A loose husky has long been a common sight in downtown Iqaluit. And these days, that husky might have eight or nine small companions—chihuahuas, Yorkies, Shih Tzus—at its flanks, like Nunavut’s least intimidating wolf pack. Over the past 10 years, the population of small breeds has exploded in the city. “Some of them don’t even belong here” says Janelle Kennedy, board president for the Nunavut Animal Rescue (NAR), formerly the Iqaluit Humane Society. “It’s like, ‘That dog has no hair. Why did you bring that dog here?’”
While the boom is partly due to southerners moving north with their tiny pets, more and more Northerners see the benefits of the small dog over the sled dog, including easy transport, laptop cuddles and a far less intense exercise regime. But both small and large canines often live the free-range life in Nunavut. Kennedy prefers the term “loose” over “stray” because the animals have homes, they just aren’t at home often.
This wanderlust creates problems—disease, for example. Some dogs have contracted rabies after interacting with foxes. Iqaluit has also seen a jump in cases of parvovirus, a highly contagious and potentially lethal disease that’s transmitted through feces.
But the biggest issue with loose canines is out-of-control breeding. From May to November, every female dog in Iqaluit could potentially have three litters of five to 10 puppies. Those offspring end up at the rescue or living largely on the street, which is a rough place for a tiny dog during December, even if one of your parents was a husky or a shepherd. They manage by huddling together on outdoor porches, crawling under buildings to cozy up to warm pipes or relying on their matted fur for its insulative properties.
That’s another new pet-care concern in the community. Nunavut owners tend to have experience with working dogs, whose nails stay short naturally and whose coats don’t require brushing. One elder was devastated that her tiny dog might need to be put down because it could no longer walk. When Kennedy looked closer, she saw the dog’s nails had grown so long that they’d curled under and become embedded in the paws.
Many small dogs have long hair, and without regular brushing and maintenance their fur mats quickly, pulls their skin and leads to lesions and infections. They often end up at the NAR’s George’s Pet Salon. “When we opened the grooming salon, the majority of the animals we got, we just basically call them ‘shave downs’ because you can’t groom the dog,” Kennedy says. Sometimes, the fur is matted so badly, it’s called “a helmet”—a thick mass that must be cut off in one piece, like a dog-shaped suit of armour.
The NAR briefly offered free grooming and still educates people on the needs of small dogs. This includes kids, though the rescue’s approach to that has changed. Fifteen years ago, educational programming focused on safety around a population of what was predominantly working dogs. Now, a generation is growing up with snuggly lapdogs and the NAR needs to teach the difference between an indoor dog whose job is to cuddle and the working dog tied up out back whose job is to alert its owners of a polar bear on the property.
Owners are taking more responsibility, though. When the NAR held a free spay and neuter clinic in Iqaluit, in 2022, vets completed 103 surgeries in six days. The rescue is currently fundraising $50,000 for another clinic. And Kennedy has also noticed a dramatic increase in the number of people walking their dogs on leashes (and scooping the poop) rather than opening the back door and letting them run free.
On the tundra, loose dogs aren’t a big deal. But in a city, where kids, cars and other pets are squeezed into a concentrated area, they can cause problems, big and small. And while a husky surrounded by a gaggle of tiny followers may seem like a comical sight, NAR would prefer chihuahuas, Yorkies and Shih Tzus stay on a leash or inside on the laps they were bred to warm.
