It’s starting to seem like a doggone forgone conclusion: for the 25th year in a row, the labrador retriever has been found to be America’s favourite dog. American Kennel Club vice-president Gina DiNardo said the Lab – family-friendly, athletic, comes in three different colours – “checks all the boxes”.
In the century that the AKC has been counting the most popular breeds in US homes, only four have held the number-one spot: the labrador, poodle, beagle and cocker spaniel. Last year, it beat the German shepherd, golden retriever, bulldog, beagle, French bulldog (on the rise in urban centres due to its “portability”), Yorkshire terrier, poodle, rottweiler, and boxer.
But despite its popularity, in nearly 140 years of the Westminster Dog Show, a labrador has never been named best in show. It’s one indication that the labrador, while a stalwart of the scene, might not be universally loved – and certainly, the AKC’s result has proved controversial amongst Guardian staff.
What do you think? Have labs had it too good for too long? Or are they popular for a reason?
Elle Hunt: Nothing good comes out on top of a popularity contest
This anecdote doesn’t reflect well on me, but I stand by the basic principle. When I was about six or seven years old, deeply interested in dogs (as I continue to be), I asked one of my mum’s colleagues what breed she owned. She said a labrador. “Oh, I don’t like those,” I (reportedly) replied. “They’re common.”
My mum was mortified. I went on to save my weekly pocket money for five years for enough to buy a Hungarian vizsla, a breed that was once favoured by Hungarian royalty and looks like it. It made #32 in the AKC list, two spots higher than its 2014 ranking, and frankly if it gets any higher I might have to trade her in for a more obscure model.
I’m joking, of course – my dog is dead – but if you’re going to spend an enormous sum of money on a purebred dog when there are plenty of beautiful bitser-everythings in need of homes, you might as well get a flashy one that no one’s ever heard of.
Labra-snores are fine, but the best thing that can be said about them is that you know exactly what you’re going to get. It’s like buying a vanilla ice cream cone or a brand-new Toyota Corolla: is it possible that you may not be a very interesting person?
Nothing any good comes out on top of a popularity contest. My next dog will either be rescued from a shelter – and probably fall outside of the AKC’s elitist scope – or enormously expensive, with the health problems embedded over centuries of in-breeding to boot. I’ve already starting saving for my Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever.
Lucy Clark: For meaningful eye contact between the species, labradors are unbeatable
There have been two dogs in my life, both labradors, first one golden, then one black. Sally was my childhood friend, a constant from before my conscious memory began until the unforgettable day when the vet said it was time to put her down. I was 17 and sobbed all the way to senior camp, playing The Rolling Stones’ Angie on high rotation, supplanting the name Sally for the name Angie in the spirit of teenage melodrama.
I didn’t remember life without her; there was no good time to say goodbye. The nap of the fur on her ears, the depths of her brown eyes, her toothy grin; all indelibly marked on my heart. The night when I was eight and she gave birth to seven purebred labrador puppies under our house was the most exciting of my little life.
When the time came to get a dog for my own family, there was absolutely no discussion to be entered into; it would be a lab. Rosie was by our sides until my children grew, until she was hit by a car and took 36 hours to die. Her head was in my lap for the longest day during which I cooed and soothed, watching for the time when her tail stopped wagging.
Labrador detractors (How is there such a thing? What is wrong with you people?) will say I can’t possibly know that they are the best breed of dog because I have nothing to compare them to, but I’ve known skittish, yappy, excitable, bouncy dogs with short attention spans and know that the solid presence of a slightly-overweight lab brings a type of faithful calm that says: I’m here. I’m here.
Yes they’re great with kids, yes they have an even temperament, yes they’ll eat all your leftovers and minimise your waste like no other dog, but this is the real appeal of the breed – for unbroken meaningful eye contact between the species, labradors are unbeatable.
Steph Harmon: The world’s best dog can’t be defined by a breed
Labradors are excellent because they are dogs – but that does not make them the most excellent dog.
The most excellent dog will be longer than it is tall, with mountains of scruff about its face. Either that or it will be small and proud and brave, with a tail that points straight up. It will be as neat and tidy as an English squirrel – or it will leave all its fur on your couch, to remind you that you’re terrible at discipline.
The most excellent dog will have ears long enough to tie in a bow above its head, and a coat you can lose your hand in. It will be big enough that a child will dream of riding it, but small enough that a smaller child won’t be scared of it at all. It will be quick to learn a new trick, but quicker to forget it in front of all your friends. It will have the silhouette you think of whenever you think of the word “dog” – or it will cast an amusing shadow, like edamame or a loaf of bread. One day, when it is bored, it will roll your hallway carpet up into a perfect cylinder and you’ll have no idea how.
The world’s best dog can’t be defined by a breed; it is any dog that, when you come home tired and flop onto the couch, will walk backwards and forwards under you so that your overhanging hand can stroke it without you even moving a muscle.
Paul Daley: No contest, labradors are the best
Think about your favourite people. Now condense their finest traits: gentleness; tendency to observe and listen; sensory delight in the world around; unmitigated joy at communion with nature and intuition for the way you feel. That’s your labrador.
Look into a labrador’s eyes. Love comes back. Labradors are a perpetual version of how your favourite 13-year-old son (yes, like my dogs, I have favourite children) was before he entered the dark tunnel of adolescence and decided to hate you. They are highly intelligent and happiest by your side, quizzically examining the people and other dogs around them.
That’s another thing about labradors. When they look in the mirror they see another dog. And when they see another dog in the park, they see another dog. But when they think of themselves, they see you. It’s the perfect recipe for empathy.
Yes, they are big. But not too big. And they have unique personalities. Nari will chase a ball until she drops. She hates the lead, will swim in the surf with sharks and run up mountains. Ronda (they reckon she’s my fave) is a princess who hates to get her feet wet, loathes to walk, and loves it best when on the lead at my heel.
They are territorial, have very big woofs and, so, are good watchdogs. But they don’t like to bite and are great with kids. True, one thing – food (term used loosely) - unites them. They are the InSinkErators of doggy-dom - their only shortcoming. But hey, who among us wouldn’t eat a 17.5 kilogram bag of salty treats in one sitting if we thought no-one would find out?
They can smell and hear anything, and woof when your car enters the street, long before you turn into the drive. So empathetic, so emotionally perceptive, is the labrador that, it’s said, he or she will mimic their owners’ quirks and neuroses.
I think that’s tosh. Although Ronda is OCD neat. And Nari often dreams aloud at 3am about the injustices of the world.
I’ve also heard that labradors inspire a tendency to anthropomorphism in their owners.
Bollocks.
Now that’s enough. They’ve just asked me to walk them.
Labra-adores or labra-snores? Get in on the discussion below ...