M-Class Chihuahuas Showcase

27/02/2026

UPDATE.
I am in PT again & hopeful. Wife still recovering from stroke--very slowly.
Thanks 4 your prayers!

27/02/2026

SORRY!
I got the dates wrong and missed another breeding cycle. Next heat, end of July to early August.

27/02/2026

https://www.facebook.com/reel/1112151314337413 OF COURSE! It would have to be the Chihuahua!

23/01/2026

01/01/2026

HAPPY NEW YEAR! This is Grand Champion Nacho. I did not breed him nor show him. I just wanted everyone to see what an absolutely perfect Chihuahua looks like. Nacho is as near perfect as I have ever seen! Magnificent!

27/12/2025

BORROWED 4 U
The neighbors call the cops on my dad every six months. They think he’s running a fighting ring or flipping pets for profit. For years, I wasn't sure they were wrong.
My father, Frank, is a man of few words and even fewer friends. He lives on a fixed income in a small, weathered house just outside of town. He’s 68, walks with a limp he got in ’71, and spends most of his day in his garage.
But his most controversial habit involves the local animal shelter.
Like clockwork, Dad brings home a dog. Not the cute puppies everyone wants. He picks the "unadoptables." The three-legged pit bulls, the senior labs with gray muzzles, the curs that cower in the corner. For six months, that dog lives like royalty. I’d visit and see Dad hand-feeding them steak scraps, walking them for hours, talking to them in a soft voice he never used with me.
Then, six months later? Gone.
The dog vanishes. No photos, no collar left behind. Just an empty bowl and Dad driving his rusted pickup truck to the shelter to get another one.
"Where’s Barnaby?" I asked last Sunday. Barnaby was a one-eyed Golden Retriever mix he’d had since spring. That dog worshipped the ground Dad walked on.
"Moved on," Dad grunted, staring at his coffee.
"Moved on? Did you sell him, Dad? The neighbors are talking. They say you’re sick."
"Let them talk."
I couldn't take it anymore. I loved Barnaby. The thought of my father selling that sweet soul to some stranger for a few hundred bucks made my stomach turn. So, when I saw him load a bag of high-grade kibble and a new leash into his truck the next morning, I followed him.
I expected him to drive to a breeder or a shady parking lot exchange. Instead, he drove two towns over to a drab apartment complex near the VA hospital.
He pulled up to a ground-floor unit. I watched from my car, phone ready to record evidence, as he knocked on the door.
A young man answered. He couldn't have been older than 25, but he looked 50. He was missing his right arm, and the way he stood—tense, scanning the perimeter—screamed PTSD. I recognized that look. I’d seen it in Dad’s old photos.
Dad didn't say a word. He just whistled.
From the passenger seat of Dad’s truck, a dog jumped out. It wasn't Barnaby. It was "Duke," a German Shepherd he’d had last year. Duke looked incredible. Focused. Calm. He trotted right up to the young man and sat by his left leg, leaning his weight against the boy’s thigh.
The young man crumpled. He fell to his knees, burying his face in Duke’s fur, sobbing. Duke didn't flinch. He just held his ground, anchoring the boy to reality.
Dad handed the young man a thick envelope. Not money—paperwork. Vaccination records. Training logs.
I got out of my car. "Dad?"
He jumped, looking more terrified than I’d ever seen him. He walked me away from the boy, lowering his voice.
"You weren't supposed to see this."
"You trained him," I realized. "You didn't get rid of them. You trained them."
Dad sighed, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. "A fully trained PTSD service dog costs anywhere from fifteen to thirty thousand dollars. The insurance doesn't cover it. The VA has a waiting list a mile long. These boys... they come home, and they can't sleep, they can't go to the grocery store, they can't breathe."
He looked back at the young man, who was now smiling through tears, throwing a ball for Duke with his left hand.
"I can't give them money," Dad said, his voice cracking. "I don't have any. But I know dogs. And I have time."
"But why the secrecy? Why every six months?"
"Because that’s how long it takes to turn a scared shelter dog into a soldier’s lifeline," he said. "Basic obedience, task training, desensitization. I take the broken dogs nobody wants, and I turn them into the partners these kids need."
"And Barnaby?" I asked, my throat tight.
"Delivered him yesterday to a female marine in Ohio. She hadn't left her house in two years. She went to the park this morning."
I looked at my father—the "monster" of the neighborhood. I thought about the heartbreak he must feel every six months. Loving a dog, healing it, sleeping next to it, and then giving it away just when the bond is strongest.
"Does it hurt?" I asked. "Giving them up?"
Dad looked at me, eyes wet. "Every single time. It breaks my heart every six months, kid. I cry all the way home."
He put out his cigarette and looked toward the shelter down the road.
"But then I think about the guy sitting alone in the dark with a loaded gun on his table because he feels like nobody has his back. And I realize... my heart can handle breaking. Theirs can't."
We drove to the shelter together that afternoon. Dad walked straight to the back, to the cage labeled "CAUTION: BITES." Inside was a terrified, snarling mutt that had been scheduled to be put down the next day.
Dad opened the gate and sat on the concrete floor, ignoring the growls. He held out his hand.
"Hey there, soldier," he whispered. "You’ve got a big job ahead of you. Let's get to work."
The neighbors still think my dad is crazy. They see an old man cycling through pets. They don't see the network of veterans across the state who are finally sleeping through the night because of him.
True love isn't about possession. Sometimes, the highest form of love is building something beautiful, just to give it away to someone who needs it to survive.

06/12/2025

I regret my over-long absence and I am grateful for your continued concern and care. In my last update I reported the painful disintegration of my L5 vertebra on August 9th. My neurosurgeon was out of the country and it took weeks of pain before he could schedule me for a consult. On the evening of September 30th, before my consult, my wife Lola suffered a stroke. All other concerns were paused indefinitely.

Other than robbing her of strength and balance, her vision took a big hit. Each eye looks in a different direction and they do not track together. The good news is that her team of doctors and surgeons, including her ophthalmologist, all agree that her vision will most likely self-correct...given enough time. First, that was 3 to 7 weeks. Then it became at least 12 weeks. And now, perhaps 6 months. While reviewing her case, a stenosis of an artery on her brain was discovered. Doctors believe they may be able to stent the narrowed blood vessel and restore blood flow, promising a potential fix to her vision.

After putting off my 7th spine operation as long as I could bear, my neurosurgeon scheduled my procedure for November 13th. Once again, what should have been a "routine" fix and quick recovery, turned into complications and more pain. A piece of broken L5 disc had bonded to my sciatic nerve and had to be cut out. I am finally able to walk, sit, stand, and sleep briefly without debilitating pain.

Lola is improving very gradually and her prognosis is hopeful. I am improving very slowly and my doctor is convinced this will be the last time he needs to cut into my back. I think you all understand what a long haul this has been. I am sure you understand how weary we are after years of dealing with these many issues. Thank you all for hanging in there with us!

FINALLY. We are terribly saddened that the greatest veterinarian we have ever known, Dr Anthony Thomas, passed away just a few weeks ago while we were unable to get out of the house, not able to properly mourn a great loss. I took SadieMae to the vet on Thursday...it just wasn't the same without Dr T.

04/09/2025

Three days of doctor consults and MRIs has been grueling and painful, but we are thankful…and we have reliable results and a plan. I’m happy to report relatively good news. First, Lola’s back pain is not congenital and doctor believes he can insert tiny “wedges” in a minor procedure that will give her satisfactory relief as soon as he can schedule it. For my part, the hospital techs were able to get clear images of the suspect L-5 vertebrae. It is nearly impossible for me to lie on my back without moving. The overlapping two, 13 inch scars on my spine are still tender. Lying still on the hard table of the MRI machine is excruciating! My neck, shoulders, and legs quickly tie themselves in knots (muscle cramps) that I cannot bear and it is painful to remain still. Getting clear images while suffering this torture is nearly a miracle! The neurosurgeon needed clear images. And we got them.

Doctor had told me months ago, that the L-5 vertebrae was in bad shape. Insurance would only pay for him to decompress 4 vertebrae and so he picked the four worst ones and after a difficult recovery and the removal of the stainless steel rods and screws thirteen months later, I began to improve. By June and July, I was almost pain free…I had not had such little pain in 15 years. Lola and I were giddy with joy. I had hurt so bad for so long it was hard to believe I wasn’t hurting anymore. Six back surgeries! A morphine pump implant! Titanium disk spacers! Bone spur debridement! And now so little pain, so much joy!

Then, I rolled out of bed Saturday morning, August 9th, with sciatic pain second only to the pain levels during my month in Mercy Rehab. The clear images showed that indeed, part of the L-5 vertebrae had disintegrated! My spine had collapsed onto the nerve, triggering intense, unrelenting pain. And my neurosurgeon was in Europe! It could have been tragic, but for people in doctor’s staff who helped me get through the worst of it. The best part is that I got to see the doctor only minutes after getting the MRIs done. And he had a plan. And it is hopeful.

First, he refilled pain management drugs. He sent a STAT referral to the surgeon who implanted the morphine pump to deliver a round of epidural spinal injections that will give me a better measure of relief while we process the insurance paperwork and prep me for spine surgery #7. Only THIS time, an incision only about an inch long with a much better recovery turnaround.

So THIS is what your prayers have accomplished for me! I am profoundly grateful! Now, the T-12 vertebrae is still in bad shape and two vertebrae in my neck are “ticking time bombs.” Neither of these, however, will impact the sciatic nerve. While much less pressure on them and careful management, I shouldn’t suffer this degree of pain again. I just want everyone to know that your prayers mean everything to me. Your prayers are effective. And again, Thank you.

03/09/2025

I made it! I needed to lie on my back and be still for long time to get the images Dr needed. Lately, I've had abdominal cramps and sudden diarrhea; either of those could have disrupted the imaging, but that didn't happen. After 6 back surgeries, it is extremely painful to lie on my back and I can't breathe well on my back; but I managed both without twitching. And the sciatica has been causing muscle spasms and muscle cramps in my right leg. Only standing, stretching, and walking (along with a dose of Methocarbamol) gives me relief; the hip joint hurt badly but the muscles did not spasm or cramp today. I am profoundly grateful to Jamie, the tech who managed to position me carefully and then accelerated the process to get it done before my body sabotaged it. 🥲 Dr's prediction was correct. The L5 vertebrae had degenerated on the right side; it had deteriorated to nothing. What remains of the disk is putting direct pressure on the sciatic nerve. It looks bad because it is bad. The next bit of good news is that Dr has ordered spinal injections ASAP. And, the surgery to repair THIS issue is tiny, compared to the 13 inch zippers that appear on my back now. SO, even though the problem is severe, the MRI was a great success, the images clearly revealed the problem, and Dr has an immediate plan and a long-term plan, both plans have great promise for relief. I AM GRATEFUL!

02/09/2025

I will not be able to resume breeding this cycle. I'm sorry. Breeding is much more complicated than it once was and I am unwilling to risk my little mommy's life...so my girls will extend their break another three months. They will certainly be rested and strong after more than a year's break. Maybe I will be in better shape too. I will have 2 MRI studies in the morning and then meet with my spine surgeon at 11:30. Hopefully, he will have a plan so I can make some plans. Next week, I will meet again with my eye surgeon. I pray the new procedure that was on the horizon will be approved and I can get the vision in my left eye restored soon. Every day that passes, my left eye suffers incremental damage. I suffer the same problem in my right eye. One day, I will have to endure the same procedure on it. Please keep me in your prayers. And thank you!

31/08/2025

😄😄😄😄😄

27/08/2025

Dear friends, the last 3 months seems like an eternity. I'm sorry to leave everyone in the dark, but I get so tired of sharing bad news about me all the time. I had a hard time recovering from the removal of steel rods and eight, 2-inch screws from my back. But by the end of July I was improving rapidly and experiencing only tiny bits of pain. The last time I felt so little pain was 15 years ago! It was wonderful until it wasn't. I woke up August 9th, rolled out of bed and felt like my spine suddenly snapped in two. In a lifetime of congenital, degenerative disk disease I have never hurt so bad! And my surgeon was out of the country! His nurses were able to getting me a week's supply of hard narcotics, drugs I had not had in a very long time. They got me through the worst of it, And when they ran out, some of the pain returned and I went through a mini-withdrawal.

Please comment and let me know what's going on with you.

I have an appointment soon for epidural injections and new MRIs will be imaged on Sept 3rd. I can grit my teeth and manage until then. I really don't have a choice. Somewhere in consultation with surgeon, I was told that 6 vertebrae were badly deteriorated, but my insurance would only pay for decompressing 4 of them. I was told that the disk immediately above and the one immediately below the decompression area are ticking time bombs. Apparently, the lower one imploded on Aug 9th. I am bracing myself for back surgery number seven (and hoping to avoid number eight, nine, and ten!)

Anyway! Maybe good news still exists? I have not been interested in breeding since Vicki passed. The Chihuahua girls are well-rested after skipping a couple of seasons. Also on August 9th...LolaRose came into season. A week later, Julie came into season. And just a few days ago, SadieMae also came into season. I know I am in no condition to manage THREE litters at once (I've done it before, when I was in better shape.) So, I've checked progesterone levels and...DRUM ROLL PLEASE!

This Saturday, August 30th, I will breed Little Bear and SadieMae by surgical AI. Hoping to avoid the whelping disasters of last time, I will immediately schedule delivery by C section on Day 60, October 29th.

THIS WILL BE SADIE'S FINAL LITTER!

I pan to breed Julie one more time and LolaRose one more time and then, I will retire from Chihuahua breeding for good. Of course, the outcome of upcoming procedures and the condition of my spine (and other health issues) MAY intervene and thwart my plans. Man plans--God laughs! So we shall see.

As always, I appreciate prayers and encouragement. Pending pain management, I am preparing 4 books for publication. One of them is about ethical Chihuahua breeding. The other 3 are exegesis of redemption in Job, Exodus, and Acts, perspectives I don't think you will find anywhere else.