Bouvier breeders Bouvier des Flandres Breeder Ontario Quebec Nobleair Kennels

Velcro Shuffle

I wish I could describe to you the vision I have of Bernard first thing in the morning, -just in jeans, heavy wool socks and sandals-, trying to plow his way amongst the floodtide of hungry, black puppies, doing what I could only describe as “the Velcro Shuffle”. Each leg pulling along the entourage of sticky, toothy pups, all attached to the socks! A veritable ball and chain phenomenon. With breakfast in hand progress is painfully slow at best. What a sight!

In the evening, as I sit on the floor with eight seven-week-old puppies all over me, I can only think of how close it all feels to exquisite torture: the piercing teeth; the sharpened nails; the rough, hot tongues sweetened with puppy breath; and the softest, silkiest little paws caressing my skin. No words could ever describe my elation! Surely puppies are God’s little Angels come down to earth from Heaven!

Titan and the Bougainvillea

Late Friday afternoon we were loading the truck, getting ready to go to Griffith. Some of the Bouvs were in the truck, while others waited impatiently for their turns. From the moment the tailgate was lowered, the dogs had gotten into high gear, barking and carrying on. Within seconds the entire kennel was excitedly telling the whole world that they were going to Griffith for the weekend.

The project that week had been the painting of the living room, -sky blue walls with white trim. The floors were freshly washed and the furniture was back in place. The plants were just set here and there to get the light while we were away,- I’d fix them better when we got back. The Bougainvillea was left in the middle of the floor.

Taking baggage out, I left Titan in the house. Other dogs were loaded. I went back in by the front door and Bernard in by the back. The sight that we beheld was a trail of dirt and leaves from the living room, across the hall, through the kitchen to the back door. What on earth?! Looking into the living room, the Bougainvillea was gone! Following the obvious trail, we looked from the back door down the basement steps to the floor below. There, lying on its side but still in its pot was the Bougainvillea. Some wisps of hair on one of the thorny branches told the tale. Titan must have become hitched up to that offending plant and pulled it around trying to get rid of it. Whether he was free of it before or after the descent to the basement will forever be a mystery.

July 2006

Postscript: Titan was unhurt by the whole affair, although he remained rather suspicious of the plant afterwards. The Bougainvillea is still around as of 2009, but I sadly had to prune off the straggly branch with the little wisp of Titan’s hair attached this past spring. We moved to Griffith year round two years ago, so gladly packing up the whole family is a thing of the past

Of Birds and Bouviers

I would like to share with the reader a story of bravery and of self control. The hero is a Bouvier des Flandres by the name of Vicki. The events of the story took place in the spring of 2000. We lived on a large property, well away from the road and neighbours. There was lots of room to run and play, and two ponds and a canal for summertime 'cooldown' dips. Aquatic residents included unusual ducks, a pair of African Geese and a pair of Black Australian Swans.

In April', my dear Vicki presented us all with 14 beautiful pups, and by May we were getting out for exercise and play. With such a big, open space and the nearby canal, these 'outings' involved great vigilance on my part. Counting heads was the perpetual order of things. The pups were good about staying close to Mom, so all went well, -until Madame Swan began to sit on eggs. With his lady ignoring him totally, Mister Swan became increasingly aggressive by the day. His pond territory grew and came to include the entire length of the canal. The big male had a single-minded stealth while on his patrols, and all of a sudden he would appear out of nowhere.

Puppy outings became times of ultra vigilance for Vicki and l. The Protection Training she and I had been doing at the DeRycke's lent us some extra help. I would survey the area closely and when I'd spot the swan on the move I'd give Vicki the 'Alert' command. She thus knew that Mister was around and would be on guard for trouble. With this cooperation we kept our large brood safe and happy.

The problem came one day when I least expected it. The pups were resting in their enclosure and in the beautiful spring heat I'd decided to weed one of my perennial garden beds. In shorts and sandals and with trowel in hand, I worked away at the soil in a garden about thirty feet from one of the ponds. In complete bliss at having time to myself after the rigors of caring for such an enormous Bouvier family, I was lost -in the pleasure of warm, damp earth on bare hands. I was brutally knocked out of my reverie by the pounding shock of beatings wings. I jumped up and away from Mister, trying to fend off my pursuing opponent with a flying Birkenstock, only to miss. My bare arms and legs were getting painful hits from his wingtips as I tried to keep him at bay with my remaining sandal in hand. (The impact of an adult swan's wings is enough to fracture a human femur.) The situation was a loosing one, and as isolated as I was I could not expect any outside help.

Help came unexpectedly in the form of a 'flying' dog. Vicki took that swan down in a single leap. She had him flat on his back, completely immobilized in one bound. I quickly moved away and grabbed a shovel to arm myself. Safe, and out of harms way, I had visions of the bloodbath that I thought would ensue, -seeing this rare and valuable bird (and obviously very dangerous and untrustworthily) torn to pieces. I gave Vicki the 'Out' command, hardly daring to hope that it would work. To my relief, Vicki backed off Mister Swan and moved away. The bird picked himself up, shook out his rumpled feathers and sauntered off to the pond,--unhurt except for his deflated pride.

Incredibly, I'd never seen Vicki even open her mouth to bite. All of this had taken place without a drop of blood lost! Aside from big bruises on my arms and legs I was intact, and so was that lucky bird! This was my introduction to the Bouvier des Flandres' bravery and self restraint. Vicki could have run away rather than face those angry wingtips, and she could easily have torn that nasty bird's throat out, but she did not. She protected her Mistress with the necessary force,-not more nor less than what was needed-, a true demonstration of Bouvier courage and judgment. I shiver with immense pride in my fine friend and protector, Vicki.

(Needless to say, the Swans moved on to other digs.)

The Little Dog Who Wouldn't Swim

Bernard and I wanted to go snorkeling out on the river, so we kenneled all the dogs that swam and gathered up our gear. Quintie got to stay out because she didn't swim. Right up to that day we hadn't been able to coax her into the water.

We headed straight out across the river, to explore the island midstream, -300 metres from shore. Checking out stumps and rocks we slowly made our way along. As we reached the island, Bernard kicked me with his fin, -or so I thought. I moved away, and he also moved away, thinking I'd kicked him. It happened again. Startled we looked at each other.....

In total shock we saw that the source of the "kicks" was a small, wet dog! Worried for our safety, Quintie had come all that way by herself to help her master and her missus. Well safely escorted, we headed back for home. What a girl!

As you can see from the fantastic shots of Quintessence diving, she sure can swim now!