Tale of a brood bitch

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 must 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?

 

(Author unknown)