Not Everyone Is Meant to Steward This Breed

I’ve learned something the hard way in this world of dogs—especially with Poodles: not everyone who asks is ready, and not everyone who wants access deserves it.

Some people approach you like they’re entitled to what you’ve built. They want your time, your knowledge, your lines, your mentorship—but not because they’ve shown reverence for the breed or dedication to the work. It’s because they think by standing close enough to the flame, they’ll absorb the fire. But that’s not how it works. Not in this breed.

I watch closely. Not just what someone says, but how they say it. The kinds of questions they ask. Whether they listen when it’s time to listen. Whether they’re willing to admit they don’t know something. The ones who are only in love with the sound of their own voice don’t come to learn—they come to perform. And the Poodle, for all its elegance and glamor, is not a stage prop. It’s a purpose-bred working dog with layers of complexity that demand years of study and humility.

Some people don’t want the mentorship. They want the genetics. They think the “magic” lives in a pedigree or a trim. They imagine they can buy a puppy, skip the process, and rebrand your years of sweat as their own. But they miss the point entirely: what matters isn’t just what you start with—it’s what you build with it. Anyone can hold a torch. That doesn’t mean they can carry it.

I’ve seen this play out more times than I can count. Someone will take what you’ve worked to produce, pass it around without context or care, and it fizzles out fast. The structure gets weak. The type gets inconsistent. The spark fades. Then they either disappear or circle back with excuses. Ego. Drama. Blame. And still no reflection.

Breeding great dogs over generations isn’t a hobby or a shortcut to success. It’s a calling. A long game. It’s failed breedings. Hard decisions. Middle-of-the-night births. And a thousand little choices that no one claps for. It’s knowing when to say yes—but even more importantly, when to say no.

Not every purchase is a partnership. Some people just want to be seen. To “launch” something. But this is not about going viral. This is about protecting a breed’s integrity over decades.

When someone truly wants to learn the craft, you can tell. They ask different questions. They aren’t chasing followers or sales—they’re chasing understanding. They respect the dogs first. They don’t try to outshine their mentors. They come back for more—not just more dogs, but more wisdom. And they’re not in a rush. They’re here to build.

Those are the ones I pour into. Because when I pass something on, it’s never just a puppy or a pedigree. It’s my life’s work. It’s my convictions. It’s everything I’ve learned from trial, error, and watching the consequences of other people’s shortcuts.

I want to see this breed thrive—not just look good for a season and disappear behind some trendy kennel name that fades out just as quickly. If you’re going to carry part of my work forward, I need to know you won’t scatter it like confetti. I need to know you’ll carry it with reverence.

I don’t breed for followers. I breed for legacy. And when I mentor, I’m not mentoring for applause—I’m mentoring because this breed deserves better.

So ask better questions. Show your work. Lead with respect. And maybe, one day, you’ll earn the right to help steward this incredible breed into the future.

But if your goal is simply to launch without fuel, without direction, without integrity—don’t be surprised when it doesn’t go far.

The Poodle isn’t here to make you famous.
You’re here to honor the Poodle.