Hisar Anatolian Shepherd Dogs

Anatolian Shepherd Dogs in the UK since 1976. Fun blog page about this 'n' that!

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Location: Cornwall, United Kingdom

Welcome to the blog pages of The White Family. Hisar Anatolian Shepherd Dogs since 1976 and now also Kehlibar Akitas, based in the West Country. Our posts are of our dogs, old and new, and also family and friends. We only update our blog occassionally, so be sure to pop back for updates!! Enjoy!! *** Please also see our blog for our family business, AutoTek South West ***

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Bath Championship Show 2006




<- L-Hazine R-Chanim "Come on, lets get going!"

Today was Bath Champ Show. A chance to qualify our dogs for Crufts 2007. I took our bitch, Hazine, and met up with Sally of Huri Anatolians, who also happens to be Hazine's breeder. Together, we took Hazine, and her dam, Chanim, along to the show. We arrived about 11.30am, and were greeted by Brian Tyson, with his male, Zebani. We went along to the benches to get ourselves organised, and met up with other Anatolian friends, including several members of Hazine and Chanim's family, including Uncle Worf, and Auntie Kira! There were 20 Anatolians entered, a very respectable entry for our breed here in the U.K. Hazine came 2nd in her Post.Grad.Bitch Class, and Chanim came 1st in her Open Bitch Class, and went on to take Best Bitch, and BEST OF BREED! Uncle Worf took the Open Dog Class, and Reserve Dog in Breed. Quite the family affair!

Above: Hazine awaits judging.

Above: Mum Chanim takes Best Of Breed at 7years old!

Kurtkir Katil & Kurtkir Kazanan, litter mates to Chanim.

Huri Hanim (15 weeks) , Huri Hazine(3yrs) & Kurtkir Huri (Mum)

"Are we nearly home yet?"

L-Hazine + R-Chanim

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Hisar Anatolian Shepherd Dogs

Hisar Anatolian Shepherd Dogs

The Next Generation........


Meet Cain. He is my 5 year old son. From an early age, Cain had difficulties with some of the everyday things other children take for granted. Earlier this year, he was diagnosed with Dyspraxia, a condition caused by an immaturity of neurone development in the brain, causing an impairment or immaturity of the organisation of movement, problems of language, perception and thought. Cain spends much of his time frustrated by situations, whether they be at home, or school, and as a family, we are trying to learn about how this condition will affect Cain as he gets older, and how we can adapt to make his life easier. It is early days yet, and we are slowly finding our way. At this point, I would like to thank two very very dear friends of ours, Brian and Cerys Tyson, who without their support and encouragement, we would have perhaps given up before now, instead with their knowledge and constant guiding hand, we have had great successes, and they have given us the strength to push for the right help and right equipment for Cain. Thank you Brian and Cerys :-) Cain loves Anatolian Shepherd Dogs, from the first day he was home from hospital, he was surrounded by them. Cain's special friend is Hazine a.k.a Jazzy, she is never far from his side. Another beautiful friendship is in the making - Cain has started riding a lovely little pony called Jade I had read somewhere, and seen on the TV how children with all kinds of physical and neurological disabilities benefited greatly from interaction with animals, and in particular, ponies, so I thought I'd give it a try! Cain seems to be a natural horseman - very relaxed and completely at ease and calm with Jade. I am hoping to make their little get together a regular thing, and hopefully in time, we will see Cain benefiting from their little outings. You can find out more about Dyspraxia at http://www.dyspraxiafoundation.org.uk/index.php also, check out the site for Wheal Buller Riding Stables at http://www.cornish-riding-holidays.co.uk - treat yourself to some wonderful views in Cornwall by horseback.

The Guardian

The following was written by the Late Natalka Czartoryska of Hisar Anatolians on one of her early expoditions to Turkey:

The Guardian:

We travelled across the dusty plains of Central Turkey, in the rising heat of the mid-morning. Our two companions were already dozing in the back of the Chrysler Safari, heavily loaded with gear. The washing I had been waving out of the window had already dried in the rush of super-heated air, so I stowed it carefully, to stop it getting blown out of the car. We had gotten up before sun-up and breakfasted while the dew dried off the sleeping bags. There had been barking once or twice and a vague shadow had skirted our camp in the night. Or had we imagined it? Now we were getting as much driving done as possible before it got uncomfortably hot. In mid-summer a car parked in the sun can literally fry you, so you cannot touch it. But if you keep driving, conditions remain comfortable. My head nodded. On expeditions one catnaps whenever possible. The only one fully alert was the driver.
Summertime in the Middle East is usually very dry and one has to plan to carry sufficient water for ones needs. Every time you spot a fountain or drinking trough with clean fresh water running endlessly out of it, it is wise to stop, tip the stale hot reserve out and replenish.
Now in the distance I saw a tree, the first one that day. Interest awakened, for trees need water. Sure enough, there was a big stone trough and the ever-gushing pipe sticking out of a small wall behind it. The 'cesme', or 'spring' was alive and well, not dried up like some in mid-summer.
We stopped and blinking through the heat haze, I carried our plastic screw cap cans to the source of all life. There was a good-sized flock of fat -tailed sheep resting within the exact boundaries made by the shade of the great tree. Lucky sheep I thought, most have to stand, head down in the sun. Jam-packed they lay very still, some with open mouths, panting slightly.
Water. Crystal clear, cold, sparkling. It tasted like champagne. There is an ingenious system of wayside troughs all over Turkey, spring water captured perhaps a long way off and piped underground, out of the reach of plough, animals and frost. I filled the cans, washed my feet, poured some on my head, oh bliss. Then - on impulse quickly dipped whole self, gasping, clothes and all. I knew that by the time I got back to the car my drip-dry dress would be merely pleasantly damp. Carefully I walked along the edge, avoiding deep soft pools of dust. Glanced at the sheep again. Not a flicker of movement now, as if carved out of stone. And no shepherd anywhere. Some devil tempted me to test: what would happen if I tried to touch one? Would it abandon the shade and bolt into the sun, or sleepy, let itself be patted, or scramble over to its fellows? Carefully skirting the flock I inched nearer, choosing the one to approach. Then I felt it like a stab! A gaze fixed on me; it was like a physical blow. Where… A few heads had come up, and there - oh my! That one was not a sheep. A big dog, right in the middle of the flock was slowly uncurling. Dusty dog and dusty sheep, I had not noticed it while all were asleep. His patchy tawny and white body had blended perfectly in the dappled shade, slightly darker muzzle made him look menacing now, as did his stance. He rose slowly and gingerly started stepping over the backs of his unconcerned charges, tail coming up, back ramrod straight. A wave of admiration hit me. Here was functional beauty chiselled to perfection by countless generations of work. Those long well muscled legs looked 'built for speed', that big body would bowl you over on impact with the greatest of ease…That and more flashed through my mind, while curiously my feet, without consulting me had changed direction by reflex action. Like drawing your hand from something very hot! I was retreating as fast as my dignity would allow. Keep Calm. Do Not Run. Above all - seem unconcerned. By pretending my path was a winding one (to deliberately turn and stare would be taken as aggression) I got a glimpse of him. He sniffed the air where I had been, and looked. You could sense him thinking. I could not help admiring the splendid beast. Foremost came relief that he had not considered it necessary to pursue me further. Safely back in the car I took a good look: he still stood there, at the edge of the flock, rooted like a statue. Then he slowly eased himself to the ground and rested his head on his paws, but still staring at me, unblinking. There had been no drama, no charge, not a sound. Just a rush of adrenaline in my case. It dawned: that dog was in total control, making decisions, using his power sparingly, as the breed has done for 6000 years. 'Çoban Köpegi' or in English Anatolian Shepherd Dog. And I had been instantly, mysteriously cured of all desire to approach sheep in that land. I had met the Guardian!


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