July 7th Chipples, our Chocolate Lab, had her first ever litter. Friends joined us partway through to witness the new life. By 11:00 p.m. everything quieted. One friend stayed overnight in case I needed help. Such great support!
The first few days we loved on Chipples, weighed pups, cleaned her whelping area often, and watched her learn to be the momma.
A few days in, we had their dewclaws removed. Then at two weeks their eyes cracked open—ever so slightly—widening each day. Once they spotted each other, they immediately quit scooting and started full-on walking, playing together, soft-growling, and swatting paws, “I see you, and I’m gonna get you. Ha!”
By week three we bathed them regularly, and Chipples nursed non-stop.
We fed her ground turkey with fish oil over kibble, dosed with calcium and a side of bone broth to fuel her milk supply.
Week four— Puppy teeth broke through, at least enough to chomp down some softened puppy kibble. Good! This gave Chipples some respite. The pups launched into attack mode—sneak attacks, louder growls, and squeals.
Then several expected buyers backed out. Suddenly six pups sat unspoken for.
Lord, what are You doing? Making me trust You?
Okay. Sigh.
Weeks five and six the pups shot up. New owners visited. My niece Marisa flew in from Sacramento to help. We prayed, laughed, and soaked up puppy kisses. We posted photos. Thousands of likes rolled in, yet sales stayed stagnant.
This is why I fill the deposit list before birth, so I don’t have pups without homes.
Correction: God fills the list. I just assist.
What are You doing, God? Making me You?
Okay—time to worship.
My brother and sister-in-law drove from the coast for a photo shoot. She lined pups on benches, nestled them in a basket with linens, enlisted the kids to cuddle them, and caught puppies wrestling in the flower beds at sunset. Click. Click. Click. Beautiful work.
Within two weeks every pup found a home. Thank You, God!
I hired extra help in July and August so our family could get out:
- church campout
- Enchanted Forest
- beach day
- family camping at Detroit Lake
When we returned, the pups had doubled in size and appetite.
Weeks seven and eight—they’d turned into little monsters, crying at the whelping box’s edge as soon as they see me in the morning. I filled their food bin, but they wanted me. Human attention.
Of course—but at 6 a.m.? That’s when I began taking them outside to play in the yard, but they crowded all around my ankles. I could hardly move. David brewed a coffee and joined me. Marisa too! We spent the next hour cleaning bins and changing puppy pads, prepping an outside and inside play area.
By 8 a.m. we ate, cleaned the house, called customers, then loaded all nine into two crates for their vet visit. They cried the whole way. At the clinic everyone exclaimed, “What adorable, well-behaved puppies!” Bethany and I exchanged looks. They were good—maybe a little motion-sick, but good. One by one they used the potty bin and settled down.
Once home we administered shots and dewormer—all part of the gig.
Then Go-Home Day arrived! Baths, pictures, and final kisses. Contracts signed, instructions for the new parents. Marisa crate-trained one puppy, promised to a family in Idaho. One man flew up from California to get his puppy.
“I bet you’re going to miss them,” people said.
Marisa flew home. We scrubbed all the puppy gear and stored it away until next year. And finally, the house fell quiet. We breathed.
Gideon walked in from work and stopped. The living room looked exactly as it had eight weeks earlier—no whelping box, no supplies, no potty bins.
“Oh, wow. You’ve been busy,” he said. “It went kind of fast though, didn’t it?”
I paused, head still spinning. From our side it never felt fast. It felt full, fun, busy, sometimes chaotic—definitely hard work. Fast? Not when you live every stage. I checked my heart and found gratitude that:
- we got to raise them
- God made us lean into Him
- others stepped in so we could get away
- every pup stayed healthy and found a good home
Gid’s comment about speed made me think how people say children grow up fast. It rarely feels that way in the moment, yet the years prove it. Our house isn’t empty yet, but I look at baby pictures of our adult kids. We retell the stories. We talk by phone. We gather for celebrations. We play with the grandkids. GRANDKIDS. I’m telling you—it goes fast!
Eight weeks of puppies can’t compare to years of butterfly kisses, blanket forts, pinecone wars, Mad Libs, beach trips, berry picking, hide-and-seek, story times, swim lessons, pancake mornings, campouts, stargazing, hikes, birthdays late-night visits, music lessons, holidays, and motorcycle repairs in the front room while Daddy read aloud to us. And SOO much more.
But the message rings clear for anyone with ears to hear. It resonates in my ears as a message I still need: the years race by, and our children are only young once. Let’s make the most of it—for them. For God’s glory.
Lord, help us make the most of it!
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12
For the generation that seeks Him,
Melinda Poling
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