Okay so last month I decided to finally try that king sire breeding thing everybody’s hyping about for German Shepherds. Figured my girl Luna deserved top-tier puppies.
First I hit up local breeders asking about champion bloodlines. One dude bragged his stud was “kingsire material” but when I visited? Lazy mutt barely lifted his head! Total scam.
The Real Hunt Begins
Started driving to damn near every kennel within 200 miles. Met twelve “king sires” – half had sketchy papers, three had hip problems, one kept snarling at my shoes. Nearly gave up till I found Bruno.
Bruno Steps Up
This tank of a Shepherd walked in like he owned the place. Breeder shows me:
- Championship certificates plastered wall-to-wall
- DNA tests going three generations back
- Actual video of his pups working police K9 units
Paid the fee feeling like I hit the jackpot.
The Hookup Drama
Brought Luna over expecting magic. Bruno struts up… and Luna play-bows then runs behind my legs! Little princess got stage fright. Breeder shrugs: “Happens. Try again Thursday.”
Second attempt – poured chicken broth on both their coats. Sounds nuts? Got ’em sniffing each other like crazy. Finally did the deed right there in the training yard.
Sixty Days of Terror
Luna started eating double portions week three. By week five? She’d steal whole loaves of bread off the counter. Vet said: “Congrats – expect six to eight pups.” Had to baby-proof the whole damn garage for whelping.
When labor hit, she refused the fancy whelp box. Nope – shredded my laundry pile instead. Delivered eight squirmy potatoes right on my clean shirts!
Looking at these pups now? Totally get the hype. Every single one has Bruno’s broad chest and Luna’s smart eyes. Worth the chaos? Hell yeah. But never letting Luna near my laundry room again.
