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Dogue de Bordeaux & French bulldog

Welcome to family Špehar's kennel, BordoMax. During all this years of breeding experience in our home were born lots of Dogue de Bordeaux and French bulldog babbies. That moment when puppy come to life is one of the most beautifull moments of breeding. Our babies and mother are under all day and night supervision from mr.Zdravko Špehar, kennel owner. He is also providing life time support to all owners of our babies. We never forgot our babies and they are always welcome in our home..also like all other dog lovers. Our dogs makes happier lots of homes in Croatia and all over the world. That is the best reward for all of our efford

We decided to share with you all of our great experience by starting first web site in south east Europe about Dogue de Bordeaux at 1996. This redesigned, third editon, of our site is extended by one more breed, French bulldog. They are really special, on their own way. 
This site is here for you and we hope that your visit will be usefull and enjoyable.

Suzana & Zdravko Špehar

Your dog doesn't know that you are evil or jelaous or greedy. He encourages you to be good and when you listen to him, he loves you.

Sir James Walpole

 

 

 

 

CH EVALAND OSTEEN BEST OF GROUP III



Requiescat in pace

Posjedovao je ljepotu lišenu taštine , snagu , ali ne i drskost , hrabrost , no ne i okrutnost

i sve vrline čovjeka bez njegovih poroka .

 

Spomenik Boatswainu , psu Lorda Byrona

 

Epitaph to a Dog

Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18th, 1808


When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on – it honours none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one -- and here he lies