SCORE! (And a sigh of relief)

Before I begin, to answer the question that I’ve been asked over and over since Friday: Yes, my dogs love this weather. When you walk around wearing a coat made for Norway, you’re delighted when you get the weather from your homeland. I must say, if you’ve never seen a northern-breed dog in weather like this, it is fun and puts a smile on your face watching them. They step outside and their faces light up. You see them stop and literally you can watch their chest as it takes in this huge breath of air and they tip their nose up with an expression of “Ahhhhh! That’s more LIKE it!” After that, it’s darn hard to convince them to come back inside. Seeing that unabashed glee warms your heart.....as you freeze your hiney.

It’s been a few days since I’ve written an update because I’ve been so preoccupied with this breeding process with Saber and Paige that I’ve found time for little else, getting up early in the morning to have them out by 5 AM before heading to work, and then putting them back together at night. The rest of the time has been spent worrying and wondering if Saber could get the job done. In another installment I’ll resume the story and explain why this breeding means what it does, but right now, let me say that I’m in a happy, relieved mood tonight because we got the job done today! I say “we” because it was a collective effort, literally.
While I had full faith that Saber has enough experience to know when the time is right, I had a little seed of doubt planted in my head with regards to his age (he’s 8 which is like a 56 year old guy. Interpret that as you wish……)

Mainly that seed came from my vet. He tried to collect Saber in June and had a very difficult time, but he always does, and he jokes that he and Saber need to work on their relationship. Every time Saber has successfully been collected it’s been by the folks at the International Canine Semen Bank, headquartered here in Oregon over around Boring. But with my vet, Saber, shall we say, holds back. It’s not all that unusual. As the ICSB folks told me, Saber associates less-than-pleasant things with the vet’s office and like many dogs, that results in some “performance anxiety” on his part.

When my vet had trouble collecting Saber in June he said, “You know, Lisa, maybe he’s just getting old and doesn’t have the drive that he used to.” Those words kept ringing in my head as I would watch him with Paige----“Lisa, maybe your dog has no sex drive.” Despite the fact that I was pretty sure it wasn’t time with Paige, knowing Saber had just turned 8 years old, I was wondering if the vet maybe was right. Is my dog a candidate for the little blue pill? Is he firing blanks? I didn’t know, but I knew that a progesterone test would tell me where Paige was at and that would give me the answers as to whether Saber could still sniff out a hot babe or not.

So, off to the vet we went last Wednesday morning to draw some blood from Paige and see what her progesterone level was at. I got the call Wednesday night: She was at 2.3. To give all of my non-dog-showing or breeding friends reading this a little lesson in the female canine reproductive system, at 2.0 there’s the surge of LH (a hormone) and that tells you in roughly 2 days, the dog will ovulate and the eggs are delivered. When she ovulates, her progesterone reading will be 5.0. That’s the number you’re looking for, as from 5.0 to 8.0 those eggs are being released.

At 2.3 we could figure she should ovulate Friday to Saturday, although some girls just sit there for days before they hit 5. With this news, knowing the weekend could be a point in which the breeding should take place and with me wondering “What if Saber IS getting up there in age to where he might not be able to get it done or if he has less-the-up-to-par swimmers?” I decided to call out to the experts at ICSB to get their thoughts and look into doing an artificial insemination to where we could look at the collection under a microscope to see the quality and then know that “the job” got done. They said, “get another progesterone test done on Friday so we can get a better idea of where she’s at.”

Alight, sure. It’s just money after all and Lord knows I’ve put plenty of it into these dogs over the years so what‘s a little more? (One of these times I’m going to write about the difference between responsible breeders and the less-than-reputable ones, but one of the many glaring differences is the amount of money they put into their dogs. Let‘s just say those churning out dogs to make money do, in fact, make the money because they never spend any money. They don't health test, they don't show their dogs to see if they truly are of quality, they don't guarantee them, you name it, they don't do it. See, just talking about it makes my blood pressure go up, so I‘m not going there now…but I will…believe me, I will.)

Friday morning was yet another early drive to the vet’s office to draw some more blood from Paige for another test. The result Friday night: Her progesterone was now at 2.9. Those ovaries were not in any hurry to unleash those eggs, but yet I also knew at this stage, the level could skyrocket at any moment so we were kind of in limbo. I was supposed to call back to ICSB Saturday morning for another consultation, and guess what I heard?: “Lisa, we need another progesterone test done and we need the results before Monday.”

Great. It’s Saturday and my vet can draw the blood for the test but the lab he works with won’t get me results before late Monday night, so that wouldn’t work. But after a few phone calls, I located a canine fertility clinic that could get me results in an hour and a half on a Saturday, so I again packed up Miss Paige and we were off for yet another test.

This time: Progesterone at 5.3. The launch has commenced! Finally, and, uh….yes….it proved that so far, Saber had been dead-on. He knew it wasn’t time. Okay, but, well….He’s still 8 years old. If he were 4, I wouldn’t have given it a thought, but I still wondered and I still felt the best bet was the A.I. with the ICSB folks on Monday.

The vet reminded me that just because the eggs are released they still need a good 2 days to mature to be ready to be fertilized so she said, “You’re right on target. Good luck!!” Yeah, thanks. As I drove back from Wilsonville, I was saying to myself, “Someone needs to remind me of why I do this again." Stamp collecting, scrapbooking, my earlier love of rocks....a lot less stress and heartbreak go with those hobbies.

Sunday night at about 7 PM, as if to rub my face in it and to say, “Ha! Here’s what you get for having so little faith in me and thinking I‘m too old,” Saber unleashed with his crying tirade which told me, “Yes, it’s time and he knows it.” I refer to this as the time when Saber says “goodbye” and checks out for about 3 days. He cries. He howls. He whimpers. He paces. He begs. (Not that unlike the human male when he wants it, yes ladies?)

Seeing him in the check-out mode, I couldn’t help but get a little grin on my face and I breathed a sigh of relief. The old guy still has it. He hasn’t lost his Mojo. That’s my dog!! I was pretty sure I could have faith that things would go okay on the collection and the A.I. Hell, we probably could have gotten a natural breeding, but by now, I had enough invested in wanting to be sure we were getting the best chance at pups, that I was sticking with my A.I. plan as that would let us see the quality of his “swimmers.”

In the raging east winds, today I packed up both Saber and Paige and headed out to the ICSB office near Boring, with Mt. Hood majestically looming in the background. As I pulled in front of the office, Saber heard a dog bark and went nuts, barking and whining in fear that HIS girl was going to another guy!! I thought to myself, “Buddy, you just keep getting worried so we can get this done.” I brought Paige in first knowing her departure would get Saber even more motivated. When I brought him in, he was dragging me and he burst through that door with a, “OKAY, DAMN IT, WHERE IS SHE??!!!!!” We were all laughing because his eyes were bulging and you could tell he was pissed off.

The technician started *working* on him and there was a brief moment that Saber paused and glared at me. She asked, “He lives with Paige, right?” and when I said yes, she went, “Come step over here behind me because I think he’s concerned that you’re there, like he thinks he might get in trouble, so move out of his line of sight.” I hadn't taken two steps away until the gal goes, “Okay, that was it. We’ve got it now and it looks really good!”

I pumped my fist in the air like a proud parent watching their child score at a sporting event, and went “YES!” (He was scoring….so to speak.) Of course, immediately upon doing that, sanity returned and I thought, “You’re such a geek!”

It could have been worse. I could have taken pictures....or a video.

I still didn’t feel completely confident because I wanted to look at it under the microscope. The technician prepared a slide and said, “Come look. While it’s probably not like it was when he was younger, this is still a nice, quality collection.” I looked in and got a big smile on my face (and again thought that my Geek Factor was raging at an all-time high at that moment.) There were all of these little sperm just swimming like crazy. My boy still has good swimmers! Yet another proud moment.

(Geek Alarm! Geek Alarm!)

From there, it was Paige’s turn to be more than just the little temptress. She was up on the table, got everything piped into her, with me holding her, whispering in her ear, “You’re such a good girl and this is only the beginning.”

I guess I didn’t have to doubt Saber. When you're hot, you're hot, and when you're not, you're not, and he knew when she was and when she wasn't, but he can't blame me for wondering about his Mojo. It's not like you see a lot of 56 year old guys with a 28 year old, after all.

We’re doing one more AI on Wednesday, just to cover all of our bases, but now I can relax. With one “in the bank” and after all of this worry, I feel like opening up this long-chilling bottle of Champagne in my refrigerator, but that has to wait until February.

When we’re tired and strung out, sitting on the floor next to a whelping box with a safe, sleeping, content Paige, with her new healthy, equally content sleeping puppies, that’s when we’ll pop the champagne open.

And I’ll raise my glass to Saber and once again apologize for doubting his Middle-Aged-Mojo.

The Next Chapter Starts With a "Paige"

Here’s the scene: It’s today. 5 AM. It’s dark, cold, and foggy. I’m in sweats, sheepskin boots, a big parka, sporting a great case of bed-head as it’s pre-morning shower, pre-coffee, pre-bowl of Apple Cinnamon-Os, pre-all that is part of a comforting morning routine.

I’m standing outside in my backyard, peering into the morning darkness, trying to determine the day’s horny-level of Saber and Paige. I think I need either a mining helmet or one of those headband-mounted lights mechanics use so I can get a good illuminated view of the action (or lack of.) When I made that comment to my sister, she almost collapsed with laughter, and while I was joking, maybe I should give it some serious thought. When the dogs wander into the side yard, it’s a lot darker. And, come on---how much worse can my fashion get? I mean, I’m already sporting a get-up that would make me a candidate for “What Not to Wear” so what harm would it do adding a head-mounted light to my ensemble?

Yes, it’s in moments like this that I chuckle when I think of all the times I’ve heard people say, “Oh, showing dogs must be SO glamorous! I watch those dog shows on T.V. and it looks SOOOOOOOO exciting!”

Yeah, right. Those moments of tuxes and glitz are the rare exception. The reality is things like scooping poop with a plastic bag over your hand in the back lot of hotel at 11:30 at night in the rain when you’re on the road at a dog show. Or standing under a small canopy in a pile of shavings set up as a "doggy restroom” outside the Expo Center in a whipping east wind, urging the dog to PLEASE get the job done before heading to the ring. Or having your dog stick his head in the garbage bag hanging just outside the ring entrance, where somebody dumped their half-eaten fries covered in ketchup, and the dog emerges with ketchup smeared up the side of his face which he proceeds to wipe on your skirt moments before you are to walk in the ring.

There’s some glamour for you!

No, the reality is what people don’t see when they’re watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. It often ain’t pretty.

And I, for one, am glad I don’t have an audience on these early-morning horny dog sessions, thanks anyway. Well, I may have a small audience. My neighbors have a two-story house and their bedroom window looks down into my backyard. I can only imagine what thoughts could be going through their minds if they look down to see, and hear, me urging Saber to “Go get that girl!! Oh, good boy!!---Here, you want me to hold her for you?”

Me and the lovebirds just came back in a little while ago from another test-run tonight. I must say: I REALLY hate this part. The logical, educated part of me says things are fine, that we’re just early, and this is merely the period of time where we let them run together, let him get a good read on her, let her get used to the idea of what’s ahead, and lets me figure out where things seem to be by how they‘re both reacting. I’ve watched her and him for the last 4 years. I know that he normally goes ballistic on about day 13, and that means we have some time yet as I think this is a legitimate Day 6. I’m 90% sure all is on track. However, there’s that 10% that messes with your head.

You play the “What if?” game: What if this time she’s freakishly early? That happens. It’s rare, but it can happen. What if she IS freakishly early this time and is ready to be bred now, and the fact that she’s sitting down and not standing for him is because she’s just going to be an obnoxious, nasty one that won’t cooperate? Or what if she IS ready and Saber just isn’t trying hard enough?

What if, what if, what if??? I know this is just part of the stress of getting this done, and odds are, all is fine, but like I said, when you’re out there watching and waiting, it starts messing with your brain. You have to take a deep breath and trust the dogs. I know that, but it’s always easier said than done. I think on about Wednesday, I’ll take Paige in for the progesterone test, and that always eases my mind, because then we’ll get some more information to base the timing on.

But until then, it’s more early-morning voyeurism on my part.

Meanwhile, more of the story on getting to this point and the arrival of Paige on the scene.
As I explained at the end of my last installment, I knew Saber was special the moment I got him out of the crate and really started looking at him. No dog is perfect, and I can tell you of the things I would improve on Saber, but his faults are not major, and it was evident from the time he was a pup. Without dragging on about it, let’s just say: He started winning and winning big right from the get-go. He had placed in the Hound Group when he was still in the puppy classes. The points added up fast and he had his Championship in no time. Then he started going out as a “Special” and the Group placements continued. On his best year, he wrapped it up ranked #9 in the country, with very limited showing, grabbing a Specialty Best in Show win and multiple Hound Group placements.

I told others, (and him,) that I couldn’t ask for anything more. If it all ended right then, I would be satisfied. Granted, there’s always been a little bit of wondering by me and others, with regards to how much he could have done had we found “backers” (meaning the money-people who would have financed a major campaign with him, covering advertising costs, travel, the professional handler who could take him on the road week after week, etc.) I’ve had people tell me they think he could have done great things. Yes, that would have been cool in some ways, but I didn’t really want that for him or me. What has made this dog so special to me has been the relationship he and I have had. We couldn’t have had that had he been on the road much of the time with a handler. I’m happy with what he and I accomplished together. I know so many breeders who I really respect in the Elkhound world who breed great dogs, who have never had dogs place in the Group, never have had a dog win Best in Show at a Specialty. I’ve been blessed to have all of that in the ring with Saber and that was accomplishment enough. I didn’t feel the motivation to go after more, if it meant not getting to have him be the dog who lounges next to me on the loveseat.

So, with me feeling satisfied with what Saber had done, and with Mari, his breeder, ecstatic, she broached the subject about the future and her kennel. Mari had only one child, her daughter, Caren, who was the same age as me. Caren had been handling Elkhounds under her mother’s guidance from the time she was big enough to get around the ring with the lead. Mari told me that, possibly due to the fact that she had been so close to the dog show world and breeding all her life, Caren had no interest in continuing on with things. She said she respected Caren’s wishes but you could sense Mari's disappointment.

She said to me, “It’s funny but with you being Caren’s age, I’ve come to think of you as the second daughter I didn’t have and I have enjoyed teaching and passing things on to you. There aren’t many of my dogs out there anymore. I think back to my Bella back in the village in Norway and her pups that came here to start my family of dogs and I hate to see that be lost.” She told me the reason she gave Saber the registered name, Camalot’s Faithful Guardian, is because she hoped he could be a dog that would be the “guardian” of her bloodline, and she added, “But I need somebody to help him with that, which leads me to a proposal I want to make to you.”

Mari said she wanted to look for a female to give to me that has a pedigree that she felt would be the best match for Saber to produce a very Camalot-based litter. I took her up on the offer, and the search was on for this special girl. In a short amount of time, Mari called and said, “I’ve found her!”

The puppy was bred by Karen Allen down in California whose “Dragon’s End” kennel was founded from the Camalot bloodlines. This pup’s father was a very Camalot line-bred dog bred by Mari, and the mother was bitch Karen bred with ties back to Camalot and she’s also the daughter of a dog bred by the the lady who is the most famous Norwegian Elkhound breeder in the country, Pat Trotter with the Vin-Melca kennel.

It was a understatement to say that her pedigree was eye-catching and I fully understood why Mari zeroed-in on her. Mari was so excited saying, “She’s the one! I couldn’t have dreamed for a better combination than this!”

Next was the inevitable name debate. I wanted a strong female name because I think of female Elkhounds as tough cookies, but then that’s the case in most breeds when you compare the dogs and the bitches (as the saying goes, “They don’t call them bitches for nothing!”) Everybody will tell you the boys are the big, cuddly, snuggling-types. The girls tend to be much more no-nonsense and they just handle themselves differently than the boys (just like humans.)

So I kept thinking, pretty-yet-strong name. Getting nowhere, I was on the phone with my good friend, Paige, and it hit me: Why not call her Paige? That’s the right mix and my friend, Paige, is exactly that--She’s one of the nicest, sweetest people you could meet, but at the same time, she’s very tough. You don’t want to underestimate her. (Paige has this very sweet, high voice, adding to her image. We make a funny pair when you hear our voices together. She’s Snow White and I’m Darth Vader.)

I called Mari and Karen to inform them I had the call-name but needed help on the registered name. Most of my dogs have call-names that are not in their registered name, but they usually have a tie-in of some sort. We tossed around a lot of ideas: “Paige” could be a reference to a “page” like in the tale of Camelot, or King Arthur likely had a “page” who assisted him, so you could get that out of it. We finally decided to call her Dragons End A Paige of Camalot. It gave a nod to both kennels, Karen’s “Dragon’s End” and Mari’s "Camalot," and Mari said she liked the idea that maybe the Camalot story would continue with this pup--another page in the story of Mari’s family of dogs, with Paige.

Next: A tragedy strikes that gives Mari’s theory of Saber and Paige some poignant significance.
　

A Whole Lotta' Nuttin'

Yes, that’s right: Just sitting here twiddling our thumbs….and paws….waiting for the moonlight and roses to strike Saber and Paige. At least we have a confirmed “launch” on Paige’s end. The countdown is now legitimately on, but I’m putting my money on late next week before all parties involved are truly in the mood.

Saber clearly has received the memo that something’s up and after 4 years of being kept away from her twice a year, he’s now looking at me with shock, as if he can’t quite believe I’m allowing him to get near her. Normally the poor guy cries and paces in his frustration. Every time I let them out together in the yard he gives me this, “Are you SURE it’s okay?” look, like he’s just a little amazed that what he’s coveted has finally happened. Of course, as is typical, because he’s an experienced stud dog who knows what he’s doing, he basically checks her out, confirms that it’s not time, and then walks away with a bit of frustration, letting me know that we’re not within firing range yet.

Paige has been equally funny to watch. Normally when a female is sent to be bred she’s a little unsure of things for a few days, which you expect, and it can also take her a little time to warm up to her “betrothed.” (Explanation for my non-dog world friends: She ALWAYS gets sent to the male which most people don’t realize. Since he’s the one that has to perform, you don’t want him to have any “performance anxiety” so he gets to stay on his home turf where he’s comfortable.)

But for Paige, she’s known Saber all her life, since arriving here at about 10 weeks of age, has always adored him, loving to pal around at his side. However, what she clearly was not prepared for was him suddenly taking *that* kind of interest in her because normally when she’s in season, he’s never allowed to get near her. So this time, when he’s now getting access to her and starting to show some interest and make advances, she’s going, “Hey! Wait just one minute!! What’s going on?!! I thought we were just friends. Are you sure you want to go there??!” Of course, the fact that she’s acting that way is a clear sign we’re not there yet, because when it is time, she’ll change her tune. Although sometimes they’re never really nice about it, and don’t cooperate that well. I’m hoping she’s not one of those types.

This waiting game is tough, though. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s kind of like this little static undercurrent that’s in the back of my mind as I try to focus on other things. I can’t help but worry and wonder if everything will go okay in the weeks and months ahead.
Anyway, while the waiting game continues I can pick up where I left off with the story of how Saber and Paige came to be here and why a lot of people are watching this breeding.

Just prior to getting that phone call from Mari Misbeek, I got an email from one of my long-time mentors in Norwegian Elkhounds, Virginia Sawyer. It was 8 years ago in January while the Rose City Classic dog show was underway in Portland. Virginia knew I was looking for a new male puppy. I was about to retire my first show dog, Maverick, who was 5 years old at the time, and the second dog I had shown, Speed, was already finished with his Championship, but wasn’t a dog we were going to campaign any further.

I had told Virginia I was in no hurry to dive into anything, that I wanted to take my time and see what was out there, and she said she would keep her ears open to anything that might be available.

Virginia emailed me and wrote, “I think there’s a puppy available that would be very worth your while to look into. He was bred by Mari Misbeek and is out of her Nala bitch and my Chase.” I kept reading and re-reading what she wrote. Mari Misbeek had a puppy available out of Nala and Chase??!!!

Nala was Mari’s female I said seen a few years earlier that I, and many others, thought was absolutely gorgeous, and Virginia’s Chase has had his share of great wins and was a beautiful dog. Back when I had heard that Virginia and Mari were working together on the breeding of the two of them, I had thought that was a stellar combo, but I never dreamed I would have a chance at one of those pups, figuring there would be a long line of people much bigger than me who would be interested in them.

Virginia said there were two males in the litter and one was being imported to England, and while Mari had more names on her list of interested breeders in the United Kingdom, Mari didn’t want both boys going there, feeling one should stay in the U.S. As a result, Mari found herself in a position of not really being sure she had a show home for this other pup on this side of the Atlantic.

Virginia wrote, “I think this could be a great opportunity for you, so if you’re interested, I’ll contact Mari and put in a good word for you.” I told her I was definitely interested, but I kept thinking I shouldn’t get my hopes up, because I couldn’t imagine that Mari wouldn’t find somebody else before getting to me as an option.

It was about the next night that the phone rang and I heard, “Hello, Lisa? This is Mari Misbeek. I understand you’re looking for a new puppy?” I know there had to be this moment of stunned silence because I was completely taken by surprise. But somehow I managed to find my voice. Mari is quite the talker and made me feel very comfortable right away. (I would later learn just how long she could talk, as over the years we had many teacher/student, 3-plus hour phone calls as she would give me pointers and share what she knew about the breed and I would try to be a sponge soaking up everything she was teaching me.)

As we talked and she asked me a lot of questions, she eventually said Virginia had encouraged her to talk to me and gave me a great reference and that she had so much respect for Virginia and her opinion, that based on that and then after talking with me, she was ready to send me the puppy. I wanted to squeal with excitement, but I kept it together and we immediately started talking about the timeline for getting him shipped up here.

I remember being in this giddy daze. In the span of about 24-hours I had a new puppy on the way!

Mari already had the registered names figured out for those pups who were going to be shown. The registered name of their mother was Ch. Camalot’s Leap of Faith, and Mari had dubbed this the “Faithful Litter” so the female was being registered as Camalot’s Faithful Rendition, the boy going to England was Camalot’s Faithful Knight, and the pup I was getting would be registered as Camalot’s Faithful Guardian. Mari went on to tell me that originally my pup was the one who was going to be sent to England and the English buyers liked the whole idea of the story of Camelot so they wanted to have the dog’s call-name be Arthur, after Camelot‘s King Arthur. As a result, Mari immediately started calling this pup Arthur. However, upon further evaluation of the pups, right before he was to be sent to England, Mari decided the other male had a body-style more suited to the English lines he would be bred into and she thought he was a better fit for their breeding program, so the decision was made to send the other pup to England. Ultimately, his English owners decided to call him “Sir K” so the name Arthur never came into play.

Mari said to me, “Your pup answers to Arthur so you can keep calling him that or you can come up with something else.” Arthur didn’t really do it for me, so I got out my list of dog names that I like that I’m always adding to, and I spotted Saber. I ran it by Mari and we both agreed that it could be a nice fit and association: His registered name would be Faithful Guardian, so a Saber could be associated with that, plus there’s the whole Excalibur sword part of the story of Camelot. In the end, we both liked the ways the name could be tied-in with everything.

With that, Arthur became Saber.

And with that, in just a few days, he arrived at the airport. I still remember that feeling of excitement as I waited to see him for the first time. When a dog is flown as cargo, you don’t go all the way into the actual terminal to pick him up. Instead you go to the very industrial-oriented cargo area of the airport and pull up to the loading dock for the airline that’s shipping the dog. My mom went along for the ride, also excited to see the pup and to calm my nerves as I was just anxious to get him on the ground and know that he was there.

Suddenly the big roll-up door at the loading dock opened, and there sat this little crate. I bounded out of the car and up the steps into the office and the staff let me in to get the crate and to get the first look at Saber. Here was this puppy peering out wondering what in the world had just happened to him. I got him loaded in the car and pushed his crate right up front so his door was essentially sitting right between our two seats up front and we could talk to him. To this day my Mom and I laugh about how he refused to look at us. The entire drive home Saber turned his back on us and wouldn’t look out the front of the crate.

I took him out to my parents place and it was then, upon letting him out of the crate and really looking at him, that I knew there was something special in front of me. In the next 6 to 9 months, he would prove just how special he was, and in the years after that, he proved to not only be special in the show ring, but just plain special for the dog that he is.

Up next: Another chapter of Camalot starts with a “Paige”

The Camalot Connection

So much about purebred dogs is a case of “hurry up and wait.“ Dog shows, themselves, have a lot of that, and so does the breeding side. I’ve been keeping such a close eye on Paige’s “system” that I think I actually caught her "first day” almost before it’s legitimately Day 1. Normally when breeding her wasn’t on the agenda, I wasn’t pouring over her, so when her heat cycle would start it would be very obvious and I would go, “Yep, she’s in” usually figuring I was seeing the signs more likely on Day 2. But this time, I was checking her so closely that I think I probably saw signs of pre-pre-pre-Day 1. But that’s fine. The longer we can go to get a potential litter born further into February, the better. The big dog show is in late January in Portland, and I have some responsibilities tied in with that due to the all-breed club I’m in, so I would like to not have to be worrying about puppies arriving early when that show is underway. Of course, dogs have a knack for changing your best-laid plans, so who knows what might happen.

I talked this morning with the folks over at the International Canine Semen Bank. (Yes, for my non-dog show friends, there is one, and it’s actually headquartered here in Oregon but has branches all over the world.) We have “Frozen Saber” stored there. There’s been discussion with my vet as to whether or not we should consider backing up a natural breeding with a shot of the frozen stuff. The thinking behind that is all due to Saber’s age. He just turned 8 (that’s right, he’s like a 56 year old guy getting a chance with a hot 28 year old---Lucky dog!) There’s nothing to make us believe he can’t get it done, (what’s that Toby Keith song: “I Ain’t As Good As I Once Was, But I’m As Good Once As I Ever Was) but the thought has occurred to us. We know for sure that his time is running out. He probably only has a year left of viable “swimmers” based on what a recent collection told us, and that’s to be expected.

After all was said and done today, we came to the conclusion that we should give him every chance and assume things will go fine, and if it does, go with that and not worry about doing any back-up measures with the frozen. If no puppies arrive, frozen could be used next time, or if we see the signs that he’s going to fall short this time, we could always “thaw” one of those valuable little vials out and give it shot.

I did get a chuckle, though, when they said I could get the “Semen Release Form” ready. (I’ll be you didn’t know there was a proper piece of paperwork you should file for that, now did you?)

I said in my last installment that I would have time to tell a little history of how I got to this point of breeding Paige to Saber, so I figured I could start out with how I got connected with the Camalot Norwegian Elkhounds and having Saber arrive in my life.

Camalot Norwegian Elkhounds is the line or family of dogs belonging to Mari Misbeek who lives down around the Santa Barbara area of California. By the way, “Camalot” is the correct spelling, as the name, rather than referring to the story of “Camelot,” is actually a combination of letters related to names. “Ca” represents Mari’s daughter, Caren, “Ma” represents Mari’s name, and “Lot” was the first 3 letters of Mari’s last name at that the time that she was coming up with the idea of a name for her kennel. So, while the spelling is different, Mari always utilized the Old English-style of font on the logo of her kennel name and did like the tie-in of the legend of King Arthur and his Knights of the Roundtable and the mystical, perfect kingdom they lived in.

When Mari first began 35-40 years ago, she took a unique approach: She learned Norwegian and proceeded to go to Norway for a month and a half, visiting with the top breeders in the country. Her theory was that she wanted to bring the best possible dogs she could over from Norway to integrate with the lines over here, with a goal of trying to keep the traits true to the breed and so valued by the Norwegians. By the time Mari left Norway, she had struck a deal to essentially lease a female named Bella, but in reality, Bella would never leave her homeland, but her pups would travel across the Atlantic, then across the U.S. to end up in California. When you look way back into the pedigrees of the Camalot Elkhounds, you’ll eventually get back to dogs whose kennel names all begin with “Camalot Bella’s….” and then their name. That was a tribute to their mother Bella and told you these were Bella’s children that were brought over here. I remember one time Mari talking about Bella and getting teary-eyed, saying how she owed everything to her “Lovely Bella,” who never left the Norwegian village where she lived, but who had such an impact on what Mari was able to do here in the U.S.

In the purebred dog world, people will often comment on particular breeders who are said to have an “artistic eye” for knowing what dogs to bring together and breed with in order to successfully create dogs who best represent the breed’s standard of perfection. They are experts in studying pedigrees but at the same time they just have an “eye” for it. Mari is one of those people. She is master of the breed with her knowledge of it, and truly did create a “look” that was Camalot. In most breeds there are those kennels that when you stand at ringside at a show, you can look out and spot dogs that you are sure descend down from that kennel. In Norwegian Elkhounds, I can always spot a Vin-Melca dog, a Windy Cove, and a Camalot. It’s not to say that these kennels don’t represent the standard, but the breeders behind them have brought along a family of dogs that represent their vision of the breed with distinct characteristics that are so ingrained in the genes, that they now continue to show these traits generation after generation. It’s like great product branding: You immediately recognize it when you see it.

For Mari and the Camalot family of Elkhounds, I’ve heard people say they are known for being very elegant and “typey” (a dog show term for being of correct “type” or very good examples of the breed standard) with a distinct look and expression across their eyes. I think the elegance is what I hear most often. Someone once said to me that if you are producing Elkhounds who are starting to look coarse and bulky, with a “brute”-look about them, you can get a shot of elegance by going back to Camalot. Saber, himself, is a big dog but I’ve heard time and time again people say that he has both strength and elegance, and that it’s hard to get the correct mix of that, and right after they say that, they’ll add, “That’s the Camalot blood running through him.” There’s a dog a few generations back behind Saber who was named “Camalot’s Rebel Yell” and Rebel was this massive dog, but he still had this elegance about him. He was breathtaking in this presence that he had when you see pictures of him.

My family got our first Elkhound back in 1980 but I didn’t get into showing them until about 14 years ago, and at that time I got into buying what’s known as The Hoflin Annual, which is a breed “yearbook” produced by Hoflin Publishing. I would pour over these books and that’s when I first really became aware of Mari and the Camalot dogs. There would be these big multi-page ads on her dogs, plus big features and profiles on some of her greats from the past, etc. I admired her dogs and her approach and philosophy and said one time, “Wow, it would be something else to have one of her dogs.” I could only imagine what it would be like to have one and get to work with and learn from her. Of course, I never dreamed that would be possible at all.

Then one day I got a phone call: “Hello, Lisa? This is Mari Misbeek. I understand you’re looking for a new puppy.”

Little did I know how much that phone call would change my life and bless me, not only with a very special 4-legged creature, but also with a mentor and friend who I would develop a very special relationship with.

Up next: Camalot’s Faithful Guardian, a.k.a. Saber, arrives.

And So It Begins

Hold that thought: Before I explain the title of this blog, let me first confess to entirely dropping the ball when it came to my so-called resurrection of “Life With the Lid Down.” I did 3 installments and then it’s been two months with nothing!

I do have an explanation and it’s a little baffling for me and probably more so for those who know me and know how I can run off at the mouth. I got a severe case of Writers Block. My blogging muse left me. Poof!---I had nothing. You see, just because I can chatter on and on doesn’t mean I can necessarily translate that to something I can write about. For some reason, nothing inspired me. I know this blog is supposed to be about me juggling life and dogs and the dog showing world, etc., but I felt zilch. Things seemed rather dull and boring. I’m kind of in an in-between/holding pattern with showing the dogs as Saber’s now a veteran, so he has less shows I’ll take him to, Blade had to be neutered due to his hips, which really was a blow realizing his show career was over, and Paige….well….more on her in a few moments.

My twin 5 yr. old nieces didn’t supply any good material for me to write about with their comments. Well, okay, there was Grace announcing that not only did she think she was going to be a military fighter pilot, but she was going to “do hair” right along with it. Makes sense if you think about it: More women fighter pilots in the future will mean they’ll take off their helmets only to find they have a bad case of “Helmet Hair” and Gracie could be there to save the day. Pretty smart thinking on her part.

But, in general, nothing was coming to me. I questioned if I would ever find anything to inspire me to write again.

Then it struck me that I was about to experience something that likely would provide plenty of material. Consequently, I figured I would wait until the right moment, and then begin to write about it.

Well, that moment has arrived which brings me back to the title of this blog, “And So It Begins.” I’m about to embark on something that, if all goes as planned, will impact my life for the next 4 to 5 months in a big way:

My female Norwegian Elkhound, Paige, started her heat cycle today which means the long-awaited, much-anticipated breeding of her to my dog, Saber, is now going to happen.

I’ve written a lot about the dogs, in general, and specifically, Saber’s son, Blade. On another blogging site, I actually wrote about him literally from day one, beginning with when I got the email from the people who own his mother, asking about breeding her to Saber, clear up through the effort to get the breeding done, me swearing I wasn’t taking a puppy then falling for Blade when I first saw him at 4 weeks of age, his crazy antics in the show ring, and ultimately getting the bad news that he has hip dysplasia. Back earlier on this blog I wrote about getting him neutered a year ago, which was kind of a sad moment, knowing things didn‘t turn out for him like we had hoped, but feeling grateful that it appears with some careful management of him, he‘s going to be able to lead a long, comfortable life. (I haven’t written about him in awhile, but he’s maybe mellowing a little….maybe. But, we can‘t have him mellow too much, because he does have a reputation to keep up, after all.)

In thinking about how I told the story of that whole adventure, I figured there would be even more to write about this time around, as this involves me also being on the receiving end with a litter of puppies. Just seeing that in print scares the daylights out of me!

It’s been a 4-year process to get here, as Paige was acquired specifically for this moment. I’ve been showing dogs for almost 14 years, but I’ve never ventured down the path of having a litter as I always had males. Somebody was always offering me another boy they wanted shown, and I was happy to oblige. But then Paige came into my life, thanks to a series of events aimed at trying to continue the Camalot line of Elkhounds. It’s a long story and I’ll get more into all of that in the days and weeks ahead because there will be plenty of time to tell it.

But for now, I’m taking a deep breath realizing we’re now underway. The long-awaited moment is finally here. It’s very scary and yet exciting all at the same time.

And so it begins……

Stay tuned

Rock My World

It's Sunday night and I'm finally getting around to writing something that first struck me earlier this week. I simply couldn't find the time to write then, but I was reminded of it again this afternoon when I drove past the Fair Complex and saw the Portland Regional Gem Show underway.

Earlier in the week a gentleman arrived for the show who is a vendor who provides rock tumbling services. When I heard that, I literally paused for a moment and found myself with this grin on my face. In that instant, a very fond childhood memory came flooding back, something I hadn't thought of in years, maybe even decades.

When I was a kid in grade school, every year when Christmas or my birthday came around, I was always on my campaign for my very own rock tumbler. Sure, I had Barbies I wanted, but I also coveted my very own rock tumbler.

It was all because of my grandfather's friend, Mike. Mike had a rock tumbler and I was fascinated by it. I now can look back and understand that Mike and his wife, Nettie (there's a name you don't hear anymore,) were themselves "Rock Hounds" just like the folks who put on the Gem Show. Rock Hounds are those who travel around looking for and collecting various kinds of rocks and precious gems and they usually belong to clubs as it's also kind of a social activity for them.

I never went with my Grandpa to Mike's house that I didn't come away with some shiny rocks that came from the tumbler. I recall asking Mike a ton of questions about what kinds of rocks he had and what I should be looking for, and he told me that while agates were pretty easy to spot at the beach, he also said to remember that sometimes a rock can look really plain but then you're surprised how good it looks when you polish it. (Somewhere in there is some deep philosophical lesson, right? But at the time, Mike and I were just talkin' rocks.)

Bottom line is, I came away hell-bent on getting me a rock tumbler. I harped about it all the time, and while I worked on wearing down my parents, in the meantime, I worked on gathering rocks for the tumbler that I was confident would soon be mine.

Every time we went to the beach I brought my bucket along, but not to make sand castles, oh no----my bucket went with me to the beach to gather rocks. Sometimes I even convinced my younger brother that after he had done his digging in the sand, he, too, could donate his bucket to my rock-gathering cause.

Now, yes, I did find my share of agates that I knew would polish well, but I remembered Mike telling me that even though a rock might look plain, you could be surprised how good it turned out after it went in the tumbler. So, heck, I believed in equal opportunity for all rocks! I saw potential in just about anything on the ground.

We would be ready to head home from a day at the beach and here I would come with my buckets full of rocks and this is where I have to hand it to my Dad. He always let me bring my bucket of rocks home. I mean, he could have simply said, "Come on, Lisa, we can't bring all of them. You have to pick out a few of the best ones." But, he never did. He would sigh and load them in the trunk of the car, where invariably they would tip over on the drive home.

The funny thing is, to this day I don't really know what always happened to the rocks. I remember saying I wanted to take them to Mike's tumbler, and at the same time I would throw in my sales pitch for how if I simply had my OWN tumbler, I could polish them all myself. But then, being a little kid, I guess my attention would go elsewhere and I never really followed what happened to the buckets of rocks.

I'll wager my grandpa added a lot of rocks to his driveway.

I think kids, in general, often have a thing about rocks. They bring school buses full of kids to the Gem and Mineral Show every time it's at the Fair Complex, and the kids are wide-eyed as they press their faces against the glass display cases that hold the various collections put together by the Rock Hound clubs, and they go home with grab-bags full of...yes...you guessed it: polished rocks.

My nephew Cody had the same rock obsession when he was younger. When he learned how plain a Thunder Egg really looks on the outside, he saw no reason not to believe you couldn't find one out in my dad's gravel driveway. He was always out there gathering handfuls of 3/4 minus, just sure that one of them was valuable.

Now, lucky kid that he is, he DID get his own rock tumbler (Yes, I was jealous!) But, like me, he didn't have a lot of patience when he realized it took days on end of tumbling before you got a shiny rock out of it. So Cody, artistic, ingenious kid that he is, he took a different approach. When he was about 7 or 8, he used to love to go with my dad to the auto parts store, and one day he convinced his grandfather to buy him a can of chrome paint. Next thing we know, Cody is out in the gravel driveway, picking up 3/4 minus and spraying it with the chrome paint. He walked in with these blindingly shiny nuggets and announced, "I decided just to make my own valuable rocks."

Why didn't I think of that? Probably because I never went with Dad to the auto parts store. I was too busy campaigning for my own rock tumbler.

The other day when I remembered my obsession with wanting a rock tumbler, I had to call my Mom and remind her of it. I said, "Do you recall how when I was a kid I always wanted a rock tumbler and you guys would never buy me one?" and she chuckled and said, "Yes, I remember it well, and we didn't buy you one because we knew you didn't have the patience for it, and we were right." I laughed and said, "Yes, you were right, so instead you bought me a wood-burning set that I also teased for, to which I then proceeded to get a major burn on my thumb and never wanted to use it again." My Mom countered with, "Yes, and you burned your thumb because you weren't patient enough to wait for me or your dad to help you take the end off of it."

Ah yes.....that patience thing again. Can't argue with Mom about that. I HAVE developed and learned some patience over the years, thankfully, about some things, but admittedly not everything. However I do know that about myself and I work on it. Still doubt that I have the patience for a rock tumbler.

Yet, as I sit here on the loveseat looking to my right, I'm reminded that I still have a rock collection, of sorts.

Sitting on my end table is brandy snifter full of 3/4-minus. Let's just say those rocks are connected to a certain dog. It makes for a good conversation piece when people ask me, "Lisa, why do you have a brandy snifter full of gravel sitting on your table?" My answer usually freaks people out, makes them crack-up, or both.

I wonder how those rocks would look after being in a tumbler?

A Lesson From Bob and Boo

Yesterday was a day that gave me a good reminder of why I love dogs and devote so much time to them. Today I got reminded of how so often we two-legged creatures can lose sight of what matters.

There's some controversy going on within the American Kennel Club right now with regards to changing the formation of the groups. For those of you not familiar with the dog show world, right now we have 7 groups and each breed is assigned to fall under one of them: Herding, Hound, Working, Terrier, Sporting, Non-Sporting, and Toy.

Those of us who have dogs who have a Northern heritage, (meaning their origins go back to the Scandinavian countries or northern Asia,) we have long been wanting a Northern Group added. There's been a lot of work done on that over the last 5 years, and in the process, came discussions of splitting up the Hound group between the Sight Hounds and the Scent Hounds, and then splitting up the Sporting group between the Pointers and the Retrievers.

Was that over-thinking it, or was it a case of seeing a window of opportunity to make a change that maybe is needed on something they didn't want to re-visit any time soon? You can probably argue that either way but what started out as simply forming the Northern Group has become a monster with a life of its' own.

Change never comes easy in anything we humans tackle, and in the AKC, which has existed for 125 years, change is even harder. The vote on this change by the AKC delegates was supposedly taking place tomorrow, but word came down this morning about the vote being "withdrawn" by the AKC. As I'm writing this, I'm still waiting to hear more details, as a lot of rumors have been swirling around about it today via email. I'm hearing everything from it's done, that the AKC has said the discussion is over, to word that the delegates representing the all-breed and breed clubs are demanding to get the chance to vote tomorrow. We'll just have to see how it all shakes down, but the whole thing makes me fed up and reminds me of something my friend, Scott, said after a recent meeting of our local all-breed kennel club where we had a rather spirited discussion of the issue. I remarked that it's moments like this where we humans need to be reminded that this is supposed to be about the dogs, and not our politics, power-plays, etc, to which Scott responded, "If you want it to be about the dogs, you'll have to remove 80% of the humans."

I chuckled and he's right. We humans are flawed creatures ourselves, and I think in general, for most of us, our hearts are in the right places for the dogs. It's just that sometimes maybe we over-think things. Maybe we should....no, on second thought, it's not even "maybe"....we SHOULD look at our dogs and keep things simple and direct the way they do. I always say that's why I love dogs and kids: You never have to wonder where you stand with them. For me, I think most of my friends and family would agree that I pretty much follow that line. You don't generally wonder what I'm thinking and where I stand. I'll tell you. In my case, maybe sometimes I SHOULDN'T. You know, those moments when you go, "Oh no....did I just give audio to that thought? Did everybody hear that?"

Anyway as I said at the beginning of this, while the 2-legged creatures frustrated me today, it was the 4-legged ones that brought it all into perspective yesterday and reminded me of why I do this.

A group of us with the Northern breeds have formed a Northern breed club in hopes that someday we'll see that Northern Group become a reality, and yesterday we held our first Fun Match. A Fun Match is basically a practice dog show. The club has to do a few of these to prove to the AKC that we have the experience to do a real show, and it's a wonderful place for puppies to get some experience as well as their owners who might be new to handling a show dog.

Because our focus was also to educate people about the Northern breeds and to present some of them who are rather rare here in the U.S., we did something that's not normally done at a match and we had a class for Veterans and a Parade of Titleholders, where we brought out some of our dogs who had some impressive show careers in their day. We all wrote a little something about our dog's accomplishments that was read when we brought them into the ring, and then these dogs were also the ones entered as Veterans so the crowd enjoyed seeing them, and the old dogs loved coming out and showing off. But what the day was really about, and who I personally believe were the stars of the event, were the puppies. If you're having a bad day, need a pick-me-up, whatever, a puppy will do it. I brought my camera along and got some great shots of the little ones.

The first one who stole my heart was this little gal, and unfortunately, I've forgotten her name. She's an American Eskimo and I think I was so smitten, I'm not sure I EVER heard her name. She was in a set-up next to Saber and myself, so I cooed at her all day. Her dad is Gandalf, a big winner in his day who was there as a Veteran. This little one was getting her first exposure to a day at a show and she strutted around, knowing full well how cute she is. She almost didn't seem real. You just wanted to hug her.

Next came Swedish Vallhund puppy, Bob. Oh how I love that his name was Bob. It just made you smile it was so funny. He became one of the little guys that I followed all day. Bob had never really been worked with on a lead so this was all new to him. Of course, he LOVED everybody, crawling up into your lap to kiss all over you. It was tough getting a picture of him because all he wanted to do was dive at me. I could have scooped him up and taken him home.

Then it was Norwegian Buhund (pronounced "Boo-hoond") "Baby Boo." His owner says he's called Baby Boo because he lives with several other dogs, I think Australian Shepherds, and he's the baby, and being a Buhund they just thought Baby Boo seemed like a good fit. I'm assuming he'll be just plain "Boo" when he gets older. This is a very new breed here in the U.S. and since I have Norwegian Elkhounds, I've been interested in learning about their Buhund counterparts. I had seen adults at a show in January but Baby Boo was my first puppy. He's another I could have taken home as well. Like Bob, he also had no real experience on a leash, so I decided I would follow him throughout the day as well to see how they did.

Here's Baby Boo getting in some play-time with a Siberian Husky puppy, demonstrating the "MERCY!" move of rolling over on your back.

Then he decided to try the leash as a chew toy.

Next Bob was getting ready to go into the ring for the very first time. He looked a little unsure of things.

He wasn't so sure about gaiting around the ring, Mom encouraged him along.

But once he got going, Bob was on a roll!

He was tuckered out when he left the ring, but the best part about a Fun Match is you get toys rather than ribbons for prizes so Bob was guarding his.

Then, as fate would have it: Bob and Baby Boo met up in the Group Ring for the Best Puppy Competition.

"Hey, Bob, wanna play?"

By the end of the day, Bob and Baby Boo showed how much progress puppies can make in a short amount of time. Both of them were gaiting pretty good by the time we were done, and their owners commented that they would be tired puppies by the time they got home.

There were so many more wonderful pups and beautiful older dogs who were there that I'll have to include them in another segment, but watching Bob and Boo made for a great day and reminded me of what matters. It's about those puppies who turn into those old Veterans and the path that we, the two-legged, and they, the four-legged, go down together. The time goes by way too fast.

If we pay attention to how they lead their lives, we two-legged ones can always learn a lot:

Play with everybody, but if it gets too rough, just roll over on your back and growl.

Pee whenever you have to.

Toys are a good thing.....

....but guard them.

Sleep when you want to.

Be respectful of the old dogs. They know things (and they generally aren't interested in your toys.)

Make Mom happy.