Tale Of Two Litters That Is Even More
Took a Sunday drive with the family out into the country recently to see a litter of puppies.
Heading out, we passed a man who had set up shop in a parking lot. From chain link fencing he had fashioned a cage of sorts in the back of his pickup. The entrepreneur’s sign was a scrap of plywood. Handlettered in black spray paint, it read: “AKC Rottweilers.” You couldn’t see any little black and tan dogs, though. It was a raw, blustery morning and the puppies were probably huddled in a corner of the bed.
We kept driving and soon left the city and came into a pretty landscape. At the end of our drive there was a warm country kitchen, and on one side of the kitchen - the whole south end - was a maternity ward. This is the birthing room of Masallah (pronounced mashala) Anatolians. “Masallah” is Turkish for “What God hath willed,” or “God’s beautiful gift.” Depends on the context.
You don’t just march unceremoniously into the midst of Masallah puppies. Cassy Jo Morrow, the breeder, stands guard at the border of their world. First thing that happens is Jo meets you at the front gate. She makes sure you step into the shallow pan of Clorox before entering the property. That’s biosafety level 1. On the porch, before you enter the house, Jo has you lift your feet individually. She sprays the soles of your shoes with a disinfectant called Airkem A-464-N. It kills, among other things, parvo virus, corona virus, the AIDS virus. She has you clean your hands with disinfectant, too. Now you can come in. Welcome.
On this Sunday morning there is a litter of nine Masallah babies. Their number represents a small underpopulation crisis - scattered across the nation are 17 families who have waited a year and more for one of these dogs.
My wife and daughter and I sit holding them, and they mewl and whimper and grunt, nuzzling our necks, rooting in our hands for a nipple. Jo calls the area where we’re sitting her “whelping box,” but with its temporary Plexiglass walls and gate, it looks like a cheerful romper room. The floor - foam pads covered with indoor/ outdoor carpet sections - is literally clean enough for dining. The rugs are washed daily, and we hold the puppies on our laps in fresh towels taken from an adjacent shelf that made me think of a hospital laundry room. The ambient air, precisely 80 degrees, smells sweetly of puppies and clean linen.
A casual observer might think that we are merely playing with puppies, but we’re actually part of Jo’s elaborate socialization program. The puppies’ eyes aren’t yet open, but their 220 million olfactory cells work beautifully. Handling the pups gently under Jo’s watchful eye, we smell to them like one of life’s good things - like Mom and milk and warm siblings.
Later in the afternoon, before we leave, Terry Hatch and his daughter, Erin, bring their 18-month-old descendant of Masallah for us to meet. Still a baby, he stands 31 inches at the shoulder and is 137 pounds of the happy disposition that good breeding and rearing produce. His name is Masallah Acar (azhar) Alaturka, and Terry says he is a bastion of mellow, witty loyalty. Which is fitting for a dog whose name means “God’s beautiful gift in the clever, fearless Turkish style.”
On the way home, we see that the Rottweiler man has a customer as we drive by.
This is the last Canine Underground column I plan on writing for a while. At first, I thought of summarizing the good news/bad news of the dog world. But on reflection, this tale of two litters seemed the more eloquent testimony.
It’s a simple point I’ve been trying to make. In every dog breed there are breeders like Jo Morrow. That’s the good news. The bad news: They’re rare. But there’s more good news. You can find the Jo Morrows if you take the time to look, and when you do, at the end of your search, you’ll find two new friends patiently waiting, one on two legs, the other on four, tail wagging. Happy hunting.
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