AKC/INT/INT Veteran CH Wayeh’s Soul Song CGC RN WTD WLD “Singer”
CH Snow Song’s Night Rider CGC TDI TT WPD “Rider”
X AKC/INT CH Wayeh’s Cherokee Summer CGC WTD “Summer”
WP95034401, 25″/85# skinny working weight @ 9yo, seal/white female
10-gen COI 1%, OFA Excellent, CERF clear, Thyroid Normal
7th generation Wayeh, Wayeh’s 12th obedience title, 13th AKC Championship
Breeder/Owner/Handler Sidney Helen Sachs
Generations, Littermates, Singer goes to the Artic Edge, Singer’s Picture Page
Singer is Summer’s daughter, my first Bred-By Champion. Singer is my second Bred-By Champion.
She is the second out of Summer to get her WTD & WLD (Tom T. was the first). Her brother is a smart gee-haw leader, often thoughtful, where she’s more the head-down-get-out-of-my-way!-follow-the-trail-at-all-costs sort of leader. She’s all business up front. Sometimes to the exclusion of her brain. She’s the second Rally-titled dog from her litter (Snowman was the first, Tom T. was the third).
She is also a goof-ball. There are days we think we should look for blonde roots. And then she does something so incredibly intelligent that it’s scary. She works her fool head off in harness — sledding, carting, weight pulling, even backpacking — but her joy in life is to jump up on you and lean and be cuddled. She moves like the wind, when she’s not laying on her back and wooing at you, especially at dog shows when the judge glances over. Our original goofy ugly duckling, as a three- and four-year-old she has matured into a graceful, strong, running machine.
But when you are starting out showing a true-blue goofball, you have to take allowances for practical jokes and immaturity. She started her show career on her 6-month birthday and immediately ran mom into the ring gates. A month later she grabbed mom’s dress and tried to give the judge a thrill. She was put back until she grew up. Went to the International shows in KY and learned more about showing with her National Jr CH and later her IABCA-International CH. Then she ran a bunch of miles in harness, learned to weightpull, worked on her obedience, and went back into the show ring in a big way. Franklin, TN 3/02 – 3 RWB of 4, all to her dam Summer (since finished). Knoxville, TN 10/02 – 3 WB of 5 days, 2 BOS of 5 days, officially now our late bloomer (with 5 pts). Franklin, TN 3/03 – 2 RWB, 2 majors (now 11pts). Chattanooga, TN 9/04 – 2 RWB. Murfreesboro, TN 9/04 – RWB, then WB/BOS over a special. Way to go, Singer! (12 pts). Knoxville, TN 10/04 – WB/BOS over a special! (14 pts total) And then back to Chattanooga, with her now 6mo goofball daughter Luna to finish. History repeats itself.
My Sing-Sing, as in prison, as in jailbreak, @ 8y she’s still going over 6′ fences. And smug about it. The daughter of my heart dog Summer, who lives to sprawl… She spent the first year of her life with a young lad named Landon, who has CP, and since then she does therapy and school visits with her brother Tom T.
Sing-Sing was the first puppy from my first litter and my first AKC bred-by Champion, all of this done without my mentor Billie Stewart who we’d lost the spring before Singer was born. A big scary independent step. She was born in my bathroom with Liz and Lynne and me hovering over her mother. She was called Whinona One-Spot in the whelping box, because Whinona is first born daughter and she had this giant black spot on her chest between her front legs. But she started singing at three DAYS old. And I have pictures of her head back, howling, even before her eyes opened. Singer she was.
Co-Owned for the first year, she and brother Tom T. spent a lot of time back and fourth until Sing came back to me and Tom permanently.
She was my firsts in a lot of things. Since her mother Summer practically showed herself, Sing-Sing was the first show dog I had to really learn how to show in order to finish. Singer wasn’t perfect, she was far from perfect, she was the furthest from perfect of any of my dogs ever. She had a lot going for her, but grace wasn’t one of those things unless she was moving. She could move, she could move, she could move. She was a big girl, 85-90# depending on how muscled she was, 25″, and a big ground-eating stride that inevitably left me trying to catch up. Course standing still gave her time for her brain to reengage and she got BORED easily with this whole silly show thing. Bring out the harnesses! When she self-stacked for more than 10 seconds, she got all stupid and silly and would grin, hunch her shoulders, drop her head and waggle it at a judge like a snakecharmer with a low guttural rumbling like rocks breaking. Stop it, stand still, don’t do that!!!! She also had an extra gait, like a gaited horse and she’d pace if I didn’t get her moving out fast enough. Bored. Bored. Bored. I was never in better shape in my life keeping up with her in the show ring. But when she was moving, it was powerful, effortless, strong and all day long. Big, she was big all over, big hearted, big boned, and a big moving dog.
Course she loved to be groomed. She’d zoom across the yard if there was a grooming table and throw herself at it. Never mind that her mother was inevitably already on the table. And noosed to the table — Summer, Singer, the table all going ass over teakettle. Every single time. She was a menace if anyone was on a grooming table, at home or shows. I had to put both hands in her collar and drag her away from stranger’s grooming tables. She’d get this evil demented look in her eye. MINE, MY PRECIOUS GROOMING TABLE. She loved it up there. She would fall asleep during line combing. And she was a big water balloon if I had to turn her over — she didn’t turn herself over, she was too busy sleeping and being pampered like the queen she was.
I had a lot of help with her. I was pulled over and taught to groom one day — I didn’t even own a dryer or metal comb with her mother — by one kind-hearted person who took it with very good grace when Sing got the points the next day instead of his bitch. Others gave me tips on handling her — like with obedience, every new show dog teaches you new things about handling. Singer had a lot of things to teach me. Her mother just stood there like a squared statue. Singer had to be taught that first, she COULD stand there. Second, she could do it with all four feet on the ground at the same time.. Third she didn’t have to make noised or pull faces or do acrobatic contortionists acts when judges were trying to examine her.
Sweetness personified to kids and elderly, all races, both sexes, she never met a stranger. She was a therapy dog with brother Tom T. Met 1000s of kids of all ages in all circumstances and loved each and every one and would show you shamelessly and loudly how much she loved them. Unless…
Unless you approached the truck at night and tried to stick your hand in for my wallet while I’m pumping gas. Baaaad move, jerkoff. Truck is mine. Wallet is mine. Dog is gonna come OUT of the truck if you don’t back off. She sounded like an entire pack of hounds from hell as she came up out of the seat. I know it scared the would-be thief. It scared me when she bellowed.
And unless you came into the kitchen in the dark and she was scarfing down her loaf of stolen bread. Becky C. learned that the hard one. Hey, um, Sid, you need to go up there, I’m not gonna do it. Not me. No way. Apparently in the dark, Singer mistook Becky for a Visigoth marauder and the rocks breaking grumble was not very friendly in the dark. Becky is wise in the way of Malamute logic.
Sing was a lead dog — so long as her brother Tom T. was beside her or behind her. No exceptions. She would not lead out unless Tom-Tom was there. She’d run all day beside him, in front of him, or directly behind him. Tom wasn’t there and she wasn’t gonna be either. But together, miles and miles and miles disappeared under their paws over the years, two big tall dogs with big paws and bigger tongues hanging out of the side of their faces.
She would not weightpull. Not seriously. Tom wasn’t there. She’d get to 11 and a half percent, you needed 12 in the IWPA, and she’d stand there and woo. Showing off again. She was OFA Excellent, that wasn’t it. She just didn’t want to work that hard by herself. Tom was pulling 22x and more. Sing would just watch and lick her paw. Booooring.
Tom T. was the dog who would not voluntarily get more than 40 feet away from me off leash. Sing was the one who inevitably wouldn’t stay within 40 feet of me off leash. Coupled to Tom, who was the good dog, Sing-Sing, the bad dog, would determinedly lead him astray. No off-leash backpacking for this one.
Tom T. and Sing had an arrangement. He was neutered at 18m. He was a placid, mellow fellow most of the time. And he was undisputed leader of our little pack. Tom went through gates first. Tom stepped in with his mellow fellow vibe if anyone got testy. Tom was petted first. And Tom was fed first. Unless she was in season. For those approximately 2 months out of the year, Singer was Singer the Barbarian, slayer of demons and pillager of breadboxes. Ten months out of the year, it was Tomas the Benevolent who ruled, slayed or negotiated as needed, and pillaged nothing but hugs and petting. Then Singer was spayed. No more heat cycles. She never got over losing her power vacation. Tom never let her forget it either. You want to go out the gate, nope, you’re not in season — read, haven’t lost your marbles to homicidal hormones — So, it’s my gate, and you have to back off, sis. Or there will be a reckoning. Singer wasn’t stupid enough to find out what reckoning there was… not more than twice.
Her AKC Rally Novice title was finished with a spectacular Malamute-worthy performance. At the time, you were allowed 2 do-overs per station. We’d swooped through the course, she was attentive, lively, a bounce in her 7yo step. The final station on the course was a down. We’d already done a down/walk around. How easy was this? For a show dog who was taught to never, ever, under any circumstances leave your feet? We approach, Singer, DOWN, my hand swooped down to her feet and she self stacked and grinned and wagged her tail and waggled her head at me, the snake charmer thing again. And someone giggled. Her eyes zeroed in on the offenders and she woo’d at them personally, eye contact and a big sloppy tongue flopping grin — elegance was not her thing. Or dignity. More giggles. HUSH, don’t you know to NEVER laugh at a Malamute, they eat that up like liver. First Do-Over, reapproach, Sing-Sing, we’re gonna DOWN… There was a lot of English on this move. I was on my feet, but both hands were slapping the ground in front of her. All you have to do is put your elbows down, sweetie! So she play-bowed, then popped back up to a stack and woo’d again, looking right at the miscreants laughing at her. OK, one more attempt, the gate is RIGHT THERE, all you have to do is put your belly on the ground, understand. Yes, I’m explaining this whole thing to her, and she is watching me attentively, focused on me like laser sites. We reapproach for our second and last Do-Over. I notice the judge has her clipboard up covering her face. She’s shushing the gallery. I raise both hands over my head and slam them to the ground, DOWN! I sing out happily, glaring at her. Singer flops to the ground. I’m relieved. Until she flips on her back, does an all over body scratch, dust flying, legs kicking like a mule, and then she freezes as I say WAIT. She’s upside down, shamelessly sprawled so everyone can confirm she’s a girl, curled into a peppermint candy cane. Let’s GO! And she leaps to her feet, shakes off, and trots along beside me as we exit the ring. Twit.
She gave me three lovely litters and her kids and grandkids and great grandkids and great-greats will carry on for her. We almost lost her when her brother Tom T. died in August. She wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t do anything. Just laid on the deck with her chin on the lowest rain and dozed in the sun. But her great-grandson Midnight pestered the holy living hell out of her until she got up just to chase him away. Yeah, that was deliberate on my part. She seemed to bounce back, had a great birthday a couple of weeks ago. I left Singer and pesky Midnight this morning, both of them lying with their chins on the rail and dozing in the bright morning winter sun. She passed sometime before I got home at noon. Midnight still lying by her side.
insert ped table
Singer is the dam of:
Maestro & Sunny of the SINGN Litter 2003
Seranade of the SINGS Litter 2005
Amak of the SONG Litter 2007