You buy a bitch, a winning thing'
And make her a champion in the ring.
She's sound, she's lovely, dysplasia free,
You want to breed her carefully.

Taking lots of time, you look around,
The stud ,ust be both typey and sound.
You study the pedigree 'till blind,
Building the litter in your mind.

Several possibilities appear.
You write back "My dog's the best"
Although the stud fee's out of sight,
You breed the bitch, the die is cast.
The next nine weeks don't go fast.

Of course, she whelps in the middle of the night.
With luck and care it turns out right.
The next eight weeks you fret and strain,
Feed and scoop in driving rain.

You take care with the homes they get.
This one is a show dog, this one a pet.
New owners call with problems dear,
You're on the phone for half a year.

AT LAST, the moment you've longed to know,
Your pups have come to their first show.
They all look fine, not one's a dud.
Then from behind you comes…..
"WOW - WHO'S THE STUD ????

My job is making puppies, and I get two tries at that.
They pat me on the head and say "good boy" - and that's that.
It's half my job to give 'em teeth and toplines, fronts and other.
Remember, it's only half my job. They also have a mother.

It's not my job to carry pups and make 'em grow and nurse 'em,
And feed and clean and make 'em strong, that's for Mother and a person.
It's not my job to wean and feed the calcium and food.
And stack and gait and housebreak and make 'em a showing brood.

It's not my job to plan the breeding and learn what produces well.
To study pedigrees, learn what's there and pick out what to sell.
It's not my job to guarantee champs, the breeder picks the pair.
To mate and whelp and feed and show and HOPE the champ is there.

It's not my job to be on hand when points are given out,
The breeder, owner, Dam and friends take credit with a shout.
It's not my job to deliver a winner, it's only genes I sell.
But let the puppies turn out BAD and guess who catches HELL!!!