What Breeder Support Really Looks Like: One Sunday, Three Clients.

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Hi Reader,

I try to keep Sundays for myself.

I’m not always great at it — ask my husband — but I genuinely try. No business stuff. A slow morning. Maybe some family time.

This past Sunday did not go that way.

By the time I finally stopped to eat something, it was 5pm. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it.

Here’s what happened.

Emma’s new Maremma pups went missing.

Emma lives in Oregon. She got two seven-month-old Maremma Sheepdogs (Napheesa and Caitlin) from me just the week before — a pair of livestock guardian dogs who are supposed to be learning their new farm, their new goats, their new family (including a six-year-old daughter who is completely smitten with them). Everything had been going beautifully.

Then she went out to check on them and they were gone.

I got a panicked voicemail. Then a text. Then another.

I couldn’t drive to Oregon. I couldn’t search her property. But I could be there — and I was. We texted back and forth for a couple of hours. I walked her through everything: call the microchip company (yes, I microchip every puppy before they leave — for exactly this reason), post in Facebook community groups, check with the neighbors, look near the goats because Maremmas are drawn to animals they’re raised with and my puppies are raised with goats.

I also told her what I don’t love remembering: two of my own Maremmas wandered off once. Parma came back in a few hours. (I suspect she was hanging around the house, waiting for me to come let her back in her pasture.) Pax the wanderer was gone for 24 hours, following his nose on a grand adventure, and I was absolutely out of my mind with worry. So I know that feeling. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone in it.

Within a couple of hours, the pups were found. A neighbor had spotted them and put them in his yard with his own dogs and called Emma. She texted me: “They’re HOME!!!! So so so so relieved!!!!”

I was so relieved, too. Even my husband was relieved and he’s not even into dogs that much.

After the celebration, I told her: get GPS collars. Order them today. I got mine the day after my own dogs came home, and I’ve never regretted it for a second. Luckily my dogs haven’t left home since Pax’s famous walkabout, but I have peace of mind knowing that if he ever does I can track him down!

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Meanwhile, Darin had goat questions.

Darin picked up his two Maremma Sheepdog puppies Friday — and also went home with three goats (I breed Mini Nubians and Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats and when I have extras I sometimes send them along with puppy families who are just starting out). This was his first time with goats. They were being, well… goats.

The two does were bullying his little wether. Running him out of the manger in the middle of the night. He was worried something was wrong.

I told him the truth: goats are little bullies and this is completely normal. They’re establishing pecking order. Put hay in a second spot so the little guy can eat without being chased off. Give it a week or two and they’ll be best friends. (I regularly give goat advice to my Maremma clients, even if they didn’t get their goats from me. Just ask my client, Violet, who bought her Maremma, Cotton Candy, from me in 2022.)

He also asked about hiccups in one of the pups (almost always fine — probably just excitement from everything being new). And he mentioned something that genuinely made my day: his wife had already gotten the puppies to sit instead of jumping on her — because of the clicker training I do before puppies ever leave here. That head start pays off fast.

And then there was Tom.

Tom first contacted me in December 2024. He had Gidget — his golden retriever — and an older Kuvasz named Polo, his third of the breed, a dog he’d loved for years. Polo was dying of cancer. Tom knew he wanted a Maremma as his next companion dog, and he wanted to find his breeder. But he wasn’t ready to bring a puppy home while Polo was still alive. He wanted to give Polo every bit of his attention for whatever time was left.

So he placed a reservation, got on my Master Reservation List, and we just… stayed in touch. No rush. No pressure. I’d check in when a litter was coming. He’d check in when he had news. Sometimes I wouldn’t hear back for a while and I knew — he was busy taking care of Polo. I let him be.

About five months ago, Tom reached out to let me know Polo had passed. He was ready.

I had puppies available from a couple of different litters. Tom chose the youngest, Electra’s November 2025 litter — he wanted to enjoy every bit of the puppy stage, and since Jimmy would be a companion dog, not a working dog, there was no reason to rush past it. A few weeks later, Tom drove out and brought Jimmy home.

That was over a year after he first called me.

Tom told me Jimmy has decided he’s a lapdog. Ninety pounds of Maremma, just plopping down on Tom’s chest on the couch. He told me about Jimmy’s morning walk ritual, the taquitos he gets when they return (every single time, without fail), and the way he greets them at the gate when they pull in — this enormous, ridiculous ball of happy.

He also told me about the coyote.

They were on their evening walk when one appeared in the middle of the alley. Gidget wasn’t fazed — she’s seen them before. But Jimmy positioned himself in front of Tom. Stood between Tom and the coyote. Checked over his shoulder every twenty seconds to make sure Gidget was okay.

When the coyote didn’t leave, Tom dropped the leash and said: “Okay, Jimmy. Go be a Maremma.”

He did. The coyote went over a six-foot fence and didn’t come back.

Tom said: “I got exactly what I wanted. He’s going to be an absolute great protector for myself and Cindi.”

We also talked about my husband’s cancer treatment. Tom asked how Steve was doing — he’s been through similar trials in his own family. He asked me to give Steve his best.

That’s the part I can’t really explain on a website.

I know how much Tom loved Polo. I know how long he waited, and why. And I know that Jimmy is there now — helping heal that loss, filling that space, making Tom and Cindi happy in ways that only a dog can. That’s not a transaction. That’s not a moment in time. That’s a relationship that started over a year before Jimmy was even born. Before Electra was even pregnant.

That’s what you get when you work with a breeder who will meet you where you are — whether that means waiting for the right litter, the right timing, or the right moment in your life. I can do that. That’s what the Master Reservation List is for. Tom is proof of what’s possible when we get the timing right together.

Here’s what I want you to take away from all of this:

When you choose a breeder, you’re not just choosing a puppy. You’re choosing who answers the phone when the dogs go missing. You’re choosing who talks you through your first goat crisis on a Sunday morning. You’re choosing who picks up the phone for a 43-minute call because you love your dog and you want to share the coyote story with the one person who gets as much joy hearing it as you do telling it.

Not every breeder does this. Some can’t. Some won’t. And if you’re buying a Maremma Sheepdog — a working dog who will live with your animals and your family for the next decade — that support isn’t a nice-to-have. It’s every bit as important as what happened before you pick up your puppy.​

And as you can see from this story, Jimmy is very much a working LGD, even though “only” he guards Tom, Cindi and a golden retriever named Gidget. Guarding people and other pets is no less valuable than guarding goats and chickens. And as I told Tom, Jimmy is a very lucky dog to have such a loving home.

Tom told me before we hung up that he looks forward to my Thursday newsletter every week. That it makes him happy. And that he prefers a phone call to a text because you can’t really tell a story in a text.

He’s right about that.

Kim

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Kim Crawmer, KPA CTP, LFDM Karen Pryor Academy Certified Training Partner Licensed Family Dog Mediator