Costume adjustments . . . .

Well, her pre-performance queasiness seems to have passed, and now Victory is resting up for the big show.  She's in fine form.  If there is such a thing as a pregnancy bloom in dogs, then Victory is experiencing it -- she looks gorgeous!  Her coat is full and luxurious, her eyes are shining, her expression is soft . . . all in all, a lovely mama-to-be, like a woman in her second trimester.

We have a month or so to go before the babies arrive, and in the meantime, if we had a wardrobe mistress, she'd be losing her mind.  The belly is firmer and fuller already, and there's lots of growing to go yet.  Thank heaven her costume is Taylormade!  ;-)  (Nothing quite like a good pun, I always say . . . .)

As for me, I'm reading Canine Reproduction: A Breeder's Guide, by Dr. Phyllis A. Holst.  It's an excellent book with all sorts of detailed information.  And yes, I know I should have gotten it all read BEFORE the breeding took place!

A Mama-to-be for Christmas!

I'm getting pretty excited about the whelping (in a scared to death sort of way).  And the other really interesting part about all of this will be experiencing "waiting for my puppy" from the other side of the breeder/puppy buyer equation.  I'm really looking forward to getting to know these babies and then communicating to their potential forever homes exactly who they are.  It's going to be lots of work, but what fun!

That pre-performance queasiness . . . .

I have to admit that I'm feeling a little bad for wishing Victory would give some sign that she was pregnant, like a tiny little bit of morning sickness.  Just as she reached three-weeks post-breeding, she refused her breakfast, and she has now decided that really it is preferable not to eat ANY meal from a bowl set in front of her.  Poor little girlie is clearly off her feed (those who have been pregnant will no doubt remember the feeling), and although she will eat, she wants me to feed her by hand, one piece at a time.  This is not really a problem with kibble, but it is slightly more of an issue with canned pumpkin and salmon oil . . . .

Apart from that and being a little more sleepy than usual, she is herself.  On our long walks, I sometimes chat to her about her babies.  She appears unconcerned, so I'm taking my lead from her, but still it's fun to talk about them.

Reading about whelping and watching videos has made me think about instinct and how cool it is that even though I can't actually explain to her what's coming, she's likely to take it pretty much in stride anyways.  

I know that although I have the pre-performance jitters, her queasiness has nothing to do with nerves at all.  I'm sure she's going to do just great.

Waiting to take the floor . . . .

The next thing required of me was . . . nothing.  I had to wait.  Take care of Victory, make sure she wasn't stressed (thank heaven it was okay for ME to be stressed!), and wait.

Our repro vet said we could come in three weeks for an ultrasound to confirm pregnancy.  However, I was worried that three weeks wouldn't be long enough and didn't want to go then only to be told that we were just too early to know for sure.  I booked the ultrasound for almost four weeks after the first breeding, but then I got in touch with Jean and asked her advice.  "An experienced person can find them at three weeks," she said.  "Anyone can find them at four."  Ah . . . one point for four weeks.  "But at three weeks they should all fit on one screen, so it's easier to count them," she added.  Ah . . . a point for three weeks.  Well, I'm all about decision-making.  It was a tie: I decided to choose a compromise position and opted for 3 1/2 weeks, which meant that I would be waiting (just waiting) for just over three weeks from the time I returned from Cape Cod.  And although I did tell a few people and was very grateful for their positive energy and good wishes, I asked them not to announce that the breeding had happened until we knew whether or not she was pregnant.  I figured there would still be lots of waiting to get through once we knew.

I had done some reading on canine reproduction, and I understood that I had to avoid stressing Victory.  Good stress, bad stress -- doesn't really matter which it is, according to my vet; stress just isn't good for bitches in early pregnancy.  So I stopped doing any agility training.  I stopped going to obedience class.  I stopped taking her for runs with other dogs.  Yes, I realize some people would say that was overkill in the prevention of stress and prevention of infection risk categories.  But I figured that given all we'd invested already in making this breeding successful, I was going to do everything I could to help make that happen.  

Instead of those other activities, we walked for hours each day, we did shaping exercises in the house, we played with her ball in the yard, we did our obedience practice on our own . . . and I watched her.  I watched her like a hawk for signs that she might be pregnant -- and for signs that anything might be wrong.

I admit it:  I'm something of a worrier.  And I'm just a little obsessive.  But I really thought it best to err on the side of caution, so I kept watching.

Little did I know that while I was watching her, sorrow was creeping up on us from another direction entirely.  A week before the date of our ultrasound, tragedy struck:  my beautiful, sweet, funny Rugby, my 11 1/2-year-old Australian Shepherd, died of hemangiosarcoma.  Despite all my attentiveness, I just hadn't seen this coming.  Rugby had seemed to be rather sore in the past week or so, sometimes not wanting to leave his snuggly bed in the morning, sometimes not wanting to go for a walk with us.  But he had an old injury and was often creaky, so I put his soreness down to that.  What was actually happening was that he was bleeding internally, and on Thursday, December 9th, one day after Victory's third birthday, we sent him to the Bridge.  My little Victory was suddenly the sole animal in what only months before had been a four-animal house.  It was heartbreaking.  It's still heartbreaking.

My sweet Rugby boy, Victory's big brother

The last week of waiting was the hardest.  We were dealing with Rugby's loss, and I was really nervous, now almost afraid to hope for good news.  Victory seemed fine, but she seemed pretty normal, and I was afraid that normal wasn't a good sign.  I looked for something more conclusive, like morning sickness, but the fact was that although I felt rather nauseous each morning, she seemed fine.  But on Thursday, the day before the ultrasound, she refused her breakfast, and my heart skipped a beat or two.

The ultrasound was scheduled for 8 a.m. Friday, which was a blessing considering that several of my mental gaskets were close to the blowing point.  Ray and I brought Victory back into the ultrasound room and put her on her back in the cool cradle-like holder the vets use.  Victory loves to sleep on her back (she's on her back right now, in fact!), so she thought that was just keen; she lay there, totally at ease and comfortable.  Sarah, the technician, shaved some hair off her belly, Dr. Gumley applied some gel to his magic ultrasound wand, and we were off.

What did I see?  At first, absolutely nothing.  What did he say?  Absolutely nothing . . . for about 10 almost unbearably long seconds.  And then, in the most lovely sing-song voice ever heard:  "Oh, I think we're pregnant!"  I almost fainted.  For the next several minutes he went over and over her belly, orienting himself each time by her bladder, showing me tiny flickering heartbeats, and trying to count puppies:  "There's one . . . two . . . there's three . . . there's four!"  And then in another direction:  "There's one . . . there's two . . . there's three . . . now where did four go?"  "There's one . . . there's two . . . there's three . . . oh, there's four . . . Whoops!  There's FIVE . . . and there's SIX!!"  Now, I know it's hard to get an accurate count by ultrasound, but that was pretty darned exciting news.

With tears in my eyes, I said, "May I hug you?"  And hug him I did.

2011 has had some wonderful things in it, most notably the wedding of my son, the birth of my first grandchild, Jack Levi Fawcett, on September 6th, and the news that he and his mom and dad are moving back to Ottawa in the spring.  But it's been hard, too, and it has seen a lot of loss in the larger Ottawa dog community, among my friends, and in my own home.  I needed some really good news.  I needed to know that 2012 would begin with a celebration of life.  Victory, Jiffy, Diane, Dr. Mike, and Dr. Gumley came through for us in a very big way, and 2012 promises to be filled with excitement -- and puppy breath!  

I am over-the-moon delighted to announce that Taylormade Victory Dance NA NAJ NF, aka Victory, aka Princess of the Pillows, is in whelp to BISS CH Bare Cove Back in a Jiffy AX MXJ, aka Jiffy, aka The Beloved.  We just couldn't be happier.

The handsome papa-to-be (Photo courtesy Diane Gregoire)

And now?  We wait, of course!  (And I keep watching . . . .)

The shaved belly, soon to be much bigger!

The dance begins . . . .

My daughter believes that we should "put our desires out into the universe," and I guess that's what I did in this case.  Things conspired to make things go our way, even when they seemed at first to argue against us.  And of course, just as Jean had said I would, I decided to go for it, even though I was still very nervous, even though the babies would be born in January rather than in the lovely warmth of spring, even though (in the immortal words of Prissy from Gone With the Wind) "I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies, Miss Scarlett!"  I just felt the time was right; I felt the pull to do it.

A decision like that sets all sorts of things in motion.  I needed to make sure the timing would work for the sire, the handsome Jiffy (BISS CH Bare Cove Back in a Jiffy AX MXJ), and his owner, Diane; I needed to figure out when the timing was just right to breed her; I needed to get the two of them together somehow or other.

To make a long story short, everything was set:  I would do progesterone testing to determine when to breed her, and I would take Victory to Cape Cod and meet Diane and Jiffy there for a date with Dr. Mike.  But as the days went on, we were in a bit of a race against the clock, as it was looking like she might be ready right around US Thanksgiving, and then Diane and Jiffy and Dr. Mike would be unavailable.

Victory, as I have said, is a sensible, solid girl.  She timed it all beautifully, ovulating on the textbook-perfect Day 14 (we knew this because of the SEVEN progesterone tests she had!), ready for breeding just before Thanksgiving.  She and I headed down to Cape Cod, stopping overnight in Albany to visit my son and daughter-in-law on the way.  

The moment I pulled into the parking lot of the small hotel in Bourne, MA, at which Victory and I would stay for the duration of her "date" with her soon-to-be-beloved, my heart started to pound.  It pounded HARD.  I'd had a nervous knot in my stomach for days, to be honest.  It all felt so darned weird.  I mean, to me, Victory, my youngest dog, was my baby girl -- she wasn't ready to be a MOM.  And what was I doing, bringing my baby girl to Cape Cod to have "intimate relations" with a stranger?  (Okay, she'd met him once . . . but still -- they were almost strangers!)

In short, I was nervous.  Very nervous.  Victory, on the other hand, was very relaxed.

Victory, the princess of the hotel pillows.

After a short rest, we headed off for a walk along the canal so that we could clear our heads (okay, only mine needed clearing . . . I get that!).  It was a beautiful day, and we enjoyed a lovely couple of hours by the water.  I cannot in all honesty say that my head was clear by the end of it, though.

Diane called to say she was on the way, and after a slight miscalculation on the rotary (which led to her calling me and saying, "Is there a giant GIRAFFE at the vet clinic near your hotel?" Huh?!?), she met me at the hotel.  Victory and Jiffy got to get reacquainted in the parking lot, and they were absolutely ADORABLE together.  I have to say their "courting" was a delightful part of this adventure.  They'd have loved to go for a real tear together (among other things, nudge nudge wink wink).  And it turned out that my little girl, my baby, did not intend to play hard to get:  she was a true wanton hussy.  In fact, she was begging him to take her -- she had her tail straight in the air or cranked to the side, she play-bowed, she pranced, she poked him, she danced . . . Jiffy didn't have a chance if he was hoping to remain aloof (but I don't think that was his intention).  

Diane and I planned a nice early dinner together before Victory and Jiffy's date with Dr. Mike, and we made the wise decision to travel in separate cars.  We had a fabulous dinner at a favourite Bourne restaurant called Lindsay's -- seafood, of course, and delicious.  Then it was off for the date.

More flirting ensued at the vet clinic; clearly Victory and Jiffy were smitten with each other (though I did see her take a good look at the lab in the waiting room . . . as I said, she was a real floozy!).  And in case I forgot to mention it, my heart was still pounding -- it all felt a little surreal.

I have to say that watching an A/I procedure is quite the experience.  As I explained to my vet here later, there's something weirdly voyeuristic about it, and it's also just a little bit nauseating . . . or at least it is when it's your baby girl being inseminated!  But Dr. Mike was wonderful, Jiffy was very . . . efficient (providing "gazillions" of swimmers), and we all laughed together.  When it was all over, I loaded Victory in the car and went for an hour-long drive around Cape Cod in the pitch blackness.  Not exactly a sight-seeing drive since I couldn't see a thing -- I wouldn't have known if I was driving right along the beach!  But I figured I'd give things a chance to settle before I let Victory walk around.

My friends know that I really don't drink.  But that night, what I really, really wanted was a great big (read: HUGE) Margarita.  To put it mildly, I was pretty rattled by the whole experience!

Next day, it poured rain, but Victory and I squeezed in another walk along the canal, and I marked some essays while we waited for date time.  Another successful encounter, another great dinner with Diane and her friend Linda, some great chat about Shelties in general and our dreams of a wonderful Jiffy x Victory litter, another Margarita-less evening, and that part of the adventure was over with.

Now the waiting began . . . a little over three weeks until we would find out if our efforts had led to success.

The pre-dance moments . . . .

You know, I don't think I ever really intended to be "a breeder." Don't get me wrong:  I have enormous respect for good breeders and have been fortunate to find breeders who were careful and caring and chose wonderful dogs for me.  But I didn't think it was something I'd want to do.  I'd never felt any real desire to breed any of my dogs; I always said that being a breeder wasn't for the faint of heart.


On top of that, I wasn't even looking for Victory when I found her.  I had been researching Shelties for about a year and a half, had fallen totally in love with the breed, and had met some really good breeders who were incredibly kind and helpful and ready to share their knowledge with me.  I wanted to get a Sheltie, but as 2008 ended, I figured I was about a year away from adding one to my family.  Oh, and it was going to come from a breeder nearby, so that I could meet the litter and get to know the dam.


You know what they say about the best-laid plans . . . .


Through a post to a Performance Shelties email list, a serious question, and what began as simply a polite question, I ended up in a conversation with Jean Lavalley of Taylormade Shelties in Tennessee.  Jean had a litter on the ground, and there was a "slight possibility" that one would be available.  That was all fine and good . . . I had no intention of getting my Sheltie right then and even less intention of getting it from Tennessee.  Over the course of the next few weeks, however, I came to believe that this little Taylormade girl was meant to be mine, and luckily for me, Jean came to believe it, too; Victory (Taylormade Victory Dance) left the South and came to live in Ottawa.

I believe things happen as they should, and Victory was meant to come to me when she did.  I have so enjoyed getting to know her and becoming a team with her (we have a ways to go, but we're getting closer and having a great time along the way).  I absolutely LOVE her solid, stable temperament and her athleticism.  She is such a great fit with me that I knew I wanted my next Sheltie to come from similar lines.  The Taylormade family is a very special one, and I am delighted to be part of it.  But the whole family realizes Jean can't keep us all in dogs; there just aren't enough puppies to go around.


Somehow, I started to feel this pull to breed Victory.  At first, it was just a quiet, subtle, niggling feeling, but it was overpowered by terror and so fairly easy to ignore.  As it turned out, ignoring it didn't make it go away, and by the second half of 2011, the niggle had turned into a fairly substantial nudge, and the terror had settled down to a substantial nervousness.  Months before I "officially" decided to breed Victory, Jean informed me that I was already sunk but just didn't know it, and she was right.  By that time I'd been to the ASSA National in the spring and come back with stars in my eyes and a TON of information whizzing around in my brain, Jean and I had chatted back and forth about it, I'd asked a million questions, we'd decided what stud we wanted to use, and I'd even gone to meet him and his owner at an agility trial in Massachusetts (all the while saying, "Now, I'm not sure I'm going to breed her, but . . . "). 


At the beginning of November I went to a great seminar given by Tom Coen; I spent a weekend with Sheltie people, talking about the breed's history, the standard, and breeding decisions.  It was incredible:  I came home staggering under the weight of the information overload, mind all a-buzz -- and the next day Victory came into season.  It was time to make a decision . . . .