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There's a revealing of peace when your dog is at ease A feeling of unrest when Mr K9 is pressed A flow of joy when a son is born Unending laughters when you receive five daughters You're in pain for his gain, in distraught for her comfort Shielding them from sickness, freeing them for distress They go for blood, you go for bloodline The best you spot, and bring them to the spotlight Not by weighting or sizing, nor by their falling or rising For the normal eye can't see the might you site Cos blood is thicker than bloods And a breeders heart deeper than words And your horizon spans beyond the sun At your choice the novice will be dazed But when your chosen is appraised, hands will be raised For your ways are not on daily bread but a future ahead The path you lead, only your clone can take your stead The heart of Breeder is spotless, his love is flawless I wish to be like you.  God see me through ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ IJIN-LOLU KENNELS

FOUR CARDINAL POINTS: The Breeder, Marketer, Miller, and Hawker. It's funny how the influence of the pup Miller mentality is persistent in our culture of rearing dogs. We understand the dictionary definition and we find it very easy to assume the positions of breeders when In fact our manner of rearing dogs connotes  that of a Miller. A multitude of questions have risen concerning this subject matter.  Should a breeder have little or no interest in making profit?  Can't a Miller who rears only pure dogs be called a breeder? The real problem isn't the distinction between the breeder and the Miller. The problem is between the Miller and the dog hawker. Many times millers are also hawkers but dog hawking is not a feature of a Miller.  A hawker is someone who can sell of any dog as any breed for any price.  The sole aim is profit and they'll willingly do it to the detriment of the consumers. A good miller would rear good and healthy dogs, at times even go to the extent of h

I began my day with a hopeful prayer, "Lord, bless my hustle." After a morning push-start, my taxi was back on the road. A kind passenger, impressed by my English, offered a gentle peck on the cheek and a promise to see me again. Elated, I cruised through the streets, exchanging warm greetings with passersby. But my joy was short-lived. A young police officer waved me down, his stern face a stark contrast to my cheerful mood. "You're under arrest!" he barked, without explanation. My heart racing, I wondered what I'd done wrong. Had it been the bribes, overspeeding, or broken traffic rules? Or was it the curfew-busting charter the previous night, transporting three suspicious passengers reeking of weed? Panic set in as we approached the police headquarters. But just shy of our destination, the officer's tone shifted. "Stop!" he ordered, then surprisingly offered a warning: "Don't do it again, or you'll face jail without trial."

My stem's planted firmly where I am allotted. My tail is wavy and my face is quite blotted. I relay much emotion though flatly I'm spotted, And I grow half my size whenever I'm dotted. I can speak any language, yet utter no words. I'm no seed, yet I am well known among birds. But I do have a speech impediment: I can say cage but not page, aged but not wage. I can say deaf but not red, bed but not sled. I live on a highway that's structurally sound, Where you might see my friends accidentally bound. It has many lanes, and also long lines. There are lots of sharp turns, but plenty of signs. I am played but not won, made but not spun. The key is to measure before you've begun. What am I?

(The scene unfolds in a cozy parlor. The Father sits, reading a newspaper, while his PA stands by.) Oyin, the daughter, enters, engrossed in a phone call. Oyin: (frustrated) ...because of this fuel nonsense, I couldn't make it... (listens) What?! Dollar's skyrocketed! (pauses, glancing at her dying phone) Battery's almost dead... No light for three days. (bitterly) I'm leaving this country before it kills me. She ends the call and greets her father. Father: How are you, Oyin? Oyin: (forced smile) Fine, Dad... Just fine. (Tyson, the first son, enters, receiving a call.) Tyson: (nonchalant) True man, inflation's no big deal... We'll survive. (His phone dies." Tyson: (laughs) Battery mi fe ku! Light'll come. He greets his father. Father: How are you, Tyson? Tyson: (briefly) Awesome, Dad. Perfectly great. (Noah, the last son, enters on a call." Noah: (concerned) ...Yes, her medical condition worsened due to hospital power outages... Naira's drop hi