Shiba Inu

The shiba inu is the smallest of Japan's native dogs and one of the oldest dogs in the world — an ancient tracker that for centuries roamed the mountainous forests of the Land of the Cherry Blossom, flushing out everything that rustled in the undergrowth. After World War II the breed nearly went extinct and was rebuilt from a handful of surviving dogs — thanks to which the shiba retained something very primal: that foxlike beauty of its, its alertness, and its absolute, unshakeable independence. Because although on paper it's a dog, deep down the shiba is a cat. Proud, self-sufficient, and deeply convinced that it's the one doing you a favor by consenting to live with you.

Life with a shiba is a never-ending course in humility for the owner. Asked to come, the shiba will first weigh the pros and cons of your proposal, assess whether it's really worth its while, and only then graciously make a decision — usually independent of yours. It also has in its repertoire something that has passed into legend as the “shiba scream”: a piercing, dramatic shriek, as if some indescribable wrong were befalling it, while you're attempting something as cruel as clipping a single one of its nails. And through all of this it's tidy almost like a cat — it keeps itself clean, loathes mud, and can look at a Labrador wallowing in a puddle with an expression of sincere distaste. On top of that come fits of frantic energy, the famous “shiba 500,” when our dignified samurai suddenly turns into a hurtling ball, does a few laps of the apartment, and then returns to its customary dignity as if nothing had happened.

There's something in this that only those who have truly come to love the breed understand. The shiba isn't a dog that will shower you with kisses and follow you like a shadow, begging for attention. Its affection is reserved, discreet, served up in the Japanese manner — without needless pathos. But that's exactly why each of its gestures means so much. When this independent, proud dog comes of its own accord and settles beside you; when, after a long day, it finds you with its eyes across the room; when, in its sparing style, it lets you know that you're its person — know that you've received something that had to be earned. The shiba's love isn't loud. It's real. And the trust of so independent a soul is one of the finest compliments that can befall a person.

At the bowl the shiba has its own very specific particularities, which you need to know about.

Because the shiba inu isn't a dog for someone who needs unconditional adoration on demand. It's a dog for someone who can appreciate character, independence, and that touch of feline aloofness — and who understands that the respect of such a dog is earned, not forced.

Give it a good, well-considered diet, take care of its skin and coat, respect its proud nature — and in return you'll get a companion full of dignity, character, and dry, foxlike humor. A dog that will never pretend it can't live without you — but that, quietly, in its reserved way, will let you know that it very much would rather not. Because the attachment of so proud, independent a soul can't be bought or forced. It can only be received — and that's precisely the most beautiful thing about life with a shiba.