We have just welcomed a new, incredibly anticipated litter. To many, it seems that the end of whelping is a dream finish line, crowning months of long waiting. But in reality, it is merely opening the doors to a completely new, infinitely magical phase. I want to let you into that invisible "kitchen." Into what we are breathing right now and what lies behind those beautiful puppy photos.
It all begins with a 24-hour period where time simply melts away. The mother-to-be experiences a temperature drop, and we start to wait. At that moment, the world stops. Unanswered emails, household chores, even thoughts about food fall out of life. It’s just you and her. You stroke her tense, aching belly, comfort her, and try to give her all your warmth. Honestly? This paralyzing wait and the bubbling anxiety inside often exhaust you more than the action itself. You simply keep watch and listen to her breathing, running the most terrifying scenarios in your head: "What if this happens? What will I do then?"
And then the starting shot rings out. After a day of waiting, when it feels like your eyes are closing on their own from exhaustion, a powerful wave of adrenaline washes everything away. You don't feel your numb legs or your twisted back. Your entire world shrinks to a single goal – helping this life arrive safely. Only a few hours later, when everything settles down, do you realize that your whole body is shaking and aching as if after the hardest workout, because you spent all that time squatting, bent over, tense – forgetting to breathe yourself.
If nature is merciful, everything flows smoothly and brings pure joy. But experience whispers that one easy whelping guarantees nothing. There are moments when you must act like lightning. You have to use your own hands to help a stuck puppy who just can't seem to see the world, help the mother push it out, even though you once swore you'd never perform such interventions. You have to revive a puppy that inhaled amniotic fluid and isn't breathing, or stop a bleed. Your hands must act faster than your thoughts.
Do we always manage to win against death? No. And it tears the heart apart. You give your all, you do the impossible, but ultimately, the tiny body goes limp in your hands. Letting go is incredibly hard. You must learn to accept this reality – that your powers are limited. But you don't have time for tears, because lying right next to you are those who still desperately need you.
It is exactly because of this bitter past experience that every approaching whelping brings immense, paralyzing anxiety. This time was no exception. It was Tongutė's second time giving birth, and remembering her first – full of stress, thrashing, and total emotional exhaustion – I anxiously expected the same. However, this time Tongutė completely astounded me, as if an entirely different dog were in front of me. No panic, no thrashing – just absolute, deep focus on the work ahead. During every contraction, she breathed so evenly and deeply, as if she were meditating. This proper breathing helped the puppies receive a continuous supply of oxygen, and I don't know exactly how much of an impact it had, but the result was obvious. All the puppies were born incredibly strong, lively, with perfectly clean placentas. It was a textbook, perfect delivery – the puppies traveled into this world quickly and confidently, and Tongutė worked like a top-tier professional.
A separate story, or rather – a battle, erupted over the umbilical cords. During her first whelping, she bit them off too close, causing bleeding that I had to quickly stop and fix, so this time I was determined not to let that happen. At first, I tried to resist, trying to manage them myself, but Tongutė literally pushed me aside, showing me that this was her job. Tired of wrestling with her, I finally threw my hands up and let her take over. And what do you think? She did it incredibly well. She bit them close, but not a single drop of blood appeared – everything was so precise, clean, and hygienic that I could only sit and marvel. Seeing how perfectly she handled it, I let her continue working entirely by her own instincts, and she tended to every single puppy without the slightest flaw. As a result, by the second day, the little cords had beautifully contracted, dried up, and started to fall off. This time proved once again how powerful and wise nature is when you simply let it take its course.
The grand finale – the birth is over, so time to rest? Oh, no. It's a farewell to sleep for a very long time. You haven't slept for 24 hours or more, but there will be no rest. You have to track the mother's every flinch – does she need anything, is her uterus clearing well, is she drinking water, is she getting food on time to recover her depleted strength.
And then there are the little ones... A continuous, round-the-clock watch begins. You must ensure perfect warmth in the whelping box, because those tiny bodies don't yet know how to regulate their temperature. Then you have to line them up by the mother's teats like a little platoon of soldiers – making sure not a single one is left out. You have to watch whether a puppy is actually nursing or just holding the nipple, or if a stronger sibling pushed them away. If you spot a weaker one, you must immediately latch them onto the best nipple and guard them until they eat. Here, we count in minutes, not hours. A chilled or hungry puppy fades right before your eyes.
And what about those moments when a newborn, blind and deaf puppy accidentally crawls into a far corner of the bed. It's cold there, they can't find their way back to mom on their own, they start to panic, so your eyes have to be everywhere. Every little movement is a signal for you to act. We weigh them daily, sometimes several times a day, recording every gram so we know exactly whether they are growing or weakening.
This is how we live for those first few weeks. I don't know any other way – I can't leave them alone. We sleep together. I wake up at the slightest squeak from the puppies – I call it the "seagull chorus." That sound lets me know someone’s tummy is cold, someone is looking for mom, or someone is simply feeling restless. The first few days are the most critical, because even a seemingly healthy puppy can suddenly start to fade.
People unfamiliar with this world often say: "Well, she gave birth, they'll grow up on their own." But no, they won't grow up on their own. Nature gave them a start, but we have to pave the rest of the way – ensuring safety, warmth, and solid ground beneath their paws. Behind every healthy, joyful, fluffy ball of fur that will happily wag its tail in a new home a couple of months from now, lies exhaustion, selfless vigils, constant tension, accumulated knowledge, and a massive piece of a given heart. Those who only see a beautiful, carefree playing puppy have no idea how much is poured into this tiny miracle.
Is it hard? Hellishly so. There are mornings when your body refuses to listen, and your eyes burn from lack of sleep. But then night comes. You sit on the floor in total silence, the whole world is sleeping outside the window, and here time simply stops. The room smells of milk and that indescribable warmth of newborn puppies. You stroke the tired but relaxed mother, who sighs deeply with infinite trust and rests her head on your lap.
You look at that small, huddled, peacefully breathing army of life. You see their little noses twitch, you hear quiet smacking in their sleep, and you feel all the day's tension slowly washing away. It is then, in that silence, that a sense of purpose piercing you right down to the bone washes over you. You were the bridge by which they arrived. You are the shield now protecting them from the whole world until they can stand on their own paws. And looking at this miracle, ushered in and cradled by your own hands, you realize one thing – no matter how many sleepless nights it costs, you wouldn't trade this journey for anything in the world.
Ką tik užgimusi gyvybė delnuose, tylus mamos alsavimas ir pienu kvepianti naktis... Tai nematoma, trapi ir be galo jautri mūsų gyvenimo dalis, kurios neperteiks jokios, net ir pačios gražiausios nuotraukos. Kviečiu jus trumpam užverti duris į išorinį pasaulį ir užeiti ten, kur laikas tiesiog sustoja.
A newborn life resting in your hands, the quiet breathing of the mother, and a milk-scented night....This is the unseen, fragile, and profoundly intimate part of our lives that no photos, even the most beautiful ones, can truly capture. I invite you to close the doors to the outside world for a moment and step into the place where time simply stands still.
