Part 14 of The Breeder You Become series

Every once in a while I sit down to write instructions about my dogs so that someone else could care for them if I could not be here to explain everything, and I usually begin with the obvious things, like food, medications and the veterinarian’s phone number. Then I remember that one dog eats slowly and another will steal whatever she can reach, that certain dogs absolutely cannot be placed together, that one can open a gate if it is not latched properly and that a small change in another dog’s behavior may be the first sign that something is wrong. Before long I am writing down which door to close before opening the next one, who becomes anxious during storms, where supplies are kept and why a person cannot simply put everyone outside together while cleaning. I know these things because I live with the dogs every day, and most of the time it feels no more complicated than making coffee or locking the house when I leave.

Put it on paper for someone else and the whole thing looks freaking complicated.

That should give every breeder pause, because if an entire program depends on one person remembering everything, noticing everything and being physically able to do everything, it has been built around a rather convenient belief that this person will always be available, healthy, financially stable and capable of doing what the dogs need. We may know perfectly well that life does not work that way, but we continue breeding, adding dogs and making plans as though we have been promised a long stretch of good years in which nothing important goes wrong.

The worst year does not announce itself as the worst year when it begins. A person gets hurt before breakfast, receives a diagnosis at an appointment she expected to be routine, loses income or discovers that a parent needs more help than anyone realized. A marriage changes. The dependable person who helped with the dogs moves away. A storm damages the fencing while puppies are still in the house, two older dogs need veterinary care and a family calls to say the dog they bought must come back immediately. Then the vehicle needed to get everyone where they need to go decides that this would be an excellent time to stop running. Each problem, by itself, might be manageable, but life has never shown much interest in handing out difficulties one at a time.

We enjoy planning the good year because it is a lovely year to picture. The female conceives, has a healthy pregnancy and delivers a healthy litter. The puppies thrive, the homes waiting for them are suitable and everyone leaves when expected. The promising young dog passes health testing, older dogs remain comfortable, bills arrive at reasonable intervals and the people who offered to help actually show up. I would be delighted to have a year like that.

I would also like to know what happens to the program when the female misses, the dog we hoped to breed fails testing, two puppies stay longer than expected and the breeder is too sick to keep up with the normal routine. That is when we learn what was holding the program together all along. A preservation program cannot be judged only by how beautifully it functions when the breeder is strong and everything goes according to plan. We need to know whether the dogs remain safe and properly cared for when the plan falls apart.

Farmers tend to understand this because biological work has a way of making fools of people who believe good intentions control the outcome. Rain does not arrive because the seed was expensive, machinery does not keep running because payments are due and an animal does not decide to stay healthy because its owner has had a difficult month. Dog breeding is biological work too, although we often plan our finances around it as though a litter were merchandise already sitting on a shelf. A breeder expects a certain number of puppies, works out what they might bring in, commits money to the next step and counts on those unborn dogs to make the numbers work. Then the female produces one puppy, needs surgery or does not conceive at all, and we discover that the litter was carrying far more responsibility than any litter should have been asked to carry.

Part 8 looked at what happens when a program begins to need puppies financially, and the worst year makes that problem impossible to avoid. If a breeder must produce another litter immediately to pay for the dogs already living in the home, there is no room to say that a mating should wait. There may be no room to retire a dog, turn down an unsuitable buyer or care for a returned adult. Money may have moved through the program during its successful years, but that does not tell us whether the program can stand without the next litter. Puppy money has a way of arriving in a satisfying amount and then disappearing into food, testing, travel, grooming, equipment, repairs and veterinary bills, all of which were real expenses even if they did not arrive on the same day.

Emergencies, of course, enjoy arriving on the same day.

They do not become cheaper because another dog needed surgery last week or because the dog in front of the veterinarian is retired and will never produce another puppy. I do not want any breeder discovering whether she can afford care while standing in an emergency clinic, frightened for a dog she loves and trying to do math with a shaking hand. A reserve will not make a breeder wealthy or prevent a terrible decision from ever arising, but it can put some space between a problem and panic. How much that reserve needs to be will depend on the breed, the number of dogs, where the breeder lives and what veterinary care costs there, but saying that there is no perfect number can become a handy excuse for calculating nothing at all.

Look at what the most likely emergency would cost in your household. Look at several months without puppy income and then add the ordinary needs of the older dogs, a returned adult and a female who needs surgery before the litter produces one dollar. Those numbers may be unpleasant. Good. It is better to feel uneasy while sitting at the kitchen table with time to make changes than to meet those numbers for the first time when a dog is already in trouble.

Money is only one part of this, though, because money cannot feed and separate the dogs if the person who does those things cannot get out of bed. Breeders often call themselves independent when what they really mean is that no one else knows how to run the household. Family members may love the dogs and still be unable to tell everyone apart. A friend may happily offer to stop by without understanding that the intact males cannot be handled casually, that medications differ, that the dogs do not all eat the same thing or that opening the wrong door could create a very serious problem.

“We have someone who would help” sounds comforting until it is time to name that person and explain exactly what helping involves. Can she get into the house and find the supplies? Has she met the dogs often enough to identify them? Does she know who can live together, who must remain separated and which food or medication cannot be changed suddenly? Can she transport an animal and contact the veterinarian? If I am unconscious or cannot be reached, does anyone have the authority and information needed to make a decision? A helpful person who exists only inside the breeder’s head is not much use during an emergency.

These conversations need to happen while everything is normal. Let the person see the feeding routine. Have her care for the dogs occasionally while you are there to answer questions, and pay attention to the things she asks because those questions will show you what your written instructions failed to explain. Caring for several dogs over days or weeks is not the same as stopping by to refill bowls. There may be cleaning, grooming, medication, careful observation and the occasional dog who decides that this unfamiliar arrangement is an invitation to test every rule in the house. The backup person does not need to do everything exactly as the breeder would do it, which may be a difficult thing for some of us to accept, but she does need enough knowledge and experience to keep the dogs safe until the breeder can return or another arrangement is made.

If nobody except one person can care for the dogs, the failure has already been built into the program. It simply has not been tested yet.

The same is true of records. Many breeders can tell you from memory who produced a particular dog, why a mating was chosen, which relatives developed a health concern and what they learned from a litter ten years ago. Then someone else tries to find that information and discovers that the health results are in one place, the contracts in another, the veterinary history in a phone, the stored semen paperwork somewhere in an email account and the most important reasons behind the breeder’s decisions have never been written down anywhere.

Every dog needs a record another person can actually use, with identification, ownership, microchip information, veterinary contacts, health testing, medications, diet and the names of people who should be called. Breeding records should explain more than dates and registered names. If a dog was retained because of a quality the family needed, write that down. If a mating was abandoned because of fertility, temperament or health concerns, write that down too. Record affected relatives and disappointing results with the same care used to record titles, because a successor who receives only the beautiful parts of the story has not received the program. That person has received the sales brochure.

The files also need to be found. Someone trusted must be able to access digital records if the breeder cannot provide a password, and paper records should be arranged so a person who did not create them can follow them. If semen is stored, the location, agreements, costs and contact information need to be clear. “I will organize it someday” sounds harmless until someday arrives after the only person who understands the boxes, accounts and decisions is no longer able to explain any of them.

Then we come to the dogs themselves, which is the part many people avoid thinking about because it means imagining illness, incapacity or death. A spouse may know the household dogs but not understand which dog is co-owned or promised to another breeder. Adult children may live far away, have animals of their own or have no idea how to manage intact dogs. A relative may sincerely love one familiar old dog and be entirely unable to take an entire breeding population, and I would rather learn that during an honest conversation than place the responsibility in that person’s lap during a week of grief.

Talk to the people you have in mind. Ask what they can actually do and believe their answers, even when those answers are smaller than you hoped. Identify where each dog could go, who would have authority to act and what money would be available for transport, veterinary care and temporary housing. Legal and estate documents may need professional attention so that the person expected to help can do more than hold a letter describing what the breeder wished would happen. Dogs need a person who can make decisions, the resources to carry them out and instructions that make sense when their breeder is no longer standing there explaining.

Returns belong in the plan as well. Most breeders promise that their dogs can come back, and I believe that promise matters, but it is easy to picture the returned dog arriving during a quiet season when there is a spare room and plenty of time. What happens if the call comes while puppies are still at home, or two families need help in the same month? Where does the dog go if there is no safe space left in the breeder’s house?

Taking responsibility for a dog does not always mean personally housing that dog every minute after it returns. A trusted foster home, another breeder familiar with the family or a temporary arrangement may give the dog better care than squeezing it into a household already beyond capacity. Some breeders feel ashamed to ask for that help, as though the dog will be impressed by how much they managed to sacrifice. The dog does not care who gets credit. It needs a safe place and someone capable of meeting its needs.

Breed communities could do a great deal more to build these relationships before a crisis instead of waiting until a breeder is overwhelmed and then discussing her as though difficulty were contagious. A person going through a hard season may need help with transport, neonatal puppies, a returned adult, records or reproductive material, and no one person has to be capable of all of it. “Call if you need anything” sounds kind, but real support has names, abilities and limits. We should know who can do what before “anything” turns into an intact male needing a place to stay for several weeks.

Part 9 addressed the strain of keeping more dogs than a person can sustain, and this is part of the same conversation. Sharing responsibility does not make a breeder less committed. It means that the dogs, records and knowledge are no longer held together by one person’s ability to continue doing everything without interruption.

Succession takes even more time because a person who understands a program cannot be found on short notice simply because its breeder has become ill. Trust grows while people work together, discuss difficult choices and see what the other person does when the easy answer would serve them better than the responsible one. A breeder may mentor several people and eventually realize that none of them should receive the entire program, and that is fine. One person may be suited to continue a particular family, another may protect the records and someone with the right knowledge may be the best person to manage stored genetics. Individual dogs can be placed according to their needs and relationships instead of insisting that every piece of the kennel remain under one roof.

The person who continues the work will make decisions the original breeder would not have made. She will learn things we did not know, live under different circumstances and possibly change her mind about a mating we once thought was important. We have to decide whether the principles and knowledge matter more than having the final word forever. Part 13 looked at the point where protection turns into possession, and I think succession is where that distinction becomes painfully clear. Genetics can be guarded so tightly that nobody knows who may use them. Semen can remain in storage while bills go unpaid, dogs grow old and families argue over what the breeder wanted.

It is possible to protect something from every person you distrust and still fail to protect it from time.

Natural disasters make the practical gaps easier to see because a property that works beautifully on an ordinary Tuesday may not work at all without power, water or secure fencing. If there is a fire, flood or storm, how many dogs can actually fit into the available vehicles? Are crates, leashes and identification where someone can grab them? Which dogs cannot travel or be housed together? Where would everyone go for several days if the property could not be used? “Load the dogs and leave” sounds like a plan until someone has to decide what to load them into, where to drive and how to manage the dogs who cannot share space when they get there.

I am not suggesting that breeders need to prepare for every disaster anyone could possibly imagine. I am suggesting that we look at the risks where we live and work through the likely problems while we are calm enough to think. Then we need to revisit the plan, because dogs age, medications change, vehicles are replaced and the trusted friend who once lived nearby may move away. Breeders will spend hours studying a pedigree ten generations into the past. We ought to be able to spend some time considering what the dogs would need during the next ten difficult days.

The breeder’s own health has to be included in that consideration. Dog people will discuss a dog’s bloodwork in astonishing detail while ignoring the body that lifts the crates, carries the food, stays awake through whelping and cleans everything the next morning. Pain becomes part of the routine, sleep gets pushed aside and a medical appointment is postponed because there is no one to watch the puppies. Eventually the body makes its own arrangements, and it is rarely considerate about when it does so.

Taking care of the breeder is part of taking care of the dogs because the dogs depend on that person being able to function. Equipment can reduce lifting. Someone else can learn to help with grooming, cleaning or transport. Daily routines can be changed so they are possible during illness or limited mobility. Help is far more useful before an injury than after one. Part 10 discussed the strange pride breeder culture sometimes takes in exhaustion, and I still believe there is no prize for being the only person who can carry every bag, groom every dog, raise every puppy and clean every mess. There is a body wearing out while the program continues asking more of it.

Sometimes an honest look at the worst year reveals that the program is already too complicated to survive one. That may lead to decisions a breeder does not want to make. Breeding may need to pause, a dog may need a carefully chosen home, expenses may have to be reduced or a promising opportunity may need to be declined because the household needs stability more than it needs another possibility. Making those choices early can be heartbreaking, but making them after a crisis has removed most of the available options is harder on everyone, especially the dogs.

The same test belongs before every litter. It is wonderful to have a whelping box ready and families interested, but what happens if the breeder becomes ill while the female is pregnant or after the puppies arrive? Is there money for emergency care before any puppy is sold? Can the household manage the entire litter if suitable homes take longer to find? Who could step in if the breeder needs help for several weeks?

A litter should not be produced when success is the only outcome the program can afford.

I know that sentence may rule out a breeding someone has waited years to do. Biology will still bring uncertainty no matter how well we prepare, and some disasters will be bigger than any reserve, written plan or network of friends. Planning cannot guarantee that every dog will be saved or that every genetic family will continue. It can, however, give the breeder more than one choice when things go wrong. It can give the dogs a better chance of receiving the same care during a difficult year that they received when life was going well.

Much of this work is terribly unexciting to look at. Nobody posts a photograph of a properly labeled emergency binder and receives hundreds of congratulations. A backup caregiver earns no championship, and money left untouched in a reserve account produces no puppies. Yet those ordinary, rather boring preparations may be what keeps an entire program from collapsing. I have spent a great deal of time thinking about what a dog might contribute to the breed fifteen years from now. It would make very little sense to do that while having no idea who could feed that dog next month if I could not.

The worst year may be dramatic, with one event that changes everything, or it may arrive slowly enough that the breeder hardly notices. Income is lower. Older dogs need more care. Pain makes the daily work harder. Someone who used to help is no longer available, and after enough disappointments the curiosity and pleasure that once made the work possible begin to fade. Nothing explodes, but standards become harder to maintain. A breeder can hide that kind of year from other people and sometimes even from herself.

An honest review helps. Are the dogs receiving the same quality of life they had last year? Is money being set aside or is the reserve being used for ordinary expenses? Could someone else follow the records and care for the dogs? Has the program become easier to manage or harder? Does the breeder still have enough mental space to study, question herself and make careful decisions? The answers may change from year to year, and the program should be allowed to change with them.

Growth does not always mean another dog or another litter. Sometimes it means writing down what has been learned, improving the daily routine, mentoring someone else or becoming smaller until excellent care is possible again. A breeder who pauses reproduction can still study pedigrees, gather health information, strengthen relationships, organize stored genetics and give older dogs the attention they have earned. The breed will survive a season in which one breeder rests. It may lose far more if that breeder never does.

This series began by asking people who want to breed what kind of person they will have to become. The early answers involved study, patience, humility and responsibility. The later answers are less comfortable because breeding places pressure on all of those qualities. Money tests what we will compromise. Numbers test what we can actually care for. Exhaustion tests judgment, success tests humility and the thought of handing a program to someone else tests whether we mean preservation when we say it.

A good breeder is not a person to whom nothing bad ever happens, and she is not a person who never makes a mistake. She is someone willing to look at what could go wrong, recognize what is already going wrong and make changes before the dogs are left carrying the consequences of human pride or denial. Her worst year will not care how beautiful the website looked, how many ribbons the dogs earned or how confidently she explained her principles online. It will matter whether someone can find the records, whether care can be paid for, whether the dogs can be managed safely and whether relationships were built before help became urgent.

One day another person may continue a family differently than I would have. A beloved dog may live under another roof. My kennel name may be seen less often while pieces of its work remain throughout the breed, and records I took the time to write may help someone who never knew me make a better decision for a dog not yet born. I have to make peace with the fact that I will not be here forever to oversee all of it.

The dogs still need care when the breeder is tired, sick, broke or gone. The knowledge still needs somewhere to live when the person who gathered it can no longer explain it. The genetics need a future that does not depend upon one human being remaining strong indefinitely.

That is what I mean by building a program that can survive its worst year. Some of the work may continue in ways I would not have chosen, and some of it may end despite every effort I made. But I can do what is within my power now, while I am here and able to make decisions, so that one hard year does not take everything from the dogs or from the people who will care for them.

The breeder will not remain forever.

If we build carefully, the work may.