endofblackboxer

Here is the Chapter titled “THE END OF THE BLACK BOXER” in its entirety as written by Friederun straight from the book in my possession titled:

THE END OF THE BLACK BOXER
BY FRIEDERUN STOCKMANN
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY ERIC FITCH DAGLISH 1968

In the autumn of 1918 my husband once again had leave. He was to take reinforcement to the front line, but it never came to that. The collapse of our forces everywhere brought the war to an end. Conditions at the time of the collapse were not so good, but everyone began to breathe more easily. Peace, however bad, is always better than war and we were determined to shake off the depressions of the last four years. We wanted to do everything anew and to do better than ever before.
Munich began to prepare for a new show. My old Rolf had come home. Though he was eleven years old he looked well after his war duties. He was noble and lean, with not an ounce too much fat, and his head was still clean and fine. Only his daughter Rassel had a skull like his. But he was tired, like an old man who had seen the grimness of war and grown weary of life.
I had special hopes for this dog show. I entered Ulla and Utter as I wanted to show two superb black specimens. The only competition I feared was from the fawn males. To make sure, I entered Rolf in the open class for brindles. Utter was entered in the same class. Altogether there were seven dogs bred by me. When I opened the catalogue I saw straight away that Rolf and Utter were the only two entries in their class. If I did not show Rolf, then Utter must get the first prize and therefore win the title of Champion. Utter was such a nice animal that first place could not be denied him and with this the blacks would have won a unique victory. All the same I had an uneasy feeling about it.
The fawns, always first in the ring, began to show. They were poor specimens with nothing of their bygone spendour. They were headed by a grandson of Milo, Alexander von Deutenkoven, a promising young dog that unfortunately vanished from the breed without sireing any progeny. He was followed by a Milo son, also a war veteran, and in third place stood the old winner Rino von der Elbe. At one time Rino had been Milo’s strongest rival. His former owner had been an Englishman who would not have sold the dog at any price, but at the beginning of the war when he left Germany he was forced to leave the dog behind. Now the dog stood in the ring, old and worn out, a mere shadow of his former self. The judge wrote in his critique: “Still an outstanding dog for his age. Just as he had once been beaten by Champion Milo, so today he had to give way to his son.”
Then came the brindles. I fetched Utter and entered as the only one in the ring. The atmosphere was not pleasant. At the time I did not know that the judge had accepted the judging appointment on the strict condition that no first awards were to be made to black Boxers. I only learned that much later. There were many onlookers and Utter clearly made a great impression on all except the breeders. This strong dog with his white markings and white neckband showed himself beautifully. However, the Munich breeders received him in icy silence.
All eyes were on the judge and I sensed he felt the atmosphere too. He came over and told me that he liked Utter’s size, his beauty, although his back was a bit long, but his head was typical and noble. He could not pass the colour, however. In his opinion, to get first prize the dog should be all black and at this was not the case, the first prize must be withdrawn. At that moment I could not take in the judge’s remarks, for in those days there was no colour definition.
At first I did not want to return to the ring with Rolf. But should I take away the last win from my old, true companion? So I brought in Rolf and he got the first prize with the mark “first class” and his fifth championship title. In his critique the judge wrote only: “Still the beautiful Rolf.” To emphasize his decision, the judge withdrew the second prize too and gave Utter the third prize with the mark “very good”. In his critique he wrote” “For the lovers of the black colour, a very nice dog, but he will never have success at a show.” So I got my reprimand. I had lost all along the line, not because my breeding was not good enough. No, because the judging had been unfair and unsporting. It was not much of a consolation that Rassel got her champion title that day. Her half-sister Morna vom Dom followed her, and in third place came the little black Ulla, and the mark “excellent” could not be denied her. People do not change. Even long years of war cannot alter them. In those days surely there were more important matters for attention than vehement disputes about black or white colorations? Agreed, the white colour had to be suppressed in case it got the upper hand. But there was no reason to sign the death warrant of the black strain. Maybe I could have done something had I really tried, but the ways and means of such discussions were abhorrent to my nature, and in any case it soon became clear to me that more was at stake in the country than the colour of Boxers. The after war years were almost as bad as the war itself. Germany was near collapse and hundreds of thousands of livelihoods were in danger. We too had to decide. Should we change our life and would it not be better to give up the dogs?