Three Theories to the Canonization of a Breed of Dog.

Theory #1: There once was a pope who was traveling the north of Italy and decided it would be a grand idea if he were to drop into Switzerland to visit his subjects there. He climbed into the Alps and crossed a pass to the Swiss frontier. There he was met by a big, drooling dog. He dropped to his knees and screamed, “OMG, please don’t salivate on me you big beast.”
In the greatest miracle since the parting of the Red Sea, the dog’s massive amounts of slobber missed the pope and flowed harmlessly down the hill. The pope immediately decided it was the greatest miracle of his reign and shouted, “Saints preserve us!”
The pope’s scribe, quick to write but hard of hearing and high on incense, deemed that the pope had sainted not only the dog, but his breed, the pass and the little inn nearby. No one argued the point.

Theory #2: There once was a pope who hated the Swiss with all his might. He would lay awake nights thinking about how he could make their lives more miserable. He dreamed of invoking a plague and of causing global warming to melt their snow, ruining their ski season. But neither scourge would have placated his animosity.
The pope sent his Evil Emissary, Bernard the Nasty, to Switzerland to dredge up all bad stuff he could find. The pope-that-hated-the-Swiss summoned Bernie to his chambers one evening shortly after his return. There the Evil Emissary told the horrific story of this massive breed of dog that had troubled a small area of Switzerland for centuries. The dogs shed like maniacs (causing the first ‘caustic loose fur’ day in Geneva in 749). And they drooled. They could cause mudslides two Cantons away.
The pope-that-hated-the-Swiss quickly devised his ultimate retribution against the people of the Alps. He made the big dog breed saints. There was nothing the people of Switzerland could do but embrace the dog named after the Evil Emissary, Bernie. (Oh, and check the name of the capitol of Switzerland… Bern(e)… see any similarities?)

Theory #3: There once was a pope with an amazing sense of humor. That is all; no more to this theory.

(And yes, I am knee deep in dog fur and have been wiping the drool off the walls.)