Ron Hevener
(Speaking at a National Specialty, black-tie dinner)

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at a show and someone comes up to me saying “This is probably the last time you’re going to see me, Mr. Hevener.” By now, you would think I can tell the signs, but, no. I always ask: why? Is something wrong?

“I can’t go on, “ they say, and I think of a thousand things that might be wrong. We are a community, a loosely-knit but very loyal network of kindred souls who have selected a particular kind of animal with which to identify. There may not be complete truth in us physically resembling our animals of choice, but on some other level, I’ve always sensed it to be true. What’s wrong with my friend? Why must we say good-bye?

“The Breed’s ruined.” I stand very still, waiting to know why. If the breed is ruined, how is it that invariably, standing by their side, is the most beautiful specimen of their Breed that I’ve ever seen. I see an animal of quality and class, loved and honored by the one who has just said “The Breed is ruined.”

How can that be? I ask. Your dog is a living tribute to its standard.

This doesn’t mean I always know what the standard is. I’m not a judge or an expert, but I have worked with many, many different domestic and wild animals in my career as an artist. If I have any sense of natural balance or a feel for what makes a good dog, it’s more from that kind of experience than from anything else. Granted, I’ve raised, trained and competed with my own dogs – designing their pedigrees, and experimenting with all kinds of nutrition, housing, you name it. My studio is filled with paintings, books and sculptures of all kinds of dogs. But, knowing what they look like isn’t the same as knowing a Breed as one comes to know it when that Breed is their life and their passion.

I sense the depth of feeling, the sorrow and hopelessness in my friend. No, we often aren’t friends in the way of TV shows where all the characters are finding their way through life and neatly wrapping up their adventures in twenty minutes if you don’t count commercials. But, I am there to meet people and to treat them with respect. So, I listen.

Usually, it is someone who has been in the Breed for many years. So, often, I’ll think they are struggling with the future of their kennel. What will happen to the dogs after I’m gone? What about the breeding program I’ve built up for so many generations? What about the property and my kennel’s reputation? Does anyone really care?

These are valid questions and I know why they might ask me such things. After all, my own Lochranza Kennels was inherited from the woman who started it and I was able to keep her dream alive. I do know something about what is possible in that regard. But, that isn’t foremost on the mind of the one talking with me now.

“I can’t believe the kind of dogs that are winning now. They just don’t fit the standard any more.”

Well, all of us know that written standards are interpreted differently by just about anyone who reads them, or so it seems. Even an illustration doesn’t always make things “perfectly clear.” (Did I sound like Nixon when I said that)? For some people, they only make it more confusing. So, here is what I say to them.

“My friend, you’ve been in the Breed a long time and this is the breed you love. You’ve devoted your heart, your mind and your soul to your animals and you’ve given them the very best you can. You’ve brought them into the world, kept them alive and they’ve done the same for you. Look at you right now: here you are, seeing people, sharing ideas, getting around. You’re not sitting at home, with the doors locked, eating your sorrows away. What would happen to the Breed if you drop out?

“They wouldn’t miss me.”

“I didn’t ask what would happen to the people, I asked what would happen to your breed.”

Silence.

There’s a difference, I explain. People come and go … but your breed is a much greater creation than any of us.

At this point, our conversation has entered a new dimension and everything around us fades away. It’s just us, talking in a way that not many of us get a chance to do. “You and I are caretakers,” I explain. “Stewards. And our responsibility is to care for our breed of choice and pass it along to the next generation of caretakers after us. It’s kind of like a bee hive,” I say. “There are thousands of individual bees, but the hive, itself, has a consciousness. An identity of its own.”

Not everyone grasps this concept, but I’m hoping my friend can understand that we do not own a Breed of animal. Our role is to improve it, preserve it and see that it continues.

“But I can’t win any more.”

“So what?” I say, to their shock. “You can still enter your dog in the show can’t you?”

“Well …” and I can tell by now that they think I’ve completely gone insane.

“All that matters,” I say, is for you to stand your ground. “Purebred animals are part of the fashion world. When I started as an artist all those years ago, you’re right. Animals really did look different than they do today. Dogs at that time looked different than the ones before them. But, fashion has a way of swinging back and forth, like a pendulum. And the dog fancy is no different.”

That’s my chance to tell them about the cattle business. Cows? Mr. Hevener, what do cows have to do with my dogs? Not a lot, I say. Unless you consider genetics.

Years ago, I had a wonderful herd of Black Angus cattle. They were bad and knew all the tricks and they were always getting out of my pastures and running off to visit the neighbors. I met a lot of other farmers that way and one of them told me to make up my mind what type of beef cattle I wanted to raise and to stick with it. This was at a time when compact, small beef cattle were the rage. So it might give some of you an idea how long ago that really was.

Well, he told me that when the compact style came into fashion, everybody sold off their big, rangy, tall cattle – except for him. He just couldn’t bring himself to part with those cows of his, that he had raised from calves and named so lovingly. “I wasn’t going to sell Bessie, no matter what they told me.”

What happened? “Well, for a while, nobody bought any calves from me and I thought I’d go out of business. So, I just kind of did my own thing. But in about ten or twenty years, it turned out everybody decided big cows were better – and I was the only one who had any left!”

Believe in your concept, your breeding plan, your picture, your dream. As long as you’ve got them on, no one else can fill your shoes. If you love your Breed, keep your hand in the game and stand your ground. That farmer did. He took a gamble, didn’t fold and run – and ended up with the most valuable herd around.

QUESTIONS FROM THE FLOOR:

Q: I agree with what you say about bloodlines. But, what about breed standards, people breeding dogs smaller or bigger than what the Standard calls for?

RH: As a designer, I can tell you it makes it hard to please everybody. I know you can’t always tell the size of a dog from a figurine or a painting. But, there are other things that definitely change just like other fashion trends. Things like grooming, new varieties of the same Breed, new colors. It’s a constantly changing thing and almost impossible to keep up with. But, that makes it exciting, too!

Q: Are you a poker player?

RH: (Surprised by the question) I don’t like to lose! So, I guess my answer would be, no. But, I do gamble on my horses and my dogs.

Q: Do you see yourself having show dogs for the rest of your life?

RH: That’s an odd question. I’m in the prime of my life. What have you people been drinking?

Q: Answer the question!

RH: Well, I certainly plan to be part of the dog show scene for a long time. But, I don’t know what God has in store for me. You think those old cows of mine are mooing at the Pearly Gates?

Q: Could be!

RH: (Grinning) Well, somebody should tell them I’m no angel.