THE BEARDED TIBETAN MASTIFF OF THE TRANS-HIMALAYA
The Bearded Tibetan Mastiff (BTM) gets its name from the shaggy hair found all over its body, but particularly on its muzzle. “Hair completely covered Thumdru’s face in the fashion of a Tibetan Terrier,” Dan Taylor-Ide says about his male. Major Dan James writes about his Suptu, that “When he moulted his coat would peel off in enormous pieces almost like a lamb’s fleece. We were told that this always occurred in the spring at the same time as the yaks moulted (in Tibet) and in a similar fashion. Underneath was a complete coat of new, soft, curly hair. The hair is used for spinning.”
This elusive breed of mountain dog is virtually unknown away from the Himalayan and Trans-Himalayan “roof of the world”. There, in the region dominated by the sacred Mt. Kailash, local nomads and traders consider the BTM to be the best for livestock protection and camp guard duty. They call it by various terms: Yun-Kyi, or Do-Kyi or Kyi Apso in parts of Tibet, and Kinnauri Kutta in north India, for example. In America, the few fanciers who know of the breed call it by the Tibetan term Kyi Apso, or Apso Mastiff, or simply as the Bearded Tibetan Mastiff. (This “apso”, however, must not be confused with the much smaller Lhasa Apso, nor with the intermediate shaggy-haired Tibetan Terrier. The Tibetan adjective apso simply means “bearded”, while kyi is a Tibetan noun for “dog”. Kyi Apso is the generic term for any long-haired Tibetan dog, large or small, mastiff, terrier or Lhasa variety - or a shaggy mutt, for that matter.)
Unlike the more common Tibetan Mastiff, only two BTMs have ever been seen in the U.S., and the author knows of only one imported to Europe. The first recorded description of the rare dog appeared in print in the 1930s, but in the intervening years, very little has been seen or said of the breed. This, then, is the first major written description of the breed, as I have observed and researched it among the mountain-dwelling people in the remote Himalayas.
The standard Tibetan Mastiff (TM), a close cousin to the BTM, is presently becoming quite well known around the world. It is often a featured attraction at Oriental and rare breed dog shows, and considerable interest has been shown in its innate abilities to guard and protect livestock on American farms and ranches. In Europe and Asia the standard TM is officially recognized by The Kennel Club of London, the Federation Cynologique Internationale, and national dog associations of both India and Nepal. It still remains unrecognized, however, by national kennel clubs of either the U.S. or Canada. But interest is definitely growing and there are, to date, well over 600 standard Tibetan Mastiffs recorded in the official registry of the American Tibetan Mastiff Association (ATMA), which several friends and I founded in the early 1970s.
The main characteristic distinguishing the standard TM from the bearded variety is the length of coat. The BTM typically has long body hair of medium length. The fluffy, hairy muzzle on the long-coated variety is what gives it a distinctive “bearded” appearance.
The BTM exists in small numbers in the remotest parts of the Himalayas and Tibet. Opinion about its uniqueness and importance as a separate breed, however, is somewhat divided. On one hand, the Himalayan herders and traders of Tibet, northwestern Nepal and north India consider their Kyi Apso to be a dog of exceptional value. But, we really have no idea of how many there are, nor anything about their breeding habits. Many Westerners who fancy them as a special breed would like to see them gain more international recognition. Yet, some skepticism exists abroad.
The leading breeder of standard coated TMs in Nepal urges caution in designating these shaggier TMs as a new and distinct breed: “In all probability,” writes Jay N. Singh of the Nepal Kennel Club, “it is not a pure breed and has no special function. I have seen quite a few of these dogs and they possess no common features to distinguish them as of the same breed which we find in the Tibetan Mastiffs. There is no evidence of their existing as a distinct breed in Tibet for any length of time. We do find sporadic mention of long-haired dogs of Tibet, but it does not necessarily mean the existence of Apso Mastiff. Relatively, the Tibetan Mastiffs could be called long-haired in contrast to the English Mastiff. I saw one recent import from Tibet which has much longer hair than our dogs, but it is definitely not shaggy and an Apso Mastiff.”
Nonetheless, the existence of the BTM has generated considerable and growing interest among a small group of fanciers in North America and Europe. One of the first published accounts of this dog was written by the Hon. Mrs. Eric Bailey of Great Britain in a 1937 issue of the American Kennel Gazette (Vol. 54, no. 3, pp. 5-8 and 90). In her article, entitled “Dogs from the Roof of the World”, Mrs. Bailey noted that in Lhasa, the Dalai Lama, supreme spiritual leader of Buddhist Tibet, kept many dogs “among them one described as ‘Do-Kyi-Apso’.” She speculates that it may have been “a cross between a TM and the dog known in Tibet as the large Apso, which are called Tibetan Terriers in England,” (p. 90). Mrs. Bailey’s husband took a photograph of this dog - “the only one of its kind that he ever saw.”
In the late 1970s, two BTMs were imported to the U.S. as a potential breeding pair - a female named Singdru (“little lion”) and a male, Thumdru (“little bear”). Both were acquired in western Tibet, then carried by traders into remote northwestern Nepal, and on to Kathmandu. They were then exported to the U.S. by Melvyn Goldstein of Ohio and Daniel Taylor-Ide of West Virginia. Unfortunately, Singdru died before she could be bred so the formal establishment of a line of BTMs in North America remains unfulfilled. Thumdru recently died of old age, in the care of his second owner, Judd Anderson of Colorado.
Another BTM, a male named Suptu, was imported to England in the late 1970s by Major Dan James of Southampton. This dog died of old age in April 1986, also unbred.
The two U.S. importers probably know more about BTMs than anyone else today (outside of Tibet). Goldstein is a Tibetologist and linguist, and conducts anthropological research in Tibet. Dan Taylor-Ide is an educator and well travelled in the Himalayas. He has long wanted to establish and breed a pure line of BTMs in the U.S. Taylor-Ide, James and Goldstein have all shared their observations with me. For more than 20 years I have gathered data on standard TMs and, more recently, on the bearded variety. This article, then, is the first attempt since Mrs. Bailey’s remarkable description in 1937 to bring our combined knowledge of this fascinating and rare mountain dog into public view.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
There are several ways to characterize and describe the big dogs of Tibet. All dogs in Tibetan are know as Kyi. But within this generic category of “dog” there are variations based on function (hunting, guarding, etc.) And physical characteristics (size, length of hair, color, etc.). Four types of Tibetan dog have become well known in the West among dog fanciers. They are the Lhasa Apso, Tibetan Spaniel, Tibetan Terrier and standard TM. (Some also add the Shih Tzu to this list.)
The standard TM is sometimes referred to as “the big dog of Tibet”, and is known generally as Do-Kyi in Tibetan - “tied dog”. But two lesser-known, so-called “big dogs” stand out in Tibetan terminology according to their functions. One - about which virtually nothing is known outside of Tibet - is the Sha-Kyi or “meat dog”, a lithe and rangy hunting dog. The other is called Yun-Kyi or “loose dog”. The BTM falls into this category, a dog which is turned loose in the high pastures to range with the herds of yak and sheep and expected to guard and protect the herds from predators.
Finally, there are dog names based on the places with which they are commonly associated. Big dogs from the region of Tsang, for example, are known as Tsang-Kyi.
To more fully explain the distinction between tied dogs and loose dogs, according to Daniel Taylor-Ide, the most commonly encountered large dog in Tibet is the Do-Kyi, or “tied dog”. “This,” he writes, “is because the normal use of the TM in Tibet is as a guard dog. However, not all TMs are Do-Kyi. Professor Melvyn Goldstein reports that sometimes among the Tibetan nomads a dog is found identical in build and breeding to the Do-Kyi, called Yun-Kyi, meaning ‘dog that runs loose’. The Yun-Kyi are dogs whose job is to run loose among the nomads’ herds to protect the flocks from marauding wolves, snow leopard and bandits. Because these dogs are not chained, they cannot be called Do-Kyi.”
Linguistic distinctions in the Tibetan language (especially between the dog varieties Do-Kyi and Yun-Kyi which serve very different purposes) are helpful in understanding and appreciating the way Himalayan people think about and react to their dogs. The judgment of a “good” or “ideal” dog by Tibetans is quite different from that of dog fanciers in Europe or America.
To a Tibetan, the quality of a dog - its value - is not based on size or any programmed response to elaborate training, but rather on innate behavioral characteristics; that is, on its natural function, or what it does best. Therefore, we hear about dogs which are good because they can kill leopards, are exceptionally fearless and powerful, have a loud bark, are particularly ferocious, or some combination of such functional traits.
As Dan Taylor-Ide writes, “This different cultural approach is admirably recognized by ATMA, for the wording of its standard explicitly distinguishes between the haphazard breeding of the dog in Tibet, where functional (working) characteristics are sought, vs. The Western desire in breeding where physical traits (size and strict conformation) are emphasized.”
PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS
BTMs come in Both Taylor-Ide’s dog Thumdru and Goldstein’s Singdru were physically large and very strong. When full grown, Thumdru weighed 110 pounds (50kg) and stood 27 inches (68.6 cm) at the shoulders. The Taylor-Ides worked with Thumdru under the tutelage of one of America’s finest trainers. By Dan’s account, the trainer was amazed at Thumdru’s reflexes - “faster than a Doberman or a German Shepherd,” he said. Dan also writes that “Thumdru would start to react under his shaggy coat, and the bulk would camouflage the preliminary muscle action - he was quick and smooth. In races with other dogs, he outran most sporting breeds.” several colors. The family of the Raja (King) of Mustang, an isolated mountain principality in northern Nepal adjacent to Tibet, breeds predominantly reddish dogs. The Humli dog of northwest Nepal which I describe later was the color of rich cream. Suptu, in England, was partly cream-colored, but also had grey-black and brown markings. Singdru, in America, was black with reddish-tan markings, while the American dog Thumdru and the Kinnauri dog of north India which I describe later were all black, although Thumdru also had white flecking in his hair.
Thumdru’s outer coat was about six inches long. The fine inner coat (a common feature of all TMs) was thick, soft and only about one inch long.
All the Tibetan Mastiffs, bearded or standard, shed their inner coat annually each spring. This Tibetan Mastiff fleece is sometimes called pashmina by Himalayan people, a term usually reserved for only the very finest quality spinning wools. (BTM behavior that reflects these dogs’ age-old association with yaks has also been noted in other ways, as described later in this article.)
The reader should also note that, like other early (more primitive) canine varieties, both bearded and standard Tibetan Mastiffs have virtually no body odor, and that except in rare instances, they have only one estrus (breeding) cycle annually, usually in fall or early winter. There may be some adaptive advantage to this timing. Pups are whelped in late winter, a time of relative immobility of herd animals in the climatically moderate and relatively safe environment of the lower Himalayan valleys. Only after they are weaned and are physically active and strong do they begin to encounter the severe stresses of life on the annual migration to the highest altitude mountain pastures.
BEHAVIORAL CHARACTERISTICS
Two temperamental or behavioral characteristics stand out in all descriptions of BTMs. They display a very friendly, playful and largely peaceful approach to life on the one hand, contrasted with a protective, aggressive trait when aroused. Perhaps the two are complementary temperaments within a complex behavioral set that has allowed these dogs to adapt so successfully to the harsh and unpredictable conditions of life in the Trans-Himalaya reaches of western Tibet.
The owners of Suptu, Singdru and Thumdru each describe their dogs as generally relaxed, affectionate, peaceful (but not without occasional surprises). Taylor-Ide uses the term “laid back” to describe Thumdru. “Mellow” is another good descriptor for these dogs. Maj. James writes that Suptu “used to love to have a game, always the same one. He would run around and around and then go for one’s legs, and with his tremendous power it was very difficult to keep standing.” Suptu also showed his affection “by rubbing his head against us or lying close to our legs. He had a sense of humor and seemed to laugh with his eyes, which were most expressive. His manner was one of quiet dignity and pride...”
Nonetheless, the most sought-after characteristic of these dogs in their natural setting is their outstandingly protective behavior. They are prized guardians; the more aggressive in the face of danger, the better, say the local Tibetans. In the yak and sheep pastures they are needed to warn the herdsmen of danger and to physically repel predators from camp (or, if necessary, to attack and kill predators such as leopards). Likewise, traders and pack animal handlers rely similarly on BTMs for protective purposes in their camps along the wild and dangerous mountain trails of the Himalayas and Trans-Himalayas.
After obtaining Suptu for a few rupees from a Tibetan trader in northeastern Nepal, Maj. James learned firsthand what this sort of behavior meant. At first, he tried to keep the dog indoors at night. On the very first night, he locked the dog in the main room of his small village hut. Almost immediately Suptu “started whining and scratching at the door, so I brought him into my bedroom. But he continued his whining and when I eventually fell asleep he broke the door down and stayed outside. I realized later that the main role of these dogs is to guard and never stay in. From then on he stayed outside, where he fiercely threatened any person within sight - there is no doubting the serious damage he would have done if her were loose. He took to me and my wife and to guarding us at any cost.” Over time, Suptu changed his habits and started coming inside. And later, after being imported to England, he expanded his territory from the James’ house to the front garden, and eventually to the whole street.
Similarly, Taylor-Ide describes Thumdru as steadfastly guarding his wife, Jennifer, whenever Dan was away from home for any length of time. Strangers were simply not allowed in or near the house, if Thumdru had his way. And when left alone at home, the dog became highly nervous, anxious to break loose. “When we returned home once later than we had intended, we found Thumdru had methodically tried to gnaw his way out through a window frame,” Taylor-Ide remembers. (Standard TMs have also been known to try to break out under similar circumstances - often quite successfully, to the chagrin of their owners.)
The strong protective instinct of the BTMs is a point all of the owners have remarked upon. In every case, when approached on territory they each felt to be theirs to guard, their normally quiet temperament would rapidly change and they became highly excited. Maj. James notes that although Suptu was outwardly friendly toward people much of the time, he and his wife were never able to relax when Suptu was in his defensive mode.
Similarly, Thumdru was affectionate toward most people, and could remember people he’d not seen for even a year or more. Nonetheless, with strangers Thumdru could create serious problems. “I really think he might have killed to defend his master’s home,” Taylor-Ide writes. (By contrast, accounts of such intense protective behavior are few among TM owners in North America. Standard TMs seem much more “laid back” most of the time unless deliberately conditioned to express overtly aggressive guarding behavior.)
BTM owners in America and England have wondered if this dislike of strangers is idiosyncratic or based on environmental conditioning. It is unclear whether it is in the nature of the breed or harks back, perhaps, to some early bad experience in Tibet. Jennifer Taylor-Ide cautions that “It would be a mistake to treat Thumdru’s defensive aggression lightly, both because it was so marked, and because it took and unusual pattern in his life. For the first year-and-a-half that we had him, he showed none of this behavior at all. Until roughly age two, Thumdru was the most ‘laid back’ creature you can imagine. While his lithe, athletic prowess was certainly displayed in romping, around the house he padded slowly and sedately about, modestly offering his head to a visitor for a pat. You couldn’t ask for a better large dog house pet.”
But when Thumdru was about two years old, “he was attacked by a Bulldog, and fought aggressively back,” Jennifer writes. “From that time onward, he became increasingly ‘touchy’ around strangers. Over a period of several months he evolved a classic territorial behavior pattern. He remembered his friends for long periods, and once accepted by him, a person could be pretty relaxed about being accepted in the future. But Thumdru was breathtakingly vicious toward strangers, most particularly men, or anyone appearing suddenly or under unusual circumstances. The mildness of his early life and the coincidence of territorial behavior with maturity never suggested idiosyncrasy to us. We loved that dog and breed, but we would not want to play down the possibility of potent, inherited territoriality.”
By comparison, the young BTM which I encountered on a remote trail in western Nepal displayed no outward signs of aggression or dislike for strangers at all. If anything, he is best described as remarkably subdued, even shy.
Perhaps as in most dogs aggressive behavior comes from early socialization and conditioning; although there is some evidence that a “mean streak” might be heritable. It is quite true that even the most gentle-natured dog may turn aggressive if restrained on a short chain for long periods (as is often the case in Tibet) or if mistreated in other ways. I hasten to add that mistreatment was not a factor in the Taylor-Ide’s handling of Thumdru, nor in Maj. James’ handling of Suptu. However, the treatment of both dogs prior to being acquired from Tibet is unknown.
THE BEARDED TIBETAN MASTIFF:
ENCOUNTERS WITH THE ‘KINNAURI KUTA’
BTM owners have also noted seasonal restlessness. Dan Taylor-Ide associates the timing with the traditional yak migrations in Tibet, with which both BTMs and TMs have long been associated. “Both dogs,” Dan writes, “became very restless in spring and fall. They would do everything they could to roam, disappearing for up to a week at a time and covering enormous distances by the phone calls that would come in from folks who saw the collar.”
Whether Thumdru’s wanderings were truly seasonal is an open question, and there is disagreement on this aspect of his behavior. Jennifer Taylor-Ide writes that while she clearly remembers Thumdru’s restlessness, “it seemed more sporadic than seasonal. He would indeed roam, apparently non-aggressively, and would find his way home. I always felt it was stretching the point a bit, however, to fit Thumdru’s behavior into a strictly seasonal pattern. It is certainly true that he did not always feel this urge. In other words, he was not just a roving dog.”
But Dan.. asks: “Is it the nomadic heritage? I can only guess so.”
Thumdru and Singdru, and probably Suptu, were born in the region of Mt. Kailash and Lake Manasawar in western Tibet. (This is an especially sacred region among Tibetan Buddhists and Indian Hindus, fully one-third of the world’s population. Kailash also figures prominently in ancient Tibetan history and religion - and not, it seems, in dog lore.) Likewise, the dogs described later in this article, one each at Mustang and Humla-Jumla (in northwestern Nepal) and Kinnaur (in north India), undoubtedly trace their ancestry, if not their actual breeding and birth, to the same part of Tibet near Mount Kailash, Lake Manasawar, and the source of five great Asian rivers - the Ganges, Indus, Sutlej, Jumuna and Tsangpo-Brahamaputra.
The first BTM I ever saw was in December 1982 in Mustang, one of the most Tibetanized districts of northern Nepal. A reddish-colored pup was proudly shown to me by a Nepali government official who had obtained it from the family of the Raja (King) of Mustang. Mustang royalty, vassals to the King of Nepal, have historic ties with the traders and nomads of western Tibet. Indeed, Mustang (locally called Manthang) was once a part of the ancient western Tibetan kingdom of Gu-ge (pronounced Goo-gay) which included Mt. Kailash and Lake Manasawar in its territory.
I saw a second BTM, a so-called “Kinnauri” dog, in 1983 in the mountains of Himachal Pradesh state of northern India. My third and most recent encounter, the so-called “Humli” dog, was early in 1986, in the region of Humla and Bajhang districts of remote northwestern Nepal.
The dog which caught everyone’s eyes at the Dhauldhar shepherds’ Tibetan Mastiff dog show was the lone Kinnauri Kuta, of the bearded variety. Grey-black in color, and smaller than most others in the show, he created a stir among the foreign guests, one of whom declared her intention to seek out good breeding stock from which to start a European line.
In May 1983 I was invited to attend a Gaddi shepherd dog show of sorts, high in the Dhauldhar mountains of north India. The show was hosted and sponsored by a West German farm-forestry development adviser, Herr Christian Ehrich. Ehrich lived in Palampur, a town in the Kangra Valley of Himachal Pradesh state. He is a man strongly attracted to mountain dogs, and keen on preserving and promoting TMs internationally.
The Gaddi people are the indigenous transhumant shepherds of the Indian Himalayas. They traditionally trail their herds through Kangra Valley to pastures in the Dhauldhar mountains each spring, returning to the lowlands in the fall. Traveling with every herd are dogs which variously approximate the standard TM. These are not herding dogs, but are kept principally for livestock protection. Rustlers and wild predators beware!
Ehrich invited a number of Indian, Nepalese, European and American TM fanciers to several mountain dog shows in the early 1980s. He also printed special flyers (in Hindi) and posted them conspicuously along the shepherds’ traditional routes through Kangra Valley. All Gaddi shepherds were invited to bring their best Himalayan mastiffs, and prizes were announced for the best three dogs and bitches shown. The date and place of the show I attended were set for May 23, 1983 at Palachik, a remote mountain pasture at about 9,000 feet (2,750 m) elevation.
The international guests included a visiting West German Tibetan Mastiff breeder, Frau Hedi Nouc; several members of the German forestry development team; Mr. Dogra, an Indian horticulturist from the agricultural college in Palampur; and two Sikh TM breeders from nearby Punjab state. One of the Sikhs was a retired Indian Air Force Captain, A.J.S. Grewal (with his son, Nirip Jeet Singh Grewal); the other was Shamsher Singh, a Punjabi jeweler. The Grewals and Mr. Singh all belong to the very active Indian dog fancy. They frequently show their dogs at Delhi and in other Indian cities.
Our multi-national party arrived at Palachik after a six-hour forest trek the day before the show. It was rain and unseasonably cold for so late in may. Our destination was the foresters’ hut at Palachik meadow. After a hot supper prepared by Jagdish Chand, the camp cook, we spent a pleasant evening in front of the fire, sipping sweet tea while Capt. Grewal spoke to us about the history of TMs and gave pointers about selective breeding and growth of the breed.
About midnight there was a tremendous commotion outside, with men shouting and dogs barking fiercely. When we asked what was happening, we heard a confusing story about bears and leopards in their camp. This kept the dogs busy at their night work, and when we checked in the morning we found that none of the livestock was hurt or lost. The dogs had done their work well.
We were greeted at dawn by the steady rumble of thunder through the mountains and fresh snow on the hills around the camp. As we drank our morning tea, hail pounded the foresters’ hut. It was not a promising start to the day.
It rained off and on all morning, soaking all who ventured outside, and muddying up the meadow for the dog show. About 8:30 AM, the first herdsmen and their dogs were seen coming up the valley trail through the drizzle and mist. By mid-morning several dozen men had arrived, with altogether 14 dogs to show. Ehrich assured us that had the sun shone, as it had in the past years, we would have seen double or triple that number. (Two years before, more than 40 dogs were shown.) We began the 1983 dog show huddled under blankets and black umbrellas.
First, the dogs - five dogs and nine bitches - were promenaded in a circle by their masters. Not unexpectedly, there were several fights. The dogs were expected to stand for inspection by Ehrich, the chief judge. (Since this was an informal show - principally to encourage the shepherds toward better breeding standards - it was unregistered, and no official Indian or European judges were present.) You can imagine the chaos created by untrained dogs and masters unused to the regimen of the show ring!
Everyone had a job to do. I took photographs. Someone else kept notes, and still others held umbrellas over us. Ehrich performed the onerous job of measuring the dogs and inspecting their flashing teeth. This was accomplished only with the aid of thick leather gloves. (Some judges I know would take great exception to such hazardous duty!) Luckily, Ehrich came away from this dangerous canine dental adventure unscathed.
He soon narrowed the field to the best three dogs of each sex. Then, during the last big rain squall of the day, the prize-giving ceremonies were held. One hybrid Merino breeding ram was awarded to the owners of the Best and the Reserve Best of Show, and dog collars and flashlights were given to the others. As soon as the show was over, of course, the sun came out.
The dogs at Palachik represented several local named types, and included the bearded variety. In this part of the Indian Himalayas, mountain dogs are known by Hindi names after the district or region from which they come, or the people with whom they are most closely associated. Each type has a distinctive name, but except to the practiced eye of the shepherds, it was difficult to tell one type from another except for obvious characteristics resulting from uncontrolled out-breeding among the pariah dogs of the lower hills and plains.
We saw the typical Gaddi Kuta (kuta is “dog” in Hindi) and Bara Benghali Kuta, the most commonly found among Gaddi shepherds in the Dhauldhar. Bara Benghal is one of the pastures located high in the Dhauldhar mountain range. Another was a Lahauli Kuta; Lahual district is east of Kangra, bordering Tibet. It is prized because of its close affinities to the “true” TM across the international boundary. And, we saw one Kinnauri Kuta from the remote border district of Kinnaur.
There is a small debate among the American TM fanciers, supported by the opinion of some Indian dog experts, about whether mountain dogs such as those kept by the Gaddi people should be considered “true” Tibetan Mastiff stock, or merely a smaller “Himalayan sheep dog” type. There is quite a variety of livestock protection dogs of obvious TM derivation found in the lower Himalayas (outside of Tibet). But, while those of India tend to be identified by separate breed names, TMs in Nepal are not distinguished as such, probably because the vast majority are more recently derived directly from Tibet.
Most of the dogs shown at the Palachik dog show were of the Gaddi, Bara Benghali or Lahauli type. They were fine dogs, but small by international TM standards. The male entries, for example, averaged just under 23 inches (58.4 cm) at the shoulder. While we were unable to weigh the dogs, we estimated that none were more than 65 pounds (30 kg). International standards, by comparison, describe a standard male TM attaining heights of more than 30 inches (in excess of 76 cm) and weights of more than 100 pounds (45 kg).
The largest dog at Palachik that day (but not the Best of Show) was a 23-inch male shown by the smallest man, a Gaddi dwarf. The contrast between dog and master gave the impression of a canine of immense proportions!
The dog which caught everyone’s eye, however, was the lone Kinnauri Kuta of the bearded variety. It was grey-black in color, and slightly smaller than most others in the show. It created a stir among Christian Ehrich’s guests, and Hedi Nouc declared her intentions to return from Germany to India another year with more time to seek out good breeding stock in Kinnaur district from which to begin a European line. I am unaware that she was ever able to fulfill that dream.
Ehrich writes that “The Kinnauri Kuta hails from Kinnaur district of Himachal Pradesh. This strain does not come very near the ideal TM type, but contains elements of one or more other dog breeds from the higher Himalayas. A distinct wiry hair of medium length, and a bearded snout with certain Apso (long hair) characteristics hint at a distinct relationship to the legendary Tibetan Kyi Apso, or ‘long-haired dog’.
“All colors occur in this breed, although spotted animals are rare. A dark slate-grey seems to be quite frequent in the breed. This dog is kept as much as a shepherd dog as all TM-type strains, and crosses between the TM and the Kinnauri dogs are not infrequently found with the shepherds.”
THE ‘HUMLI’ BEARDED MASTIFF OF NORTHWEST NEPAL:
BEARDED TIBETAN MASTIFF, PART III
Then it happened! After turning into the forest, we began our descent toward the river amidst yet another large herd. I was fighting my way through the dust and turmoil of the bleating, excited sheep. My eyes were riveted to the trail beneath my feet to keep myself from falling down. Suddenly a dog barked, and I glanced up directly into the bearded muzzle of a magnificent dog. Here before me was the Humli kukur, a variety of rare Bearded Tibetan Mastiff - a highland dog like none other. He was about two years old, cream-colored, with long hair (badly matted) and a fully bearded muzzle.
Once my appetite was whetted and my eye trained to keep a sharp watchout for BTMs, I could not be satisfied until I found another - and ultimately, until I owned one or more of my own! There is a saying that the third time is the charm. When I saw my third BTM, I knew I had seen the most magnificent of them all. I knew immediately that I was in the presence of a very special and - to my way of seeing - very handsome dog. (Some people like beards, some don’t.)
For readers to appreciate the significance of my meeting the Humli dog, I must put this chance meeting into context. In March, 1986, while working for the United Nations as a consultant to a community forestry development project in Nepal, I took a field trip to the remote far western district of Bajhang, adjacent to the even more isolated high mountain place known as Humla. Humla is a part of Jumla, Nepal’s northwest cornermost district bordering western Tibet and north India. Talk of Humla-Jumla has always conjured up remoteness and rugged adventure since I first heard of it almost a quarter century earlier, when I was a young Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal.
One of the overland routes to Humla goes through Bajhang District, which I was scheduled to visit. A narrow and dangerous foot track along the Seti River gorge though Bajhang is a main trade route that links remote Humla-Jumla (and ultimately, western Tibet) with the lowlands of far west Nepal and north India.
Our trip began by a small plane from Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital, to a bus field at Chainpur, a tiny village that serves as the Bajhang district headquarters. From there we set out walking along the Seti Valley, visiting forest development sites along the way and meeting local villagers involved in various re-forestation activities.
We were a party of seven, including a forest guide and two porters. I came as an anthropologist (looking at the social aspects of community forest and woodlot development). The others were Thomas Wormald, a British forestry consultant for the U.N.; Adrianne Wilson, a young British forestry volunteer (VSO) to the project; and Mr. Karmacharya, a Nepalese forester.
Our route took us along the precipitous Seti gorge through southern Bajhang and Baitadi districts to a place called Dandeldhura. In geographic terms, we were 600 miles due west of Lhasa, Tibet, just below latitude 30 North. While high in altitude, this region is low in latitude. (The same latitude crosses Cairo, Egypt and north Florida.) Our work sometimes took us up onto the mountain flanks above the river, where we visited forest project sites. Much of our time, however, was spent walking the river trail, up, down and across the cliffs along the gorge, and through small terraced fields green with winter wheat. The trek itself lasted most of a week, but project sites were visited for only a few hours of each day.
While on the long trail between project sites, we kept a watchout for an occasional glimpse of the snow peaks of Saipal Himal behind us. And, off in the mountains to our south, we caught sight of part of the ancient Nepali Kingdom of Talahar. That is where Jay N. Singh, Nepal’s best known breeder of standard TMs was born. Mr. Singh operates the Saipal kennels of Kathmandu, named after the snow peaks in view from his childhood mountain home. My own Emodus TMs were derived from Mr. Singh’s Saipal breed line.
The Seti river gorge is as spectacular and rugged as any in Nepal. The river and the track beside it cut a narrow ribbon through a steep and austere landscape. There are few villages of any size along the route, and little in the way of travellers’ comforts. We camped in the open or in primitive porters’ sheds, and we ate meals of rice with our Nepali friends and hosts, garnished with what little meat, green vegetables or beans we could find to buy.
We also pursued our various trekking pastimes. Wormald, for example, identified most of the birds we encountered, while I amused everyone as the group’s dog watcher. Dogs are not much respected in the lowland villages of Nepal. The ubiquitous pariah or “pi-dog” is most common. Therefore, my keen interest in canine lore created some puzzlement among our Nepali companions and villagers.
There is little to attract trekkers or other travellers to this part of Nepal, but we were never alone. We constantly met pack herd - hundreds of tough little Tibetan goats and sheep laden with saddle bags weighing up to 15 kg. Each, carrying food grains (mostly rice) for trade in the hungry villages up river.
The Humli men, women and boys who tend the herds are a hardy lot, spending much of the winter dry season on the trail, conditioned to a Spartan life in the outdoors and to the exceptional rigors of their trade. They typically wear coarse woollen garments and smell unoffensively of campfire smoke and livestock. Each day we encountered five or six herd. All of the dogs were small and scruffy, not worthy of much attention.
On the third day out, we encountered some of the worst trail conditions of the entire trek. The cliffs of the Seti gorge rose above us for hundreds of feet along the north bank, and the trail in places was cut out of the solid rock face, sometimes hanging precipitously high above the river.
That afternoon, while negotiating a narrow track across a cliff face, we rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a herd of about 500 pack animals. A half-dozen swarthy Humlis guided their charges across the precipice. There was no space to pass, but rather than retreat down to a wider place we made ourselves small by hugging the cliff face. When the lead animals saw us, however, they stopped still in their tracks and eyed us warily. Eventually, two of the packmen worked their way to the front to pull and push the animals past us.
Ten...15...20...minutes passed, and still they came - a steady stream of sheep and goats descending in a cloud of dust out of a scrub oak forest and on to the cliff track about 300 meters ahead of us.
It was a treacherous but faintly comical scene - the cliff dropping abruptly away at our feet and rising straight up above our heads. Sheep, goats, packmen and their small dogs crowded by at our side. And while we clung tenaciously to the cliff wall, a band of mischievous rhesus monkeys rained sticks and pebbles down on our heads from above! We were all entangled in a wild and spirited traffic jam - sheep, goats, dogs, packers, porters, foresters and red monkeys.
To the shrill calls of “Drii! Drii!”...Ah-Ah-Ah” and grunting pulls and tugs to keep them moving, the Humli packmen coaxed the animals on. Hesitantly, and then in a rush, the herd pushed and shoved by us, amidst a cacophony of bleatings and baaings, neck bells jangling, hooves clacking on the bare rock. Dust and that peculiar musky odor of excited sheep and goats filled the air.
As soon as the last animal was past, a second large herd appeared coming through the forest across the cliff, moving rapidly to cut us off again if we didn’t act quickly. I took the lead and ran, alternatively ducking my head, steadying my balance against the cliff wall at my side, and bracing against the uneven track underfoot. Our goal was a point across the cliff face at which we could more conveniently stand aside to wait out the passing of this second herd.
The track was no more than a foot or two wide in some places, uncomfortably narrow should anyone stumble. All the while, the monkeys chastised us with their frenetic chatter, showering us with more dirt and twigs. We all crossed the cliff face quickly and without mishap, then stood by on the wider trail to let a similar Humla-bound pack train pass.
And then it happened! Shortly after turning into the forest, we began our descent toward the river amidst yet another large herd. Suddenly a dog barked, and I glanced up directly into the bearded muzzle of a magnificent dog. Here before me was the “Humli dog”, a variety of rare BTM of outstanding characteristics, a highland dog like none other - well-bred, well-built and certainly to be respected - perhaps an archetype of the breed. A truly exotic canine.
He was about two years old, cream-colored, with long hair (badly matted) and a fully bearded muzzle. I stopped still and fumbled in my pack for the camera. In a moment, a Humli packman worked his way up through the herd to see what had stopped its forward progress. We persuaded him to hold the dog for photographs, and I plied him with questions in Nepali.
“Yo kukur - kaha paieko, Daju?” (“The dog - where did you obtain it, Brother?”), I asked.
“Tibet baata, Sah’b,” (From Tibet, sir.”) was his answer.
“How did you get him?” I continued in Nepali.
“While trading over the northern border above Humla,” he replied.
“How much did you pay?” I asked.
“Dherai mahango, Sh’b!” (Very costly, sir.”), he said with emphasis. “Over 1,000 rupees” (approximately $50, which is, indeed, a huge sum to a Nepali villager).
“Will you sell him to me?” I asked.
“No!” came the firm reply. He was totally unwilling to part with his cherished guard dog.
This all took place in a matter of three or four minutes. Meanwhile, the herd was anxious to move on, and after a few last photographs of dog and master we stood aside to let them all pass. Only after the herd and packmen had gone did I realize that I hadn’t even asked the dog’s name.
We never saw another like it on that trip, and within a week we were far away from Bajhang and Humla-Jumla. Short of mounting a special expedition back to the mountains of Nepal, to Kinnaur in India or to Mt. Kailash in Tibet to find and retrieve some of these rare dogs for breeding, I knew I might never see another quite like it again. (Anyone interested in such an expedition to Humla is invited to write to me.)
This sighting, however, more firmly verified for Tibetan dog afficionados that the BTM does exist and where it may be found. But because it is an elusive and rare breed, it remains the stuff of stories and legends. In the half-century since dog fanciers first saw what a Bearded Tibetan Mastiff looked like in Col. Bailey’s 1937 photograph from Lhasa, we have yet to establish a breeding line away from its source along the Trans-Himalayan “roof of the world”.
  
W. A. Tegelaar
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Thank
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