What led me to stop breeding Shikoku? Well, it was the same issues that led me to quit breeding pedigreed Kishu several years earlier: there were no males that I wanted to breed my females to. The first rule of breeding should always be the attempt to create a better dog—one that’s healthy and true to its purpose. Everything else, including our aesthetic preferences, comes after that. And this is where the danger of “preservation breeding” lies. Do we continue breeding at all costs? And if not, what costs are we willing to pay?
With the Kishu population rapidly declining, and thyroid and allergy issues widespread (to name a few of the health issues in the breed), every breeding began to feel like a game of Russian roulette. If I rolled unlucky, everyone lost— breeder, puppy owner, and most importantly, the dog. I have yet to visit a Kishu kennel where I haven’t seen at least one dog suffering from a severe skin issue that affects quality of life terribly. So not only was there a high probability of producing sick pups, but as a hunter, my expectations were even higher than those of a typical breeder. Any stud I use must have not only good health and sound temperament, but also proven working ability.
And herein lies the rub: I expect a lot. Unfortunately, the Kishu first—and a few years later, the Shikoku—were weighed in the balance and found wanting. There are simply too few “working” kennels in NIPPO.
Yes, it’s still possible to breed Kishu and Shikoku, though I think the former is no longer truly viable from a health perspective. Interestingly, there are still many non-pedigreed hunting Kishu in Japan. The six Japanese “breeds” classified by NIPPO in the early 1900s all trace their origins to hunting dogs taken from deep in the mountains. NIPPO members and dog brokers selected what they considered the “best” examples, but many dogs remained with the hunters. To this day, those bloodlines survive as what we call ji-inu—local dogs. Among them, the Kishu-type ji-inu remain some of Japan’s most popular big-game hunting dogs. No pedigrees? No problem.
A few years ago, I was asked on a podcast whether we’re in danger of losing the hunting Nihon Ken. My answer was no—but with a caveat. We have six separate pedigreed gene pools, plus a large one that remains unrecognized. Altogether, there are more than enough dogs to carry on the legacy of Japan’s aboriginal hunting dog—as long as one isn’t fixated on pedigrees. Fortunately, most hunters in Japan aren’t. Because of that, we could say that the Nihon Ken is not truly endangered. The six man made constructs, or 'breeds' that we've separated them into, are. But the same is now being said for pedigreed breeds in general. Any closed gene pool that is put through high levels of selection is heading for a genetic dead end. Some breeds are getting there faster than others (I'm looking at you Bulldogs and Dobermans), but it seems it is time for a rethink of our current idea of dogdom.
A few generations back, I began mixing pedigreed and non-pedigreed Kishu-type dogs—and the results have been A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. The difference you can make in a breeding program when your stud males actually have the traits you want to add is nothing short of incredible. While finding hunting Kishu males with good temperaments, health, and working ability was not difficult, the Shikoku present a trickier situation. There just aren’t many ji-inu lines left in Japan that truly carry the classic Shikoku type.
Over the past several years, I’ve started to see all the telltale signs of a shrinking Shikoku gene pool. Even more alarming has been the precipitous decline in the number of available stud males. As older preservationists began winding down their breeding programs, the first dogs they let go were often the males—difficult animals for an aging breeder to manage. Here in eastern Japan, we now have only a small handful of stud males left.
Years ago, when I first got on this preservation boat, I tried to convince everyone to send as many Nihon Ken as possible overseas, from as many different lines as we could. There simply weren’t enough people in Japan who wanted these dogs—particularly the medium-sized breeds (other than the Kai, but that’s another story). My thinking was that if we ever ran into trouble here in Japan, we’d have that overseas gene pool to draw from and bring back to the motherland.
Well, with a few tears, that day has pretty much arrived. This latest breeding season, there were almost no stud males available—very limited choices, high COIs for the pairings that could be done, and poor compatibility for the low-COI options (small dog to small dog, weak structure, and so on). So how long does one keep raging against the dying of the light, trying to maintain a breed? The answer will be different for each of us, but for me, that time has come and gone. In a closed gene pool—especially one that’s rapidly shrinking—options and hope disappear at equal speed.
If you’re not aiming to produce high-level working dogs, and you’re willing to accept things like possible decline in type and some health issues, it’s still possible, in my opinion, to stay in the breed. Try to preserve as much genetic diversity as you can. Aim for low COIs. Grow a thick skin, and be ready to take some losses. Plan ahead—look as far down the road as possible. But there is no making up for genetic diversity that has been lost. Well, without out-crossing, but that's another post for another time.
I’ve taken a year and a half sabbatical since shutting down my Shikoku breeding program, and I’ve had plenty of time to sort through the emotions and questions in my head. I've come out of this rest with some ideas, and more importantly, some clear direction. My ji-inu line based on Baron is still going strong. I’ll most likely continue it—with a few interesting tweaks—and I’ll keep posting Nihon Ken-related thoughts here on the blog. If you're reading thi, thanks for sticking around!
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