The Labrador, according to the many videos and news reports we see of them, is the dog that does it all: after a long day of detecting bombs and drugs, pulling a victim from a collapsed building, helping a man with epilepsy detect his seizures, and comforting grief-stricken children, the Labrador Retriever returns home to play with your toddler, collect cuddles from you, and possibly make your dinner.
I have to admit my bias here: I am a Lab partisan. My family has always had Labs, from Nate the Dog to Ben to Tucker. My younger sister and her then-boyfriend/now-husband acquired a yellow Lab, and a few years later, she rescued a Lab mix from the side of the road. She tried to adopt the Lab mix out, but the Lab mix preferred to stay.
And I had Finn, objectively and scientifically proven to be the Best Dog Ever, for seven years.
Labradors were developed as multipurpose working dogs, first as net-haulers in the icy waters of Newfoundland and then as gun dogs retrieving birds for hunters. Their maritime heritage is evident in their coats (insulated, water-repellent, prone to extravagant shedding) and their trademark “otter” tails, which help them steer and, out of the water, knock over valuable low-lying objects; they are also water addicts who will stay in a body of water as long as you let them. Just as important to the breed is its nose, which has acquired fame as the sniffer that sniffs out contraband and explosive devices. Labs were bred to work closely with humans, so that’s where they’re happiest: right next to their person. Or people. Everyone can be a Lab’s person. Everyone is a Lab’s person; they just don’t know it yet.
How do you know if you’re the right person for a Lab? Here’s what a Lab is like:
- Labs want to buy the world a Coke (but they’d probably drink it). Finn knew he loved everyone from the moment he smelled them; I could always tell by the perked ears, alert-and-hopeful expression, and wagging tail that Finn had spotted an old friend or new friend approaching. When I would take him to campus to play in the ponds, we’d run into friends of mine, who would find Finn leaning against their legs, gazing blissfully up at them as they scratched his ears. He also “volunteered” at the hospital where my dad works, visiting with patients, participating in staff meetings, and hoovering up dropped food in the cafeteria, and according to my dad, loving every minute.
- Labs are brilliant actors. Nothing is as pathetic as a Lab, with pleading, upturned eyes, trying to tell you he needs to be fed his dinner right now or he will die. Nothing is as quietly tragic as a Lab being inflicted with an unwanted bath. Nothing is as hopeful as a Lab who’s just placed his favorite fetching toy in your lap and is hopping up and down excitedly, waiting for you to throw it. Nothing has that action-hero intensity like a Lab just waiting for you to do something for her.
- Unless you have no soul, a Labrador will always make you laugh. While their antics can verge on the destructive (and go howling by it), they will provide you with years of stories to make your family laugh and your visitors smile politely, or, if they have Labs, commiserate and compare stories. My family has tales of Lab misadventures from more than 30 years back. It’s taking everything in me to keep from bombarding you with Finn anecdotes right now. While sometimes these antics end in trips to the vet or a trip through the house with the steam cleaner, your Lab will have still given you a memory to look back upon with fondness.
- Labs have all the energy, and they have it for a long time. Labs have a hard time growing up; even a dignified senior Lab will sometimes return to puppyhood, stealing a treat from an opened refrigerator or parading around with a purloined shoe. Adult dogs, so long as they’re healthy, love nothing better than a day outdoors. This energy means, though, you have to commit to a high-energy dog for years beyond adolescence. A happy Lab needs a yard to mess around in, or else daily walks and romps in an off-leash park, where he can expend all that energy and then nap at home, rather than take it out on your stuff.
- The way to a Labrador’s heart is through her stomach. All you have to do is offer a treat to a Lab and he will be your friend for life. Their devotion to food means they can be wily about getting it when they’re not supposed to have it; they’ll eat anything that isn’t nailed down, and many things that are. They might even eat the nails. Food you thought was safely stored away is later found on the floor in the form of crumbs, with a sad, dented Tupperware container or shredded plastic wrap the lone survivor.
- Like a tragicomic hero, the Labrador’s greatest strengths can be its shortcomings. Their intelligence can, if not properly directed, lead to a life of crime. In the time it took to write this sentence, at least a hundred Lab owners have discovered a Lab-related calamity has befallen them. Their sense of smell and one-track minds mean they will follow a scent anywhere until they’ve tracked it down and eaten its source. In general, their obsessiveness means they will work tirelessly toward a goal, whether it’s tearing up that bit of loose carpet or knocking over furniture to find a long-abandoned toy.
In the wrong hands, the breed can be the victim of its reputation. Although they’re naturally tractable, Labs still require training and firm boundaries. Whether you get a puppy or an older Lab, be prepared to do the legwork to make your dog a good citizen.
One other consequence of the Lab’s popularity is the tendency of breeders to select for size and heaviness, producing Labs that are stocky and heavy-set. (He doesn’t look it in the photos I’ve included, but Finn was very solid.) The packing on of extra weight — weight the Lab was never intended to carry — leaves Labs prone to joint problems, including hip dysplasia and arthritis.
So what kind of person has a Lab? If you look at the numbers — the most popular dog in the US for 22 consecutive years and possibly the most popular worldwide — all sorts of people own Labradors or Lab crosses. I can tell you that depressed, anxious graduate students desperate to have a Labrador in their lives have Labradors, so I’m sure other kinds of people have them, too.
Maybe a better question is who should have a Lab?
If you recognize that less-than-pristine carpet and furniture is a small trade-off for stealth snuggles (where one minute you’re working on your laptop and the next a 75-pound dog has materialized on you); if you enjoy stories that make you laugh and shake your head in disbelief; if you like long walks anywhere or marathon fetch games or chasing after the scent of that dead mouse; if you decide you can sleep despite having to contort yourself around an immovable, volcanically-snoring canine lump (and, in fact, you get used to it); if you like knowing that when you hold out your hand there’s a head waiting to nudge up into the cup of it, so your fingers rub those floppy triangle ears and you hear the world’s most contented sigh… you might just be a Lab person.
(Okay, one last anecdote: When I went to the house of the woman who owned the rescue to see Finn, it was a blustery, snowy January day. I’d taken my gloves off to negotiate putting keys in my purse and had put them in my pocket. When the rescue organizer opened the door, Finn [fka Jimmy] shot out, hurled himself at me, seized one of my gloves, and ran away with it. I knew right then I needed to adopt him, because you don’t get any more Labrador than that.)
LEVEL OF OWNER EXPERIENCE NEEDED: VARIES. You have to be willing and able to put the work in to direct your Lab’s energy, and recognize you may be living with that energy for quite a few years. If you can do that, though, your Lab will be your faithful, furry shadow.
14 replies on “A Guide to Labradors and the People They Have”
My colleague has a lab who comes into the office a few times a week, and he is The. Best. But she spent a lot of time training him when he was a puppy, and he gets 4-5 hour walks at the weekend. And occasionally he still goes insane for a ball/his teddy/a nice chewy cardboard box. <3 him.
There’s a reason guide dog organisations tend to breed labs and lab-retrievers – they’re awesome people-dogs!
I would probably dognap the lab and keep him in my office all day.
There was a prof at the university where I did my grad work who had a Lab puppy that she brought to campus sometimes. You could always tell it was the puppy because there’d be a flock of cooing undergraduates bending over a tiny, wriggly black shape.
My dog is a lab/blue heeler mix, but she seems like 90% black lab and the only things blue heeler about her are the spots on her paws, her only weighing 50 lbs., and she is not as personable as most labs are. In fact, life seems to make her pretty nervous — any change in routine and she’s giving us the SUPER DRAMZ eyes, and she is suspicious of all house guests.
But she’s also 8 years old and still acts like a puppy most of the time, despite now needing supplements for her creaky hips.
You cannot leave any food unattended around her, and she has even tried to steal my coffee before, y’know, JUST IN CASE it might be something she wants. Her favorite toy is a balled up pair of wool socks, which she flings around like it is her best friend ever, so we call it Tiny Sheep. She never wants to play tug of war because that birding instinct keeps her from wanting to damage her toys, but she’ll definitely eat a bone/treat of any sort in what seems like nanoseconds.
When she was a puppy, she ate a corner of the wall, and also ripped up a bunch of carpet, but thankfully that destruction quit being an urge after the first year. Now it’s more like “I WANT TO BE GOOD BUT I FORGET WHAT — HEY WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE?! *dash*”
she has even tried to steal my coffee before, y’know, JUST IN CASE it might be something she wants
That is the Lab ethos in a nutshell.
One of my family’s old Labs developed a very cunning way of stealing food (until we caught on): If someone was eating alone, he’d run to the front door and start barking furiously. When the person got up to see what he was freaking out about, he’d race back to the table, grab whatever he could off the plate, and run behind the couch. It worked probably more than it should have before we caught on.
You’d have to be a heartless robot not to want a lab after reading this article. You’d also have to be a heartless robot not to love Finn after reading this article.
Although it was scientifically demonstrated that even heartless robots loved Finn. Everyone and everything loved Finn, as far as he was concerned.
My mother was emphatically NOT a dog person. And then she got a lab.
Dammit! It’s upside down! Loki can’t see!
She got a lab, and it broke gravity.
That’s what happens when you get a Lab: your life turns upside down!
While as a childless couple, our elderly greyhound is the perfect dog, we’ve found that as a family with one rowdy small dude and another on the way, we need a lab. Some sort of sturdy, happy, high-energy dog who wants to follow a kid around and eat everything he drops.
My mother adopted a lab when I was 19 who had been returned to the shelter TWICE. We soon figured out why– there was the roaming (we had five fenced acres and she’d still end up two pieces over), the time she dragged home the deer hindquarters and guarded it in the yard for a weekend, the beloved and disgusting coyote head that came later that summer, and the endless jumping and barking. She’s the only dog I ever knew who flunked out of obedience school. She jumped on people until the day before she died, driven to the end to make sure she tried to lick your tonsils. She was huge and disgusting and funny and loving.
During obedience school, when all the other dogs were calmly obeying the “leave it” command, Loki would run down the line of dogs and Hoover up all the treats. “Well if you guys aren’t hungry…” Labs, man.
My lab once got out of the yard and came back with deer leg and was SO. EXCITED. about it, and she couldn’t understand why we weren’t, ha.
Amazing noses + single-minded determination = Labs. Finn wandered off a few times if the yard gate was off the latch. Fortunately he never got very far because he was too busy smelling everything.
We lived in the downtown of a small city for a few years, so he never had the chance to go after something big and rotting. He still managed some roadkill, a horrible-looking ham sandwich someone had thrown out, and I’m sure other things that I’m repressing right now. And there was the time visiting my parents in NH when he dug a frozen mouse out of a snowbank and I got to pry it out of his mouth.