'Monkey Feet’ in the Cane Corso
A while back, a Cane Corso breeder shared an interesting insight with me.
Months before, I had sent him a video about the possibility of the Beauceron figuring in the evolution of the Cane Corso. He didn’t make much of it until he spent some time with one of those French herding dogs. Intrigued at the similarities he noted between the two breeds, he told me he was inspired to read the Beauceron standard.
(Can we observe a moment of reverential silence here to commemorate the fact that someone has actually read a standard — much less the standard of a breed not their own? Yes, Virginia, there is a modicum of intellectual curiosity left in the purebred-dog fancy.)
Back to our Corso breeder’s moment of revelation: He noted that the Beauceron standard says that “the rear toes turn out very slightly.”
Perhaps, he wondered, does the Beauceron influence explain why so many Corsos appear cow-hocked, or move so unsoundly behind?
Beauceron on an afternoon stroll. Note the double rear dewclaws, which are a hallmark of the breed.
Intrigued by his observation, I decided to focus on Corso rears at the next big show I attended, where about three dozen dogs were in competition.
To say I was surprised with what I found would be an understatement.
Rolling, Rolling, Rolling
I don’t judge Beaucerons — at least, not yet. But I do know that they are required to have double dewclaws on their rear legs. According to the Beauceron standard, the absence of these well-separated "thumbs," which each must have a nail of its own, is a disqualification.
This Beauceron conversation reminded me of another discussion I had had with an experienced Corso breeder who said that a surprising number of dogs are born with what is referred to in the breed as “monkey feet.” These were less like the dangling appendages that are seen — and required — in the Great Pyrenees, Briard, and — significant for the Corso— Beauceron and Maremmano-Abbruzese Sheepdog; in those breeds, the rear dewclaws are loosely attached, almost floppy. By comparison, these extra digits on the Corso were described to me as very well integrated into the structure of the foot.
Ringside, sitting directly in front of where each dog and handler relaxed while waiting for their turn to be examined by the judge, I noticed an odd phenomenon. A good number of the dogs — at least a third, maybe more — rolled their rear feet inward as they walked. Looking up their legs, I noticed no sign of removed rear dewclaws: Typically, there is a small vertical scar on the inside of the hock where the extra appendages are removed that is easy to spot if you are looking for it, especially on fawn or formentino dogs.
Even more striking was the shape of their feet: Instead of the slightly oval but mostly rounded rear feet described in the standard, the feet on these “rolling” Corsos were relatively narrow, sort of spoon shaped.
50-Cent Word
Before I reveal the mystery of the rolling feet, let’s get a 50-cent vocabulary word out of the way:
Polydactyly.
Some quick etymology should help you tease out its meaning: In Greek, “polys” is the word for “many,” and “dactylos” means fingers. So … polydactyly is the state of having many fingers, or digits.
Probably the most famous group of polydactyl animals in the word is the colony of multi-toed cats kept by Ernest Hemingway at his home in the Florida Keys.
Polydactyl cats in the Ernest Hemingway home in Key West.
In dogs, we have a number of breeds that have extra dewclaws, the most famous of which is the Lundehund, which uses its extra digits to help scale the Norwegian cliffs in order to hunt puffin birds. We’ve already mentioned the four Continental livestock-guardian breeds that have them. And lesser known is the presence of polydactyly in all four legs in the Brussels Griffon: In their book “The Definitive Brussels Griffon” (which — full disclosure — I published), breeder-judges Jeffery Bazell and Jeffrey Kestner posit that the presence of those extra digits correlates to the wide-spaced eyes necessary for that toy breed’s correct head type.
A Norwegian Lundehund high-five.
Picture Tells a Story
Intrigued about the goings-on underneath those Cane Corso hoofers, I asked the breeder who told me about “monkey feet” to send me a photo. Here it is:
Well, these were not the dangling dewclaws like the ones in the breeds I mentioned earlier. These were bona-fide extra toes. The puppy in this photo has six rear toes, when a normal rear canine foot has only four.
As a result, most Cane Corso breeders will remove the two extra toes on the inside of the foot, which are at the top of this photo. The amputation leaves no visible scar, because a competent vet will pull and stitch the skin under the foot.
After studying the underside of this puppy foot closely, I finally understood the reason for the spoon-shaped “rolling feet” that I saw at the dog show: One of those “extra” toes — the second from the top (see red circle below) — is not extra at all. It is an actual toe, needed for the structural integrity of the dog’s foot.
Look closely at the second and third toes from the bottom (circled in yellow). They’re actually not separate toes: They are a single toe that has somehow split. Instead of sharing individual pads, they have one larger pad in common.
There’s a term for having fused or split toes: It’s called syndactyly.
When both polydactyly and syndactyly occur together — as arguably is the case with the Corso puppy pictured here — it’s called polysyndactyly.
Dizzy yet?
Why did the feet of those Corsos that I watched roll? Because their breeders removed their two inside toes. But while the outer toe was indeed extra, that second toe in was a functional toe: It belonged there. So when the dogs walked, their bodies expected that toe to be there, and when it was not, their feet rolled inward. The same phenomenon happens with humans who have their big toes amputated, according to a friend who is a nurse. And the dogs’ feet appeared elongated and spoon-shaped because that supportive inside toe had been removed and, along with it, some of the width of the foot.
Given all that lack of support, is it any surprise that these Corsos move so unsoundly and weakly behind?
More Is Not More
There would seem to be a simple solution to all these extra toes: Just leave them on.
If removing them impedes the rear action of the dog — causing the rear feet to toe out and impairing rear drive — then leaving them natural should do the trick.
Well … you’d think so.
But the breeder who sent me the monkey-feet photos tried that. The result? Movement that was arguably even worse than that of littermates whose toes were kept on.
Perhaps the problem lies not with the amputated inner toe, but with the split toe at the center of the foot. Thinking it through logically, the split toe is not as stable as a whole one, and as a result would distribute concussion differently when the dog steps down on it.
Since the day I spent staring single-mindedly at the rear feet of that double-digit entry, I have judged dozens of Cane Corsos. And I can’t say that I noticed any of that rolling. (I do, however, routinely notice horrifyingly flat, “dead baby hand” feet that have just the barest indication of knuckles.)
I don’t think that these doctored feet have magically disappeared. Instead, I think my vantage point just changed. Because I don’t assess the dogs at a walk, and am typically a distance away or have my back turned when dogs do walk into their stack, I don’t easily see that inward rolling: It is much more evident when the observer is close up and seated rather than farther away and standing.
Now What?
Perhaps there is a reason why this polydactyly persists in the Corso, despite being an incredible negative for breeders, who have to go to the trouble and expense of having the extra digits surgically removed by a veterinarian.
In the Brussels Griffon, polydactyly is associated with wide, subfrontal eye placement — which is desired in the Corso as well. Indeed, when postwar British breeders decided to sell all their multi-toed Griffs to the Americans because they were put off by the extra bits and bobs, they promptly lost their head type; meanwhile, across the Atlantic, those polydactyl dogs produced beautiful headpieces. Could it be that polydactyly persists in the Corso because it too is associated with the broad skull and wide-placed eyes that are so desirable in the breed?
But unlike Griffons, polydactyly in Corsos is typically restricted to the rear legs, so maybe there’s no there there. And since polydactyly is a dominant trait, meaning only one parent has to have it to pass it on, that may be reason enough for its relatively high incidence in the Corso.
Where did these extra toes come from? The Beauceron, perhaps. But if I had to lay bets, it would be on the Maremma, whose genetic influence on the breed is relatively well accepted. The Pastore Maremmano Abruzzese, to use its formal name, comes from central Italy and is believed to be the source of the “straw” color that is fast becoming a fad in the Corso; along with that aberrant color, the Maremma could just as easily contribute the extra toes, too.
The hyphen in Pastore Maremmano-Abruzzese explained: The dogs from the mountains of Abruzzi were a heavier, more molossoid type, while the dogs from the Maremma flatlands to the south were a lighter-bodied, more sheepdog type. The two types are now united as a singular breed.
Why don’t Beaucerons or Maremmas have the integrated toes that we see in the Corso? Maybe because as many breeders selected for looks and not function, the toes started to diminish in size and importance, and moved farther up the leg. Kind of like the appendix in humans, a vestige of a now obsolete function.
I honestly don’t know the answers. In fact, I’m still trying to get my arms — or is that toes? — around the questions.