Let’s start with the most wild physical quirk first: every Lundehund has SIX fully functional toes on each foot, instead of the regular 4 most dogs have. Yep, you read that right. My best friend Mia has a 3 year old Lundehund named Mochi, and the first time I saw his paws I thought he had some weird genetic mutation, nope, that’s just standard for the breed. Those extra toes aren’t just for show either, they’re designed to give them extra grip on slippery cliff rocks. But in a regular suburban house? Those toes are tiny little crime tools. Last winter, Mia woke up at 2am to the sound of crinkling plastic in the kitchen. She flipped on the light, and there was Mochi, perched on top of the kitchen counter, halfway through a whole bag of frozen salmon treats she thought she’d hidden on the highest shelf. The entire white counter was covered in perfect little 6-toed paw prints, like a tiny mythical creature had broken in to raid the snack cabinet. Mia swears she still finds pink salmon smudges on the backsplash 6 months later.
If the extra toes don’t blow your mind, wait till you hear about their flexibility. Lundehunds can bend their head backwards far enough to touch the top of their spine, like a tiny little T-Rex. Mochi does this every single time Mia opens the fridge, he’ll sit at her feet, crane his neck all the way back till his nose is pointing straight at the ceiling, and make the most pathetic little whimpering noise like he’s starving to death (even if he ate 20 minutes earlier). It’s so goofy looking that Mia can never say no to him, even when she knows he’s just manipulating her for extra cheese. They can also fold their ears completely shut, flat against their head, to keep dirt and water out when they’re squeezing into cliff caves. Mochi uses this superpower exclusively to ignore Mia when she’s telling him to stop doing something he’s not supposed to. Bath time? Ears folded shut, 100% unresponsive to any yelling about not splashing soapy water all over the bathroom. When he’s stealing socks off the laundry pile? Ears folded, he can’t hear you telling him to put that down, sorry.
Let’s talk about their personality, because these little guys are stubborn as hell, in the most endearing way possible. Mia spent 3 whole weeks trying to teach Mochi basic obedience cues like “sit” and “stay”. He knows exactly what those words mean, trust me. But he will only follow them if the reward is salmon flavored. If you pull out a chicken or peanut butter treat? He’ll stare at you for 2 seconds, blink slowly like you just asked him to solve a calculus problem, then turn around and walk away to go dig a hole in the couch cushion. He’s also got a secret hoarding problem, which is apparently super common for the breed. For months, Mia was missing random stuff around the house: single socks, her favorite hair tie, a rubber duck she bought for the bath, even the TV remote. She tore the whole apartment apart looking for that remote, was this close to buying a new one, when she stepped on something lumpy under the living room rug. She pulled the rug up, and there was Mochi’s entire treasure stash, all carefully piled in a little hole he’d dug in the carpet padding. He trotted over right when she found it, sat down, and wagged his tail like he was showing off his most prized collection. He still adds new stuff to it every week, Mia just lets him have it at this point, it’s not worth fighting him over.
Taking a Lundehund out in public is a whole other adventure, because 99% of people have never even heard of the breed. Every time Mia takes Mochi to the dog park, at least 3 people stop her to ask what kind of dog he is. Once a little kid ran up to her, pointed at Mochi, and yelled “IS THAT A BABY FOX DINOSAUR?!” Mia didn’t even correct him, she just said “Yeah basically, be careful he might steal your snack.” And that kid was right, by the way, Mochi did steal half his granola bar 5 minutes later. Their cliff-climbing genes also make them insanely bouncy, for their size. Mochi only weighs 15 pounds, but he can jump almost 4 feet straight up in the air. Last spring, they were at the park, and Mochi spotted a monarch butterfly fluttering around above his head. Before Mia could even react, he launched himself straight up, caught the butterfly in his mouth (he spit it out right after, don’t worry, it was fine), and landed like it was no big deal. Everyone around just stared, no one could believe a tiny dog could jump that high without a running start. Last month when they went hiking, Mochi scrambled up a 10 foot tall rock face in 2 seconds flat, while Mia was still trying to figure out where the hand holds were. He just sat at the top wagging his tail like “C’mon slowpoke, what’s taking you so long?”
Don’t get me wrong, for all their chaotic gremlin energy, Lundehunds are the sweetest, most loyal little companions ever. After Mochi’s done causing trouble for the day, he’ll curl up right on Mia’s chest, tuck his nose under her chin, and fall asleep purring (yes, he actually purrs when he’s happy, it’s weird). When Mia had COVID last year and was stuck in bed for a week, Mochi never left her side. He even brought her little “gifts” from his hoard: a sock, a crumpled up receipt, half a treat. It was gross, but it was also the sweetest thing ever. Lundehunds aren’t the right breed for everyone, for sure. They need tons of exercise, they’re stubborn, they will steal all your salmon and hide all your small belongings. But if you’re the kind of person who loves a little chaos and a whole lot of personality, there’s no better breed out there. Every Lundehund owner I’ve talked to has a million more silly stories just like these, and all of them say they’d never trade their weird little puffin dog for anything in the world.