There are 178 parent languages on our planet with over 1000 dialects... It's amazing we communicate at all. Eban Ozen

A ShopSmith. Similar to the two I have.

This week there's no real update. It's been a week of more research and attempting to sort through Dad's stuff. It hasn't been easy. 90% of what Dad left me was tools. Tons and tons of tools. Duplicates of most, even the weird specialty tools. For instance I have two "Shop
Smiths". They are really cool wood working tools that are a combination  lathe, drill press, sander, table saw all in one machine. They are really cool but I will never have reason to have two of them.  Plus five to ten of the common tools, wrenches, sockets, screwdrivers. I've got the tools to make tools. Most of these will have sold at a moving sale.

But this post is not about tools or dogs for once. Rather it's about,

"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo."

For all my "school marm" friends and  family get ready to have your mind blown. That is a grammatically correct sentence.

I was taking a break from researching K9 reproduction and what not when I stumbled upon this. Let me break this down for you.

You must first keep in mind the word "buffalo" has several meanings. First, the most common use of buffalo is an incorrect moniker for the American bison.

The second use is a proper noun for city in upstate New York. Buffalo NY , mainly known for it's horrible winters and spicy chicken wings.

The third is a synonym for "bully". As in "Don't try to buffalo me!"

That being said think of the sentence using the alternative meanings (The words in red are added for clarity, but not necessary to be grammatically correct.).

New York bison (whom other) New York bison bully (themselves in turn) bully New York bison.

If that's not enough to make an ESOL student throw in the towel, then I don't know what is.

Here's a link to the Wikipedia page with the sentence diagram that started all this.

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo
Just something for your brain to chew on. Have a good week!

buffalo

Buffalo

buffalo

**WARNING** Mature Subject Matter ( handled rather immaturely).

The first thing I learned about being a dog breeder is, I know nothing about breeding dogs.  I mean I understand the basic mechanics of course. But there is really a lot of day by day scheduling, feeding, healthcare, licensing, and general business decisions. And that list only scratches the surface.

So I started with the basics. I fired up google and typed in "animal husbandry". For the most part it's not as gross as it sounds. It's mainly the art of selecting the bloodlines you want to breed, to produce the traits you desire in the offspring.

It's said that the only reason to breed dogs in to improve the bloodline. I believe that can achieve this while still making the parents bonified family members and keep the offspring as "product". I don't want to run a "puppy mill", but the bottom line is these dogs are going to be a business. I believe that by selectively breeding the right pairs, I can both improve the breed and make a living matching dogs with homes and/or careers that leave them forefilled.

For my German Shepards I know to accomplish what I want I'm going to need a couple of different momma dogs (I'm still having a problem calling them "bitches". I know it's just a term but it still seems disrespectful.) One possessing a higher work ethic. One possessing a more nurturing personality. Also I'll need a "stud" (it's either that or "sire" I have no problem with either of those terms because they both make him sound like a badass. Make sure you leave all your "double standard" comments in the space below ) that is a mixture of both.

This will be expensive at first, but it will yield two marketable bloodlines. The former for police or search and rescue or military dogs. The latter for home protection, agility training, show caliber family pets.

For the Chihuahuas it should fairly easy. I'm only looking for bloodlines that will produce healthy, good tempered, and cute and tiny family dogs.The main two qualities of temperament and size(and to a lesser degree appearance) will be the main selling points. There aren't really any working class Chihuahuas.

Back to google again. I typed in "animal midwifeing" which is way grosser than it sounds. That's the science of helping the momma actually deliver the pups. I'm sure that in that moment it's a beautiful rewarding experience, but trust me you don't want to randomly search for "puppy whelping videos" on the internet. But it is something I need to know. If you think of clinically it's just a process of helping the pups start their lives and help the mommas though a potently dangerous medical procedure.

There's also tracking the females reproductive cycle to know the perfect time for conception. This is a simple matter of little temperature monitoring and graft making. Along with some behavioral cues.

This line of research led me to the subject of "artificial insemination". Which I  haven't ruled out, so I read on. The female part of which is just a well timed medical procedure. The male part however is much more of a to do. I may employee a vet to do this part. It may one day be necessary to have a "sample" of my dogs essence on hand, but the last thing I want is to come home to a candle lite doghouse with my dog sitting there with his "beaker" and a six pack of Molsen waiting for me. But like I said, I'm not sold on this. It would be a last resort situation.

My Great Grandpa Brown used to raise hunting dogs. I'm pretty sure he did more of the animal husbandry and left the midwifeing to nature and the mother.Not that he wasn't concerned with their well being. I want to take a more active role in the birthing to insure the over all health of my pups. And build a better relationship with the mommas.

Andrew Brown and his hunting dogs.

The bottom line is that it is astounding the amount of learning I still have to do.  So now it's back to the Internet for more research on feeding and training.

"Well I Might Be Moving To Montana Soon. Just To Raise Me Up A Crop Of, Dental Floss."- Frank Zappa

O.K. Here's where I try to tie all of this together. Thank you all for your patience.

So let's recap the story so far.

I'm sitting right squarely in the middle of middle age.

I'm facing a lot typical middle age health problems. Most of which stem from stress and diet.

I have a go nowhere dead end job that's never going to get better. In fact, in all likelihood I've already had my best day there. I hate my job, but I'm grateful to be employed.

Somehow I became the patriarch of a 7 person 4 generational family. My role models of my life have instilled a moral compass in me that dictates that I have to do everything in my power to take care of and provide for them.

My Mom, my Wife, and I just returned from a family reunion / vacation in small town KS. It was 4 of the best days in recent memory.

Is there anything else??? Oh yeah, I like dogs. In fact some of my most influential friends have been dogs.

I think this pretty much catches us up.

One thing I haven't really touched on is the place I live. That being Sarasota FL. My family arrived here on Thanksgiving day in 1972. It's been a beautiful place to live. The weather is always warm and tropical. Granted you pay a premium to live here. Florida has one of the highest cost living of all the states. Sarasota has the 2nd highest property tax rates in the state. Only behind Ft. Lauderdale.

There has always been lots of jobs and I have rarely been unemployed.  I was once fired from job around noon, and had two job offers before  I made it home.

That is before the housing bubble broke. Sarasota's economy has revolved around construction and tourism for the last 50 years. After the bubble burst in 2008 things around here rapidly declined. There were no jobs in construction and the industry even suffered mass lay offs. It didn't stop there. The " mom and pop" restaurants that served the construction workers soon began to suffer. Along with building supply companies, the local gas stations, pretty much everyone felt the ripples of the bust.

Then came the B.P. oil spill in the gulf. While no oil ever washed up here, our tourism took a big hit anyways. People just didn't want to take a chance of having tar balls ruin their vacation. Our service industries took another hit.

Add all this together with banks going under and a nationwide recession, and you get one of the highest unemployment rates in the country (over 13% a couple mths. ago. Rivaling  Detroit at the time. We are back down to around 11 % now.)

While we were in Hutchinson recently, I looked at the local classified section of the paper and WOW! There were 10 times the number of help wanted ads in their paper compared to ours.  When you factor in the relative sizes of the two towns, that is really amazing. Hutch is about 2/3's the size of Sarasota.

When we got back home and I did some checking. This time in the real estate market. Comparable houses there are renting for 30 to 50 % of what I'm paying down here. Plus some of the houses I was looking at were farm houses that sat on several acres of land.
I think the difference between these two places  is down in FL. real estate speculators have been "flipping" houses for years driving property values through the roof. When they suck every penny of equity out these houses they either sell it off at above market value to another house flipper who in turn does the same thing continuing the vicious cycle. Or they rent it out at an exorbitant rate. Even homes that  haven't been flipped repeatedly are affected by the rising property values of surrounding houses. So in turn they raise the rental price on their house.

In KS. I don't think house flipping has been such a big thing and many of the homes have been in the family for generations. Chances are, the  mortgage has been paid off for years.  I think they're more concerned about having renters in there that take care of their home than building equity for the next flip.

Let me move on, somehow this is turning into an economics lesson.

I guess the seed of this idea was planted on Lisa and I's trip to Osawatomie. Lisa said " If we ever had to move, we would have to move here." That was the catalyst. On the trip back to Florida, my Mom asked " Have you ever thought about moving back to Kansas?" (The truth was over the past 39 years I had often about thought about it, and always came back to the same answer. No I do not want move back. ) I told Mom that's funny because Lisa and I were considering it. Mom told me she would really to go back home. She had been talking about it for a couple of years already.

Not long after we got home I told the rest of the family about what we were thinking about. Everyone was willing to think about it themselves. That is everyone except Anthony. Chris is thinking that it might be a good way to make a new start. Danielle was intrigued at the thought of Kaylynn going to a school where there aren't 50 kids in a class. Anthony on the other hand flatly rejected the idea. His opinions are of value to me, so I asked him why. His reply was that Florida is his home. I can understand this, Florida has been my home for a very long time. At his age I didn't want to leave either. So far this has only been polling. Fishing for opinions.



Usually it goes something like  " I don't wanna go to work, I wanna stay here with you." On this particular night my protest was " I don't wanna go to work, I wanna move to Kansas and start raising dogs. "
Lisa asked "What kind of dogs?". "German Shepards and Chihuahuas."  I said.  She just looked at me like I was crazy. I kissed my wife goodnight and headed off to another night of loathing my job.

Day by day, hour by hour, the idea continued to evolve. We could find a farm house with a stable and a barn. I could convert the stables into kennels, and set up my print shop in the barn.  Lisa could go back to school and get certified in child care and run a day care from our home.

The way I'm crazy about dogs, MeMe is crazy about kids. She used to provide day care for several of our friends' kids. She would quiz them with flashcards, teach them to sing songs, and color with sidewalk chalk. Quest (our nephew who first called Lisa " MeMe" and coined the praise "MeMe's World" for her day care.) was reading at a college level in the 4th grade.

Soon I had started this blog. Not only as a public confession to somehow make me committed to the plan. But also to document the evolution of the idea and the kennels.

Last week I registered the domain of  www.livingindogyears.com as place to give the kennels a presence on the Internet.  After researching other breeders online, I realized I needed something other than puppies to drive traffic to the site. I could make custom collars and leashes. My Dad and I used to supplement our income selling handmade leather goods when I stayed in KS. back in '82/'83. Plus ever since Goober's unfortunate demise I've had an idea for a safer tie down system for outdoor dogs. The plan is still evolving everyday.

So... ( ready for this? Big announcement time.) We are going to be moving back home to south central KS. It's no longer a question of if, it's just question of when.

When is a totally different question. I have 38 years of loose ends to wrap up here. Everything from a house in foreclosure to my half failed print shop. Not to mention my father's "estate" ( read: pile of crap my Dad left me.)and four decades of personal relationships.

I have never been one to do things impulsively. Truth is I may be a bit too deliberate. All the things I need to do may take me a year to do.

I intend to use this blog to keep you apprised of my progress and share a dog story here or there.

So until next time, I'm living in dog years.

** Special Bonus Episode**

This a special bonus episode. Not part our main "too be continued" story,  but it does play into the over all story.

This was my dog "Goober". He was another good friend. Granted he was no Falcor, (in fact he was one of the dumbest dogs I've ever known) but he was my buddy.

I watched his Mom give birth to him. So I knew him his entire life. His Mom is a A.K.C. Samoyed husky and his Dad was a traveling dog( I believe he was a black lab because Goober had 2 black litter mates and they all had webbed feet.).

Not only was he my dog, he was my Mom's Granddog. He even lived at my Mom's house a few years out his life even when I didn't. Other times when we both lived elsewhere, Mom would bring us "care packages" containing a pound of bologna for me and 5lbs. of left over pot roast for Goober. (Sorry Mom but I ate most of the roast although he had lots of snacks from it.)

I could ( and likely will later,) tell you stories about him from him jumping out of Mom's car window at stop light to meet a new girlfriend by jumping  in another car's window 5 cars back, to him burying chicken bones in my roommate's mattress because he was mean to him.

But this story is about him pulling. Being a "husky" he loved to pull. I'd take him for a bike ride and never have to peddle. He broke every rope or chain he was put on when trying to tie him outside. Breaking these chains meant he would run away often. Not really running away as much as going exploring. Chasing after him was the worst thing you could do because then it was a game. The only way to get him home was to simply pull up next to him in the car and open the door. The only thing he liked better than exploring was a good ol' fashioned ride in the car. Eventually  I put him on a 3/8" thick tow chain meant to pull cars out of a ditch. It weighed more than 10 lbs.

In the late '80's early '90's I was doing a lot of " couch surfing". Which is to say, I wasn't really homeless I just didn't have a stable place to stay (or really even want one). At one time I ended up staying at Sandi's house sleeping on her couch. Goober stayed there with us. He even had his tow chain attached to a tree outside. He loved being outside.

Our yard was weird in that our driveway went along the side of the house and we shared it with the efficiency behind us. In the backyard it lined up with driveway of the dry cleaner on the street behind us. So a lot of people used our drive as a short cut out of our neighborhood to the main roadway that the dry cleaners was on. Goober took great pride (as much as a dumb dog could) in guarding our little side yard and barking at every cat or any traffic that happened though.

One day Goober wanted out bad. Usually I would put him on his leash and attach his leash to the tow chain. This day his leash was nowhere to be found. I looked high and low it wasn't where we kept it, or anywhere else. But he really wanted to go. So I took him out without his leash. I hooked his collar directly to the tow chain and went back in.

Then the unthinkable happened. I can still hear the blood curdling yelp. Goober was in pain and a lot of it. I bolted out of the house and sprinted the 20 feet over to where Goober was lying. Not even 10 seconds had lapsed since he called out. I looked up and down the drive thinking he had been run over, but there was no cars in sight. There's no way I could of missed a car either. There was fence between the dry cleaners driveway and ours. You had to slow down and thread the needle through the narrow opening. The other direction was our street that dead ended at our driveway and the nearest intersection was 70 yards down the block. No way I missed a car. Yet Goober lied there motionless. I dropped to my knees cradling Goober's head in my hands. His eyes  looked up at mine. He was breathing but there was no other movement. I checked him over there no cuts or scrapes anywhere on him. I was totally freaking out. Sandi and her boyfriend Mike were with me by now.

We decided that we had to get him to a vet. It was a Sunday evening around 7 or 8 P.M. His normal vet was closed. We had to take him to the emergency vet clinic 10 miles away. We loaded him up in the car with Mike driving, Sandi riding shotgun Goober and I in the backseat. My niece Alexis stayed with our neighbors and friends in the  efficiency out back.

I feared Goober would bite me from pain or shock when I picked him to get him in the car. Instead it was nothing. He didn't growl, or bark, even whine. I knew he was in bad shape.

Mike drove like a madman, doing up 70 mph blowing the horn and flashing his lights as he wove in and out of traffic like he was an ambulance driver. I was scared to death and grateful at the same time.

We arrived at the vet's in no time. I carried him in and the tech on duty ushered us into an exam room instantly. The vet checked him over looking for snake bites, doing x-rays and running a whole battery of tests. She found nothing. By now it was close to one o'clock in the morning. We left him there for observation.

Three days passed with no improvement.  He was paralyzed from the neck down. He would eat and drink. But he had to be cleaned from his own waste. This was no kind of life for a would be sled dog.


At this point I made the most difficult decision of my life to date. We put Goober to sleep that day. I held him as the vet gave him an injection and he drew his final breath. I had watched being born, I had watched him die. I knew him his entire life.

We still don't know what really happened to my buddy that day. I suspect that he saw a cat or something in his yard and went after it. Being used to having his leash on the end of his chain, he thought he had 3 feet more to run. Also the nylon leash had some give and stretch to it to absorb the shock. A 10 lbs tow chain however had no give and stretch. I think he ended up horizontally hanging himself. either breaking his neck somehow that the vet couldn't find or causing nerve damage that wouldn't show up on anything short of a MRI.

Whatever happened that day I blame myself. I have never put a dog on chain since.

This experience from 20 years ago still haunts me enough that it plays into my plan of my new found pursuit of happiness today.

I'll try to tie all this together this weekend. Please stay tuned...