say. Depending on the breeder, the opening gauntlet can be long and narrow. That said, once you get through, you often find they are very pleasant people. Just like librarians, or archivists, or a masters committee. The Terv breeder quickly identified what the floppy disk couldn’t; I didn’t want a Terv. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not, but before I could object, she shared her thoughts. Out of the blue, and with profound confidence, she told me what I really wanted was a Tibetan Mastiff. It was a short conversation, but one that changed my life.
Back to the floppy disk. Fortunately, I could bypass the selection mode in the program and just cruise through the database. At that time, the Tibetan Mastiff was not recognized by the American Kennel Club, but for some reason, it was among the 140 or so breeds in the program. I located the page for Tibetan Mastiff – then stared at the picture for a long time. The dog in the picture had a blocky head. Nothing like the shepherds. But it was large. Really large. Giant. Okay, I’m in.
Damn. The magazine I brought home didn’t have any ads for Tibetan Mastiffs. Back to the bookstore. I looked at the other dog magazine in the rack and it had an ad for Tibetan Mastiffs. Awesome! Wait, the picture in the ad wasn’t the same picture as the picture in the program and I had already fallen in love with the program dog.
Shhh, I gotta think. Back to the floppy disk.
As it turns out, if you click on enough things in a computer program, you might find some hidden vaults of information. I am forever grateful to the programmers who decided to create a credits page deep in the code of this program. The credits showed that the program dog came from the same kennel as the magazine ad dog. Convergence. I decided, however, to do some planning before making the call. Nothing would derail me this time. I was smitten.
To my relief, the program-dog/magazine-ad breeder seemed very nice from the get-go. Quickly satisfied that I would provide a good home for one of his puppies, he shared information generously. Being autumn, he had access to puppies from a few litters. In some cases, the moms were his and the puppies were there on his property, and in other cases, the dads were his and the puppies were located at the homes of the moms. I could have said Sires and Dams, but I didn’t use those words until later.
Okay, I’m going to get a puppy, but it turns out that it’s more complicated than that. Aside from things like sex and color, the critical issue turned out to be something unheard of to me; puppies came in levels of quality. That sounded crass. Let me try that again. I could choose from puppies that would be designated by the breeder as “pets.” That is, they would be required by contract to be spayed or neutered at the appropriate age and never reproduce. Or, I could choose from puppies that would be considered for breeding when they matured. That depended on health checks and the desire of the new owners to get into dog breeding. Finally, I could choose from puppies that would probably do well in the show ring: “picks of the litters.” This is all based on breeder experience and something called a breed standard. Dog show speak.
I had never considered dog breeding, and I didn’t have the time or inclination to show dogs, but I didn’t want just a “pet”. They were less likely to achieve the size I had in mind. So, I opted for the middle grade, the Goldilocks choice, a structurally sound puppy that wasn’t necessarily the pick of the litter. Sold. I was stoked. I spent the next couple of days dreaming about my new puppy and trying not to think of the fact that I still lived in an apartment and needed a yard. A house. Shit.
Then it hit me. If I’m going to spend all that money on a house, why not spend a little more on the dog and get the best damn puppy on the planet. Made sense to me. So, I called the breeder back and asked if I could level up. He was happy to oblige and we began to talk about the upcoming litters. You see, none of them had been born yet. The dams were pregnant, at least there was hope in some cases, but there were no puppies at that time. This was good. I needed time to buy a house.
I suspect that most people don’t know much, if anything, about Tibetan Mastiffs. Oh, is that the million-dollar dog? Yes. Sorta. First things first.
Tibetan Mastiffs appeared in and around the high plains of Tibet many hundreds of years ago. Some sources suggest that the breed, in some similar form, has existed for nearly 3,000 years. These large dogs served two basic functions: first, as flock guardians; and second, as people guardians. As flock guardians they would attend nomadic shepherds and protect yaks and sheep from snow leopards. As people guardians they would roam encampments or palace grounds at night to ward off intruders. The largest specimens would be reserved for the wealthy. Status symbols for sure, but they also ate more and were less able to deal with nomadic life.
Living on high altitude plains in the shadows of the Himalayan Mountains meant that these dogs needed warm coats. The Tibetan Mastiff coat has a prolific undergrowth of down and a guard coat that can grow many inches long on the mane. Large males with abundant coats can look to be as large as bears or lions. Not really, but when you stand in front of a large one barking at you, it might seem like it. Colors were less important to nomadic peoples, they only required that the dogs could do their job. This lack of color preference meant that Tibetan Mastiffs came in a variety of colors. Some purists insisted that the breed should be only Black or Black and Tan. Darker dogs are stealthier at night and the tan points above the eyes were thought of as the eyes that never sleep. Pish posh. Other colors have been part of the breed forever and are included in the official AKC standard. Namely, Gold (common), Red (rare), Blue (very rare), Brown (even more rare), and Purple (theoretical). Dogs that tend toward cream are still frowned on. I’ll get into the color thing later.
When the breed became known outside of the Tibetan plains and reported to the West, first by Marco Polo, it was suggested that they were as large as donkeys. Sell it Marco. Tibetan Mastiffs were eventually brought to England in the mid-19th century as Western explorers fell in love with the breed. At that time, they were comparable in size to other large mountain breeds like the Saint Bernard. Some dogs remained in the West right up to the second world war. Unfortunately, England’s disconnection with India and the war itself caused the breed to vanish in Europe.
Our modern ties to the breed started in the 1970s. Dogs slowly trickled into the United States from Tibet and breeding programs developed on both coasts. The first dogs here were rather small relative to historical claims. Over time, a few males started to show size close to breed ideals. One of the largest to date was our program dog, Simba. Simba was an extremely handsome gold male, standing 30 inches at the withers and weighing around 150 pounds.
Oh, the million-dollar thing. That implies that money exchanged hands between wealthy Chinese breeders/enthusiasts. Or not. Believe what you want. Tibetan Mastiff puppies were expensive, but even I could afford one, so there you go.
Now that you’re caught up, I can say that I wanted a large male. My primal instincts were in charge. Keep in mind that I lived in a fiercely docile community and I didn’t need to guard anything. A large male would only provide prestige. I took inspiration from the Tibetan nomads and didn’t designate a preferred color, but I have to say that gold looked awesome. Simba looked awesome. I wanted another Simba. Well, one can dream, especially since there were no puppies yet.
In the next couple of weeks, litters were born, and Simba was the paterfamilias of a couple of them. I really wanted a Simba son. In a few more weeks, I had one.