Bonus: Earth Dogs of China
We Recently Found Out Our Dogs Are Related to the Most Ancient Dogs on Earth
When we’re out walking, people often look at MóMo and QiūQiū and ask: “What breed are your dogs?” On hearing our reply, “土狗 tǔgǒu,” they tend to immediately lose interest.
Tǔgǒu literally means ‘Earth Dogs,’ but a more accurate translation is ‘Chinese Rural Indigenous Dog.’ While the term technically includes some locally-respected breeds such as the wiry-haired下司xiàsī, in practice it carries a certain stigma, serving as shorthand for the millions of mongrels scavenging on the streets, guarding construction sites and residing in overcrowded shelters throughout China.
Since the Chinese pet industry exploded in the 1990s, foreign pure breed dogs became an aspirational commodity for the newly-emerged middle class. This was a dramatic shift from 1949, when pet dogs were banned as “a symbol of decadence and criminal extravagance at a time of food shortages.” Police were even encouraged to shoot stray dogs on sight, instilling a culture of mutual fear between humans and tǔgǒu.
While French Poodles and Golden Retrievers have achieved an exalted status in recent years, tǔgǒu are yet to shake their image among many as guard dogs at best, dangerous pests at worst.
But it hasn’t always been this way. While it isn’t widely known, tǔgǒu are direct descendants of the first ever dogs to be bred from wolves by human beings. That’s right: the first ever dog domestication took place during “an initial phase that began in China around 33,000 years ago, and a second phase 18,000 years later in which the dog spread around the world.” According to Peter Savolainen at the Royal Institute of Technology in Sweden, this 18,000 year head-start has made East Asian dogs “stand out from all other dog populations, because they have the highest genetic diversity and are genetically closest to the wolf.”
This early coexistence with humans paved the way for a long and storied history in service and companionship to the people of ancient China, as this netizen explains:
“Tǔgǒu aren’t just guard dogs. Throughout history, the Chinese Pastoral Dog was the ‘jewel in the people’s palm.’ In the Warring States Period, the people displayed a profound love of dogs. The remains of two hounds, with thick gold collars around their necks, were unearthed in the tomb of King Cuò of the state of ZhōngShān. In the Qín and Hàn dynasties (…) when people were wealthier due to iron production, there was a need for companionship, just like the rise of modern pet dogs. This can be seen in many paintings and artefacts of the time period.”
While tǔgǒu may have fallen from grace in recent centuries, I would like to stress that not everyone sees them as unworthy of love and consideration. Adopting MóMo and QiūQiū has put us into contact with a community of Chinese veterinarians, animal rescue workers and shelter volunteers of all ages and backgrounds, as well as other tǔgǒu adopters, often (but not necessarily) motivated by Buddhist values of compassion and nonviolence towards sentient beings.
In honour of these kind people; the tǔgǒu of China and MóMo and QiūQiū’s ancient DNA, I would like to introduce you to a few of the tǔgǒu we’ve come to know in our local area over the past couple years.
Splitting his time between the convenience store and the garage next door, DiǎnDiǎn appears to be under some kind of unofficial joint custody arrangement between the two businesses. The setup seems to work for him, as he walks back and forth eating meal scraps from the mechanics during lunch hour, and sausages dangled to him by the kindly shop clerk.
He has an underbite and long hair which gets very matted, so each summer the mechanics take him inside and shave him, after which he’s temporarily unrecognizable. He’s due a cut soon, I think. DiǎnDiǎn has kept his distance from MóMo and QiūQiū ever since they had a sausage-related argument some months back.
HuāHua is the companion animal of a security guard who keeps watch over the cars outside a local HotPot restaurant. She sleeps in another makeshift kennel outside the temporary shelter where her guardian sleeps after his shifts.
Spending much of her time chained up, HuāHua is sometimes fear-aggressive of people who wander too close, but she seems to not mind the hotpot staff sitting beside her in their chef whites during cigarette breaks. She enjoys licking our hands and jumping up at us but is very touch-sensitive, so we have to respect her desire not to be petted.
HēiHú roams the street by day and sleeps tied up in a wood and tarp kennel built by an old retired man on our road at night. HēiHú is playful with MóMo and QiūQiū but very cautious of humans. However, we recently achieved a level of trust necessary for a chin scratch.
Often at night, we can hear HēiHú barking from her little shelter, and we think she suffers from separation anxiety. We’re in the process of trying to convince the old man to let her sleep inside with him.
We don’t know this dog’s name because he’s usually alone, but he seems well-fed and often wears a collar. We just refer to him as ‘Temple Dog,’ because he’s often seen hanging around the courtyard of a local Zhūgě Liàng monument (probably because the security guards feed him). He’s a very sweet dog that’s totally trusting of humans, to the point he sometimes tries to leap into our arms. This is pretty unusual for street tǔgǒu, and I hope no future human interactions tarnish this positive trait.
Cover image Sailko https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Commons:GNU_Free_Documentation_License,_version_1.2
Diagram: China Daily