Sometimes you end up in shit you didn’t plan on. You go to get a pup from a top breeder. He says. You want a pair for the price of one. Um. Yea. I’ll figure something out. They’re a breeding pair. Bred how you like. You get them. Then start working them. See their personalities. They stick each other. Now you got pups off a top breeder. From a yard starter breeding pair. You raise the litter. You can tell who the best are within a few weeks. You choose pups with various traits of each parent. This is step one of a yard and you live in a subdivision. You don’t want them outside to get stolen or bark and give neighbors reasons to call ac on you. So you have four with divided time in the house realizing you need to move. You love these crazy funny violent ass mf like kids. You get broke. People deep in dogs want you to sell your pups because they know you have an eye for them. You would rather put a bullet in each of their heads and move to the mission than sell your dogs to people that would roll them and not give them the aftercare they need. Girls tell you get rid of the dogs or we can’t date. You keep your murder dogs. No girl. It’s not ideal. We are in. I know two breedings I need to make. And which pup I need to find to build wings of the yard specializing in traits. You still live in a county that hates pits. They tolerate them because they don’t bark, you pick up your poop, they aren’t outside on chains. I have already thought of four breedings and three generations of dogs. That female is a foundation female and her daughter is the foundation of the speed wing of the family.