I've been going back and forth on if I should share this or just keep it for myself and show the good. But that has never really been who I am. If there is one thing I have tried to be, in breeding and beyond, it is honest.

We had two litters born one day apart. Two different bitches, different studs, completely unrelated lines. Two breedings I eagerly anticipated.

From Calypso, we expected another large litter. She had nine puppies in both of her previous litters and carried this pregnancy even bigger. Instead, she delivered six and two of those puppies did not survive.
One was stillborn and we worked on him for over forty five minutes with no signs of life before accepting what was already true.

The second loss was harder in a way that is difficult to even describe. He was born alive but never truly rallied... he struggled to latch, was lethargic from the start, and showed signs of failing to thrive. For twelve hours I provided around the clock care doing everything I know to do, keeping him warm, tube feeding him, giving oxygen directly and in a chamber, constant monitoring. I did everything I know how to do. In the end, he passed in my hands while I stroked him and cried my eyes out then laid awake all night. 

One day of rest and then from Penny, another six puppies were born. She has previously had litters of nine and five. Two of her puppies, both females, were born dead. We worked on them for over an hour, exhausting every intervention, with no success. They were smaller than the rest, and I suspect they may have been my first and possibly only BorderPaps, though we will never know.

Across two unrelated litters, four puppies were lost in one week.

I have bred dogs long enough to know that loss happens. Neonatal mortality is real and biology is imperfect. I always say "Mother Nature is a wicked mistress."  Still, knowing this does not soften the blow.
What made this even harder wasn't just the number of losses, but how close they were together. I know, I know, it's the risk I take, but it still hurts. And for me, there's no one to call. No one to ask why or how. I've never had a breeding mentor, I didn't inherit a program. Everything I know, I learned on my own and am still always learning. But sometimes I wish there was someone to call who may have an answer. 
 
These losses have prompted me to rethink how I handle future litters, especially around access and visibility.

I am no longer willing to turn whelping into a public event. Going forward, the whelping room will be closed to everyone except my immediate support people who have been there for every litter over the last few years, who know the protocol and how to help me. This is not about secrecy. It is about controlling the environment, setting myself and my mother dogs up for success, and taking what I do seriously. You wouldn't ask to witness a surgery. Lives are on the line during whelping and it is a serious event. 

I am also stepping away from real time social media updates during deliveries. Sharing as puppies arrive has always been done as a fun way to make people feel included and I know people love it, but when things go wrong, it creates pressure on me to explain and narrate while in crisis. From now on, updates will come after everything is complete and I have had time to process. 

I have also found myself revisiting long held beliefs, particularly around elective cesarean sections.

I have historically been firmly in the “only if medically necessary” camp. After this experience, and after reading both research and firsthand accounts from other breeders, I understand why some choose planned C‑sections to reduce the risk of hypoxia related losses. 

There is no virtue in preventable loss.

I am still thinking. I am allowing myself the space to consider things I may not have previously. 

I'm left with four puppies from each litter and a list much longer than that. It hurts on top of everything else knowing I will have to disappoint people who were hopeful for their match and I know they may choose to just get a dog elsewhere entirely. Right now, my focus is on the puppies and making sure they are cared for, raised well, and loved with my whole heart.

I am sharing this not for sympathy or reassurance, but because transparency has always mattered to me. Breeding is often shown only at its best but this is what it can look like when things don't go as we planned or hoped.

I'm quieting the whelping room, making firmer boundaries, and giving myself the permission to decrease access. The work continues, but it will continue with more behind the scenes.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading.