As an experienced dog breeder, puppy sophisiticate and groomer, I’ve worked with a lot of dogs. Some are natural stars when it comes to training; others require a little…extra motivation. Then there’s Pippa—lively, silly, smart, and as eager to please as she is to completely disregard everything she learned the day before. We’re training her for therapy work, which means one very important rule: no jumping on people. Easy, right?

Not with Pippa.

To put her skills to the test, I took her to the busiest PetSmart I could find. If she could hold it together there—with carts rattling, dogs barking, and employees enthusiastically offering treats—then she was ready for anything. We walked through the automatic doors, and Pippa immediately spotted her first challenge: a very excited golden retriever wagging so hard he nearly knocked over a display of rawhide chews. Pippa vibrated with the urge to greet him in the most dramatic fashion possible. “No jumping,” I reminded her as she did an excited tap dance with her front paws. “Sit for pets.” She sat. Briefly. Then she exploded upward like a firework.

Round one: shaky.

We moved further into the store, weaving through aisles of temptation. A woman bent down to pet Pippa, and I braced for impact. But to my delight, Pippa hesitated, plopped into a wiggly sit, and accepted the love like a proper future therapy dog. Progress! She was learning!

Then we hit the ultimate test: the checkout line. A family with two kids stood in front of us, and one of them—a small, delighted boy—reached out to pet her. Pippa’s whole body screamed, Launch sequence initiated! But then, miraculously, she sat. I held my breath. She stayed sitting. The boy scratched behind her ears, and Pippa wagged furiously but did not jump.

Victory.

As we walked out of the store, past an aisle of squeaky toys that nearly derailed all of her hard work, Pippa pranced beside me, head high, looking immensely pleased with herself. She had done it. No surprise body slams, no mid-air acrobatics—just a happy, well-mannered therapy dog in the making.

Good girl, Pippa. Good girl.

Ethical breeding is a concept that is often discussed but rarely agreed upon. What one breeder considers the gold standard may be deemed irresponsible by another. This shifting landscape makes it difficult to define what it truly means to be an ethical breeder. At the heart of the debate is a fundamental question: how selective should breeders be when deciding which dogs are worthy of reproduction?

Some argue that only the top 1% of champion dogs should be bred—an extreme stance that, while rooted in the pursuit of excellence, creates serious genetic and economic repercussions. The reality is that this approach, if widely adopted, would be disastrous for the future of purebred dogs and their accessibility to the average family.

The Genetic Bottleneck: A Recipe for Disaster

Limiting breeding to only a small fraction of dogs within a breed drastically reduces the available gene pool. Genetic diversity is essential for the long-term health and vitality of any species. When breeders restrict reproduction to only the most decorated show dogs, they inadvertently increase the likelihood of genetic bottlenecks—wherein the same small set of genes is passed down repeatedly. Over time, this practice leads to higher incidences of inherited diseases, weakened immune systems, and reduced overall vigor in the breed.

History has demonstrated the dangers of such restrictive breeding practices. Many purebred dogs suffer from genetic disorders due to a lack of diversity in their gene pools. For instance, breeds such as the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel have alarming rates of mitral valve disease, while Dalmatians struggle with widespread hereditary deafness. These conditions are exacerbated when breeders hyper-focus on an elite few dogs, prioritizing conformation to a standard over genetic robustness.

The Economic Barrier: A Dog for the Elite?

The 1% breeding philosophy also has significant economic consequences. If only the top 1% of dogs were deemed acceptable for breeding, the cost of acquiring a well-bred dog would skyrocket. This would place high-quality, well-socialized, and genetically sound dogs out of reach for the average middle-class American family.

In this scenario, the demand for affordable pets does not disappear—it simply shifts toward less scrupulous sources. Families unable to afford the exorbitant prices of ultra-exclusive breeders may turn to backyard breeders, puppy mills, or unregulated online sellers, many of whom prioritize profit over the health and welfare of their dogs. This ultimately undermines the very goal of ethical breeding: to produce healthy, well-adjusted dogs in responsible, caring environments.

Companion Pet Breeders: Bridging the Gap

Companion pet breeders can help fill the gap between puppy mills and ultra-elite breeders. These breeders focus on producing healthy, well-socialized dogs that are ideal for family homes while still maintaining responsible breeding practices. By prioritizing temperament, genetic health, and ethical breeding standards over extreme exclusivity, companion pet breeders provide a viable alternative for families seeking a well-bred dog without the prohibitive costs associated with show-level breeding programs. This approach ensures that more people can access responsibly bred dogs while discouraging unethical breeding practices.

A Balanced Approach: Ethical Breeding for the Future

A truly ethical breeder understands that sustainability, health, and accessibility must all be considered when making breeding decisions. This does not mean abandoning selectivity, but rather embracing a balanced approach—one that prioritizes genetic diversity alongside conformation, temperament, and overall health.

Responsible breeders conduct comprehensive health testing, utilize genetic screening tools, and avoid over-reliance on a handful of “popular sires.” They recognize that champion status, while an important marker of breed standard adherence, is not the sole criterion for breeding suitability. Instead, ethical breeding should include a range of high-quality dogs that contribute to the genetic diversity and long-term health of the breed.

Furthermore, ensuring that well-bred dogs remain financially accessible is crucial to combating the unethical pet trade. By maintaining reasonable pricing and prioritizing responsible pet ownership over exclusivity, breeders can help ensure that more families acquire dogs from reputable sources rather than turning to less ethical alternatives.

The idea that only the top 1% of dogs should be bred is an oversimplified and damaging perspective. While striving for excellence is commendable, it must be tempered with scientific understanding and economic practicality. Ethical breeding is not about unattainable perfection—it is about sustainability, health, and accessibility. By embracing a more holistic approach, breeders can ensure that future generations of dogs remain healthy, genetically diverse, and available to the families who love them.

Taking a litter of six-week-old Brittany puppies on their first car ride is a lot like herding caffeinated squirrels into a moving vehicle. The goal? Acclimate them to travel, introduce them to new sights and sounds, and ensure they won’t grow up believing that a car ride is a prelude to catastrophe. The reality? Absolute pandemonium.

The Pre-Departure Mayhem

Getting six wiggling, squirming, razor-toothed fluff balls into a crate should be classified as an Olympic event. Each puppy has a different reaction to the plan: one is all for it and dives in enthusiastically, another resists as though I’ve just suggested exile, and at least two decide that now is the perfect time to wrestle. The final two? They disappear into the void under the couch, requiring me to engage in a full tactical extraction mission, armed only with a squeaky toy and a handful of treats.

After what feels like an eternity, I secure the crate in the back of the car, take a deep breath, and begin our journey.

The Symphony of Protest

We make it precisely thirty feet down the driveway before the chorus begins. The smallest pup lets out a high-pitched whimper, immediately triggering a chain reaction of increasingly dramatic complaints. Within seconds, the entire litter has decided we are, in fact, doomed.

There are three distinct styles of protest:

• The Howler – One pup takes it upon himself to summon the spirits of his ancestors with a mournful, operatic wail.
• The Screecher – A particularly vocal pup produces a sound so piercing it could shatter glass and possibly summon emergency responders.
• The Negotiator – This one tries everything—yips, whines, grumbles—hoping for a compromise that involves immediate freedom and possibly a snack.

The Moment of Resignation

Somewhere around the five-minute mark, they begin to accept their fate. One by one, the protests quiet, replaced by the sound of sniffing and shifting. A few start exploring, pawing at the crate door or nibbling on a sibling’s ear. Then, a miracle occurs: one of them, likely exhausted from his theatrical performance, curls up and falls asleep. Within minutes, the others follow. Peace, at last.

The Arrival: Immediate Amnesia

We pull into the driveway, and I prepare for another round of logistical maneuvering to get everyone back inside. But the second I open the crate, the puppies explode out like a popcorn kernel hitting hot oil. The panic of the journey? Forgotten. The betrayal they so passionately protested? Nonexistent. Instead, they bound around the yard with pure, unfiltered joy, wrestling and chasing leaves as if the entire event had never happened.

I, however, am left with ringing ears, a shirt covered in puppy fur, and a newfound appreciation for silence. But as I watch them pounce on each other and tumble through the grass, it’s hard not to laugh. They’ll be back in the car soon enough, and next time, maybe—just maybe—there will be fewer protests and more tail wags.

Or, more likely, I’ll just need earplugs.

As an experienced dog breeder, I’ve welcomed my fair share of puppies into my home. I have a structured program, carefully thought-out introductions, and a deep understanding of puppy behavior. None of that prepared me for Dandelion—Danny for short—a bouncy, mischievous little Brittany with more enthusiasm than sense and a talent for finding trouble within seconds.

The car ride home was a pleasant surprise. Unlike some puppies who cry or get carsick, Danny sat in her crate for about five minutes before deciding confinement wasn’t her style. She pawed at the door, gave me her best “don’t you love me?” eyes, and within moments, she was riding shotgun, perched proudly on my lap, chewing on my seatbelt like it was her birthright. Safety concerns aside, she was having the time of her life, tail wagging like a windshield wiper on high speed.

Upon arriving home, I introduced her to my pack the way I always do—with careful supervision, controlled environments, and a firm plan. My older dogs are well-socialized and experienced with puppies, so the meet-and-greet went smoothly at first. Danny, however, had other plans. She bounced right up to my calmest, most patient dog, Daisy, and immediately bounced on her head. Daisy, as an expert at handling puppy rudeness as our vetern mama, simply sighed, gave me a long-suffering look, and walked off with Danny rolling onto the floor. It was the first of many moments where Danny’s confidence greatly exceeded her physical abilities.

The next 48 hours were a whirlwind of puppy antics. Within an hour of being home, she figured out how to launch herself off of the couch—only to realize midair that she had no exit strategy, landing in a pile of throw pillows with a surprised whump. She managed to squeeze through the baby gate meant to keep her contained, only to find herself face-to-face with my oldest dog, who, unimpressed by her escape artistry, watched as I scooped her up and put her right back where she started. And of course, there was the incident with the water bowl—Danny, ever the experimenter, discovered that stepping into it and flopping around like a fish was far more fun than drinking from it.

The crate-training process has been equally theatrical. I expected some protest, but Danny took dramatics to a new level. The first night, she let out a high-pitched, sorrowful wail so prolonged that I briefly considered whether I had adopted a beagle by mistake. I reassured her, gave her a chew toy, and waited. Five minutes later, she sighed deeply, flopped over in resignation, and went to sleep as if the whole ordeal had been for my benefit.

Danny has already cemented herself as the most confident, ridiculous, and affectionate puppy I’ve raised in a long time. She is fearless, determined, and full of personality. And despite the chaos, the overturned water bowls, and the fact that she thinks my shoelaces are edible, I know she’s going to grow into an incredible dog.

Welcome home, Danny. I have a feeling life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

It began, as many absurd things do, with a single rogue splash.

Daisy, my ever-enthusiastic Brittany, had been trotting alongside the pond with the air of a dog on a grand philosophical journey—ears flopping, nose twitching, soul brimming with purpose. And then, a fish, perhaps feeling cheeky, flicked its tail and sent a ripple right into Daisy’s unsuspecting face.

Now, any rational dog might have shaken off the offense and moved along. But Daisy is not a rational dog. No, Daisy is a creature of unwavering resolve, a four-legged force of nature bound by one simple principle: personal revenge.

With a dramatic bound that would have made a prima ballerina weep, she leapt into the water and commenced what can only be described as the most overzealous, least effective fishing expedition in recorded history.

For the next several hours, Daisy waded, lunged, and flopped in the shallows, barking furiously at the fish as though she were delivering a closing argument in a high-stakes courtroom drama. She adopted increasingly theatrical strategies—standing motionless like a great heron, springing forward like a pouncing leopard, even attempting (and failing) a stealth approach that involved sticking her entire snout underwater and walking blindly.

The fish, for their part, appeared highly entertained.

At one point, Daisy succeeded in catching something—an unfortunate clump of pond weeds, which she paraded back to shore with all the pride of an Olympic champion. When I failed to react with appropriate awe, she dropped it at my feet, stared at me expectantly, and then, with great dignity, huffed and returned to her aquatic pursuit.

Her antics soon attracted an audience. A pair of mallards paused to observe from a safe distance. A bemused turtle, halfway onto a log, simply stopped and watched, its reptilian expression one of quiet judgment. The fish continued their pattern of swimming just close enough to taunt her, then darting away at the last possible moment.

By hour three, Daisy was soaked, pond-smelling, and vibrating with stubborn optimism. I, however, was beginning to question my life choices.

Daisy, paw-deep in water, locked eyes with me. It was the look of a dog who had seen things. Who had been wronged. Who had devoted her entire existence to the noble and ridiculous pursuit of outwitting a school of fish.

And then, finally—finally—she caught one.

With a triumphant snap, Daisy lifted her head, and there, flopping indignantly in her mouth, was an actual fish. A small, bewildered brim, no doubt wondering how it had managed to get itself into such an absurd predicament.

Daisy trotted to shore, chest puffed with victory. And then, as I prepared myself to wrestle a fish out of my dog’s mouth, she paused… and gently placed it back in the water. She watched it swim away, then turned to me with a look that said, I just wanted to prove I could.

Some battles are about justice. Others are about personal satisfaction. Daisy, I think, walked away with both.

Dogs have always been a part of my life. Like so many Americans, I don’t just see them as pets but as essential family members—companions who shape my daily routines and offer unwavering loyalty. But over the years, I’ve come to realize something that many breeders and owners of dogs, myself included, often overlook: temperament isn’t just about how you raise a dog. It’s written in their DNA.

A groundbreaking study published in Genetics explored the heritability of canine personality traits, finding strong genetic influence over behaviors like anxiety, sociability, and trainability. While training and environment play a role, this research confirmed what I’ve seen firsthand—some traits just seem to be hardwired. (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov)

Yet, despite these insights, many breeders remain fixated on aesthetics or working ability, often at the expense of stable temperaments. I’ve encountered beautiful dogs from champion bloodlines whose anxiety made them unfit for family life, and I’ve met rescues with impeccable behavior despite their uncertain backgrounds. The National Canine Research Council puts it bluntly: “When we remove breed as an indicator of behavior, then a dog’s behavior comes down to just a few things: its individual temperament; its training and handling; and its environment.” (nationalcanineresearchcouncil.com)

There’s still a pervasive belief that behavioral issues are simply a matter of poor training. I used to think the same—until I worked with a dog whose fearfulness resisted every patient, methodical training attempt. Dr. Jessica Hekman, a veterinarian and canine genetics researcher, emphasizes this point: “Your dog’s genetic background plays a tremendous (and often under-valued) role not only in what inborn skills he might have, but in who he is.” (drjensdogblog.com)

This is why temperament should be the first priority in breeding, not an afterthought. As dog ownership rises and more people bring dogs into family settings, we need to demand better from breeders. Selecting for stable, well-adjusted temperaments should be just as important as breeding for health or conformation.

Dogs aren’t just backyard workers or showpieces anymore; they live in our homes, sleep in our beds, and accompany us through life’s ups and downs. If we want to build stronger, more sustainable human-dog relationships, we need to start at the source: their genes.

If you had told me years ago that I would become one of the first stated professional companion Brittany breeders, I probably would have laughed—and then gone back to washing a particularly wiggly doodle in my grooming salon. But life has a funny way of leading you exactly where you need to be, even if it involves a lot of dog hair, a little chaos, and a deep-seated passion for bettering an entire breed.

My name is Nicole, and I started my journey with dogs as a groomer. For years, I worked hands-on with every breed imaginable—fluffy, scruffy, stubborn, and sweet. This job wasn’t just about making dogs look good; it gave me a front-row seat to canine behavior across the spectrum. I learned which breeds were naturally resilient and well-adjusted, which ones had a tendency toward anxiety or reactivity, and—perhaps most importantly—how much of a dog’s temperament was shaped by responsible breeding and early socialization.

Enter the Brittany.

I fell in love with the Brittanys charm, intelligence, and boundless enthusiasm for life. But I also noticed something: too many Brittanys were being bred with little consideration for their role as companion dogs. While show breeders focused on perfecting structure and field breeders chased high-energy working ability, the reality was that most Brittany puppies weren’t going to become champions or hunting machines. They were going to be pets—family dogs living in suburban homes, going on weekend hikes, playing with kids, and maybe chasing the occasional butterfly in the backyard.

Yet, many of these pet owners found themselves struggling with Brittanys that were too intense, too anxious, or simply not suited for modern life. It was clear that something was missing in traditional breeding programs.

That’s when I made it my mission to change things.

With the guidance of some incredible mentors—breeders who had experience working with service and therapy dog organizations—I learned how to select, raise, and place well-adjusted, well-balanced puppies. Instead of breeding solely for show or sport, I prioritized temperament and adaptability, ensuring that my puppies would thrive in real-world companion homes. But don’t mistake this for a disregard for health or function—because structure and sound genetics are still critical pieces of the puzzle. A well-built dog is a healthier dog, after all.

My approach draws from years of working with countless dogs, not just Brittanys. It incorporates the best insights from experienced companion breeders and research-backed training methods to raise puppies that are capable of navigating a world designed for companionship, not just work.

Here’s what that means in practice:

• Selecting for Stable Temperament – I carefully evaluate breeding pairs for qualities like resilience, biddability, and confidence—not just whether they fit a breed standard.
• Early Socialization & Training – Using structured programs like Puppy Culture, ENS (Early Neurological Stimulation), and real-world exposure, my puppies learn how to handle different sights, sounds, and experiences long before they go home.
• Matching Puppies with the Right Homes – Not every Brittany puppy is the same, and not every home is the right fit. Thoughtful placement ensures dogs and owners are set up for success.
• Prioritizing the Companion Role – While many of my dogs could excel in performance sports or therapy work, their primary role is to be fantastic family members.

The result? Puppies that are not just cute (though, let’s be honest, they are ridiculously cute) but also well-adjusted, trainable, and prepared for the realities of modern life.

There’s a reason service dog organizations invest so much time into breeding for temperament. Good dogs aren’t just born—they’re intentionally bred and thoughtfully raised. By gatekeeping ethical companion breeding, the dog world has done more harm than good, allowing behavioral issues to become increasingly common in pet homes.

I believe in raising dogs that make people’s lives better. That means producing Brittanys that are loving, stable, and adaptable—dogs that can walk into a family’s home and settle in like they’ve been there all along.

So, welcome to my journey. Whether you’re a fellow breeder, a Brittany enthusiast, or just someone who loves a good dog story, I’m glad you’re here.

And if you ever need proof that Brittanys can, in fact, be calm, well-mannered companions? You’re welcome to come meet mine—just know that they might still try to steal your socks.