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I started saving up for my first German Shepherd puppy when only ten years old. I mowed lawns, gathered firewood, and shoveled horse manure. I did anything a boy my age from the sticks of upstate New York could do to make money. Then on my eleventh birthday, we got her. Frieda was a beautiful black and red plush from German working lines, who acted more like a human than a dog. I'm pretty sure she understood a few hundred words in English.

One time I honestly believed she saved my life. I foolishly made my own "alternate" route to the top of Spruce Mountain. It was January in the rugged Adirondack mountains, and was only 17 degrees. I was 15 and bulletproof, miles away from anyone with my dog. Life was good. At least it was until the sky turned steel gray. Huge flakes began to fall faster and faster. Soon visibility of that peak so far in the distance was cut off, ...and I was hopelessly lost. A soft blanket of snow covered my back trail. I made large circles trying to find it, with no success. Somehow I managed to keep my nerve until it got dark.

I was completely unprepared to spend a night on the mountain. Desparate, I snuggled up with Frieda under a rock overhang. As if guided by an unseen force Frieda suddenly grabbed my hand, pulling me back out into the snow. I did the smartest thing I had done all day. I followed her blindly in the dark. She lead me for what seemed like hours back to the road. She was amazing! I still thank God today for giving me that dog.

Unfortunately, Frieda died far too young. For ten years I tried to find a dog that would come close to Frieda. After college, a beautiful bride, and my first house, I picked up my second GSD. I had to return him to his breeder. The vet wondered how he was able to function with his enormous heart murmur. I didn't want a small, angulated show dog, so I went back to working lines hoping for a dog that would not chew up my house or the neighbors' dogs!

We raised healthy GSDs for the next several years. We made people happy with puppies that grew up to be good dogs. But even with lots of socialization, the drive they were bred for was hard to keep a lid on. When it came time to think about their replacements, changes needed to be made. Was there another Frieda out there? There had to be a healthy, easy to live with shepherd somewhere. The search began.

A friend told me about Shiloh shepherds. I couldn't believe there was a dog that fit my description of the ideal dog. Was there really a large, healthy, smart, stable dog with a heart of gold and a coat that felt like a pillow? Surely, this was too good to be true! Was there a shepherd that did not require a special exemption on my homeowners' insurance?

I spent a solid thirteen hours on the internet reading everything I could about this amazing breed. One month later I picked up my first Shiloh. She was all I hoped for. My wife called her Amara. It means "beloved." We welcomed our incredibly sweet Anja later, when plans to get her brother fell through. I looked long and hard for the right male. Probably bugging some of the breeders along the way with my constant hounding, but they were very gracious. I found the perfect breeding coming up and put a deposit down for first pick male, long before he was born. Finally, in May we drove to Ohio to pick him up. He was so huge with such a puffy mane we called him Ari, which means "Lion of God."

What fun it has been! Its been a lot of work, too. But, I can finally say I found the perfect dog.

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