A mutt by any other designer name
I have a strong opinion about designer dogs that can be summed up in three words: It's a mutt.
Whoops, I probably just offended a Puggle owner. Alienated a Yorkiepoo lover. Pissed off a Shih Tzoodle momma. Bashed a Bagel eater. POed a Snickerdoodle baker. Don't be so sure those last two are foods; the world of designer dogs is so big and so trendy it may have taken over food-naming conventions by now.
I see wildly expensive versions of the kinds of dogs that are available at the local pound, sometimes for free, and I get skeptical. One thousand dollar dogs that are prone to hip dysplasia, eye disease, extreme halitosis, bowel problems, and severe dandruff compounded by inbreeding-just like their mixed-breed cousins at animal control? I can do math, so, no.
But then I get enterprising.
Big idea: I can adopt a bunch of mutts and sell them as designer dogs. Thanks for funding my retirement Houndmation! Hairless Scottie! Fajita!
I'm only a box van away from starting my own designer dog farm. That is, if I don't mind spending a day filling out affidavits vouching that I'll never use an electric fence or a tie-down, and that I will make myself available for KGB-style home visits all because of the adoption policies of an organization that has every intention of putting the leftover dogs to sleep if they remain un-adopted.
Fun Fact: "to sleep" doesn't mean "on a dog bed."
Wait, I can dream even bigger. I'll see your Chiweenie, local pet shop that gets its dogs from unreputable puppy mills and then sells them at outrageous prices, and raise you a Dr. Frankenstein. Looking for a Pekinese Parakeet? Maybe your family needs a Lop-Eared Harehund? Who wouldn't love a Pit Bull Python?
Better still, a dog that doubles as dinner. When he's done defending your home against burglars and being a faithful companion, the 110 pound Turkey Dane makes a Thanksgiving feast to remember.
Bon appetite! Just don't forget the rabies shots.