Ellie on the Water

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Ellie sits on the bookshelf in my living room, or part of her does, at least. She sits on the shelf where I keep some of my favorite dog books. “Animal Happiness” by Vicki Hearne, “Old Yeller” (a second edition, no less), “Nops Trials”, “Dogs in Poetry”. She is in good company there, and I can see her when I sit and read. I like being able to look up and know she’s there, unobtrusive as always and just occasionally asking you to spare her a bit of time. Ever content with what little bits of time you can spare her, that was my Ellie.

We did indeed spread her ashes at Cherry Beach, setting her free on the waves, licking around the feet of silly wet puppies, brushing against the coats of diligent Goldens, barely disturbing the concentration of a frisbee mad standard Poodle. She is, perhaps, a part of them all now, part of the Lake and the sand and the plants she ran through. Part of her favorite place.

I didn’t write about it before, couldn’t write about it until now. I couldn’t put down in writing “And then we spread her ashes on the water”, because as anyone knows, when it’s written it becomes true. And I wasn’t ready for it to be true yet.

At the last minute, as Sean was spreading her, I told him to stop. I told him I wanted to keep part of her. He was puzzled, because I had been so adamant about letting her go free. I told him I needed part of her, that I couldn’t let all of her go. So we saved part of her, even though I know the best of her has long since floated off – across the lake, or wherever benevolent spirits like hers finally go.

Part of her though, is still here at home with me, along with her memory, which I keep close at hand always.

All of My Beautiful Dogs Are Dying
– Vicki Hearne

. . . Without the beautiful dogs
No one dares to attend to desire;

The sky retreats, will intend nothing,
It is a ceiling to rebuke the gaze,
Mock the poetry of knowledge.

My death is my last acquiescence;
Theirs is the sky’s renunciation,
Proof that the world is a scattered shame

Littering the heavens. The new dogs
Start to arise, but the sky must go
Deeply dark before the stars appear.

Love is in the air….

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French Bulldog romeo

So, according to the progesterone results, and the fact that Tula has been sluttishly jamming her girly bits into the face of every dog who comes close to her, today was her first breeding day.

I tossed Tula, wearing a stylish pair of skull and cross bones printed season panties, and Elliott (who was wearing a slightly poopy butt and non matching camo print color) into the Element, and headed for the vet’s office. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, boy Frenchies are pretty much inept when it comes to breeding. They might be willing, but they most definitely are not able, so veterinary assistance is usually required. Barb, of course, handles this herself, but since I’m both more squeamish and much more clumsy, I prefer to leave things like this to the professionals. It’s well worth the hundred bucks and change per breeding to not have the after images lingering in my head for days.

Elliott, who is one of the best tempered intact male Frenchies I’ve ever met, was so thrilled to meet everyone at the vet clinic that he sort of forgot all about Tula and the reason for his visit.

Tula, who had done just about everything short of donning hot pants and crooning “me love you long time” into Elliott’s ear in an attempt to get his attention, finally smacked him against the wall with her rear and commanded him to just get on with it, thank you.

That did the trick. Elliott woke up, realized “Oh hey, that’s what I’m here for”, and proceeded to woo his new lady love – or rather, he wooed the vet, but since the end result was what matters, we’ll leave that alone. Elliott, in fact, was so happy to be reminded of his purpose on life that he was ready for another go, so we tossed the newly nicknamed ‘McLovin’ into a crate, and helped Tula onto the path towards motherhood.

Monday we’ll repeat the entire sordid procedure. Who says dog breeding isn’t glamorous?

Thursday 13 – The Bad Breeder's List of Excuses, Part 2

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This list originally appeared back on the rec.pets.dogs mailing list, around 2001 or so. It was written by Denna Pace. It might be old, but still holds true today.

Since there are 26 items on the list – the first thirteen were posted last week. Interspersed on the list are images of puppy mill/BYB bred Frenchies currently needing homes, fosters or donations.

The Backyard Breeders’ and Puppy Millers’ Big Book of Old Excuses
© Denna Pace 2001


14. If this is your first attempt at breeding, make sure to remind everyone that you HAVE to breed your dog because how else are you going to learn how to breed?

15. Assure everyone that your dog does not need to be shown because you were assured by someone at Petsmart/the park/the vet’s office/a friend that your dog is a perfect example of the breed.

16. Always remember that “rare” colors, oversized or undersized dogs, and mixes of popular breeds are great selling points. Anyone who doesn’t think so is obviously not in tune with their customers’ wishes.

17. Claim that your dogs are better because they are not inbred, as inbreeding obviously produces sick/stupid/deformed dogs. If breeding crosses [as in “Frenchstons,” “PugaFrenchs,” etc.] dogs or other mutts, always point to “hybrid vigor” as proof of your dogs’ superiority.

18. Remind everyone that you do not need a waiting list because your puppies are cute.

19. Assure everyone that your puppies will not end up in shelters or rescue because they are cute.

FBRN Foster Dog Nina
Nina, a French Bulldog Rescue Network foster dog, and typical ‘cute’ back yard bred puppy that would ‘never’ end up in rescue.

20. Claim that YOUR breed never ends up in shelters in your area, therefore your puppies will never end up in shelters.

21. If asked why you think your dogs are breeding quality, point out that they “have papers.” Extra points awarded for using the phrase “AKC Certified.” Double points if those papers come from the Continental Kennel Club.

22. If you sell a sick puppy, always blame the owners for making it sick. If the owners are clearly not responsible, blame their vet. (see #11)

23. If presented with irrefutable evidence proving you wrong on any excuses you have used, pretend your server did not receive the post/e-mail.

24. Claim that none of the rules of ethical breeding apply to you because you only intend to have one litter and therefore aren’t a “real” breeder.

25. If all else fails, tell everyone who criticizes you to “get a life.”

26. If that doesn’t work, tell them that you’re a Christian, and that you breed dogs because Jesus wants you to. Accuse anyone who disagrees with you of being a God hating Jew. Then tell them “God Bless”, just to teach ’em who’s boss.


TX Dot, a French Bulldog Rescue Network foster dog. Dot’s former ‘owner’ handed her leash over to a vet tech, and told her to ‘find her a home, or put her to sleep’, then walked away. Dot had been used as breeding bitch her whole life.

Think happy thoughts for Fluffy

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Fluffy says
Fluffy says “Don’t hate me because I’m bee-ooo-tiful”

Poor little Fluffy. She might not be the prettiest dog on the block, but didn’t your momma teach you that pretty comes from what’s on the inside? And this girl’s got a pretty nature that shines on through, in spite of all the trauma she’s experienced in her life.

A puppy mill rescue, Fluffy (now known as “Peaches”) came to rescue with a myriad of health issues, most baffling of which was – her poor little bum was sewn shut, apparently to deal with her diahrrea! Good grief!

There’s suspicion it was done as a shoddy attempt to correct a rectal prolapse, but no one knows for sure, and Fluffy isn’t talking.

She still has some leaky bum issues, and is getting paranoid about anyone coming up behind her, because she is (quite understandably!) getting tired of being swiped with baby wipes every two minutes. Her poor little bottom is still red and sore, in spite of the special diet and special care her foster mom is putting into her.

Still, she’s a Frenchie – sunny natured, happy to be alive and loved, and adoring every pat and kiss she gets. You can read her latest updates over on the French Bulldog Village Blog.

Is there anything more resilient than the heart of a rescue dog? No matter the beatings, no matter the neglect, no matter the horrific abuse, time and time again we find that underneath it all there’s a heart that still wants – desperately – someone to love.

Adopting, fostering or even just supporting a rescue dog isn’t something you do because it’s ‘noble’ – you do it because it’s one way to show these dogs that their resiliency in the face of horror, their willingness to try once more to love us, isn’t misplaced. It’s how we show them that, yes – there is goodness in the world.

Someone once said to me “Rescuing a dog is like picking up some dull, dirt encrusted rock, only to buff it up and find that it’s actually a priceless diamond. Under all their filth and neglect, someone’s priceless new best friend is hiding”.

Go find your own priceless new best friend, over on the French Bulldog Village. Yes, I’ve mentioned them before – but now I’m mentioning them again.

They do good works, every day – placing stray “French Bulldog mixed with who knows what” mixes, adopting out puppy mill retirees with no questions asked, helping breeders place their dogs into great retirement homes, and staying out of the politics of “Should we help that person?”, because they know that what matters is the dogs.

They’re also the home to the Karen Krings Memorial Fund – a fund dedicated to helping special needs French Bulldogs in the care of rescue organizations.

Check them out, and toss them a few bucks, even if you can’t adopt one of those adorable little faces.

Oh, and check out FBV founder Charlotte Creeley’s new blog – attorney stuff, dogs, dog training, pugs and other bits and pieces. She’s a great writer, and a true supporter of French Bulldog welfare.

It's like the scene in the Shining, where the elevator doors open..

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Sweet mother of Midol, do I ever have some cranky bitches around my house lately. Bitches, by the way, is meant in the purely animal husbandry sense of the word, in that I’m referring to the fact that every intact girl dog in my house is currently in the beginning, middle or end state of heat. Oh, and in case you were wondering (and come on, admit it, you were) yes indeedy, girl dogs sure do get moody (and no, you can’t slip Midol into their food).

Everyone is fighting with everyone, Elliott (who arrived here from Michigan last week, and likely had something to do with kicking off this festival of progesterone induced frenzy) is losing his mind, and my floor looks like the operating room in a M.A.S.H. unit.

To quote the immortal South Park commercial parody, “It’s like that scene from the Shining, where the elevator doors open..”.

God, I hate having intact bitches. Hate, hate, hate. I have some breeding plans for two of the evil little wenches, but I’m not going to talk about it, for fear the cruel and heartless breeding Gods will read it, laugh, and screw me over once again.

In the meantime, pity me, send swiffer wet jet refills, and watch this Youtube video, unless you’re all uptight and humorless, in which case the first part of this post was probably enough to send you screaming off to send an irate “Dear madam, I find your blog quite appalling” email. It’s ok, it’s been at least a week since I’ve had one of those, so I’m due.