Suddenly I found Myself

 ...unexpectedly working a Border Collie.

My three dogs are all gone, those little black collies of long-ago fame. Now, all I have is my tiny terrorist, er, terrier, Mack. His idea of work is to ignore me until he knows he has no choice.

But, hey, you never know...

The rain had finally ended, the sky had settled down.

Out to the backyard line I thought I'd go.

The table cloth was wrinkled, you could tell it at a glance.

The breeze would prolly fix that, don't cha know?

Because of doggie daycare, I had a pup along.

She likes to travel with me close in tow.

But then.....without warning....

Chickens and ducks under the bird feeder, oh, my!!!!!!

She was off in a trice, crouched low and showing lots of "eye". I hollered, "That'll do."

Hah! She paused for a second, just to let me know she'd heard, 

Then headed out again to really herd.

"Lie down!"

Nope, she was trained before we got her, but there isn't any lie down on her atall, atall.

"That'll do!"

Another pause, but she swung off, come bye, as if I'd meant that all along.

She has a nice, wide outrun anyhow. 

She knew she was wrong, and enough vocal authority brought her back to my feet, where she propped on her hinders peering over the flowerbed to see where the birdies went.

Man, did that ever take me back. I haven't worked a dog in years, and I never was terribly elegant at it. I had good dogs though, so I sometimes looked better than I was, but the credit for bulls moved and critters gathered goes entirely to them, with yours truly just along for the ride.

I have to say I loved it, that little bit of time travel. If that was my pup we'd go out and play gather up the poultry, but she's not, so I will just throw her ball for her and tell her she's a good girl.

That'll do, Jill, that'll do.

Mike, Nick, and Gael, BITD

Brandy and the Squeegee Men

Brandy and the Chevy

He was a rescue in the truest sense of the word, about to be put down the very day I persuaded my boss to let me have him. 

I guess he rescued me as well. Every college girl should have a fierce yellow dog to keep her safe from harm.

The wild little fellow had been brought into the animal hospital where I worked with claims that he had "fallen down the stairs."

Kicked down the stairs was more like it. The veterinarian I worked for put a pin in his broken leg, put all the other broken, twisted pieces back together and sent for the owners. They never returned. The teenaged pup was messy and barky and kind of snappy so his fate was sealed. Until I begged so long and hard to have him.

He was one of the best two dogs I ever had. I took him everywhere I went, college, visiting, out at night, every single place. He was not popular with some, beloved by others. Stole ham, learned to climb ladders, dig when and where directed, and tops in his obedience class. He never saw a ball, stick, or Frisbee he didn't want to chase. 

He would not let anyone he didn't know touch me or my truck. To reach for the door handle was to trigger a display of gnashing teeth and fierce snarling and slavering at the window that would back pretty much anyone right straight down. Came in handy now and then.

It was the early 70s. My Chevy pick up was the best vehicle among us so off we went to the Big Apple to buy cheap textbooks.

There is not much about that city that appeals to me and in those years it was even more lawless than now. Scary stuff was commonplace.

Cramped in traffic on a back block off the mainstream streets, the truck was overrun by squeegee men. They climbed all over all the cars and trucks, grinning and slapping dirty rags on windshields. Being a child of the boondocks I was terrified. The boys were just disgruntled, because, yeah, there were quite a few of us crammed in that cab. College kids and all, you know.

Did I mention that I was a strong proponent of love me, love my dog? And that he agreed? Thus even NYC was his oyster. 

A leering face loomed over our window as a nasty rag slopped some nameless substance across it. Several tattered men clambered up on the truck from all sides. We were stopped whether we wanted to be or not. Yikes!

Up from the floor, where he had been stuffed among the feet, came a screaming  fur missile. 

Teeth slammed the inside of the windshield, nom, nom, nom, while paws scrabbled for purchase on the dash. Drool flew.

It was awesome. He was only a 35-pound fluffy yellow mutt, but Brandy was a mighty fierce boy. 

Squeegee men tumbled off the truck as if they had received a terrible shock.

Which I suppose they had.

We grabbed a green light and hustled to Barnes and Noble, where we parked illegally and bought a lot of books. 

I won't call it fun exactly but it sure was an adventure.

And every time I see a headline about the new onslaught of unwanted car detailers these days, I remember that bright golden dog. What a good boi he was. 

I Should have Known Better

Jack Russell Terriers come straight from the factory with the recall button replaced by the enthusiasm pump. They are enthusiastic about everything from yellow snow to green cow poo. However, they are selectively deaf and only know their names if there is a treat involved. That they grab quick and run away.

But still. I can sometimes get away with letting Mack run loose for a few minutes when the snow is deep and the temperature is low. Those dangly bits are pretty close to the ground and all.

This morning I was trying to write. I get paid to write...at least sometimes....and I was really into it.

The dogs decided they needed to go out.

Again.

So I put the leash on Finn...much more fur and higher off the ground...and let the little one run.

Great plan.

He instantly vanished. But for the highways nearby I would have let him. However, I didn't want to ruin anyone's day by putting him in their path. Otherwise he would eventually get cold and come barking at the door.

Instead I heard him barking down by the heifer barn. Tracks said there was also a cat. We have no cats, but evidently one has us. He was alternately barking at a hole the snow and jumping the fence to run down the hill.

I tried to lure him closer with a cough drop. Alas, although he is a greedy dog,  he is not stupid.

The cough drop was a fail.

The whole deal was a fail. I had on crocs without socks. Adequate to stand in the shoveled path with dogs. Not so much in ankle deep snow. 

The little creep kept coming back to check out the cough drop just in case it had somehow morphed into a sirloin steak, but alas, it was still just cherry and menthol. 

I knew I HAD to get my hands on him before he headed down to the road. He has no car sense atall...well actually no any kind of sense atall but...

There in a tree on the other side of the fence in deep, deep snow was a duck skin. See that weasel I wrote about a couple months ago got in the barn and killed all but a couple of my very favorite poultry...the Call Ducks. Evidently something had made off with a skin and left it dangling.

I climbed up the bank and leaned way, way out over the waist-deep snow and managed after several tries to get my hands on the flimsy scrap of feathers, lamenting the late duck as I did so. I really loved those ducks. Quacky little sillies all noise and flutter....

Then I basically fell off the bank into the barnyard.

I shook the thing at the dog. 

He was on it in a flash and I was on him even quicker. I lugged him back up to the house on frozen feet, while he wagged and smiled and was happy as a pig in mud. 

He is in his crate now contemplating the error of his ways (letting me catch him before he caught the cat and ate the duck skin) while my feet thaw and a second cup of coffee soothes this savage beast. Dogs...ya gotta love 'em. Sometimes more than others.

Hi

I'm Finn

Normal

Talking on the phone with my baby brother. On the mend enough to laugh a bit, if still weaker than a kitten and dizzy and all that stuff.

In comes the boss and writes me a note. There is a white chicken on the bridge and it won't let him cross with the skid steer. He needs to get it over there to plug it in so its cold-blooded engine will start in the morning. 

But the chicken says, "Thou Shall Not Pass."

The boss wants to know if I know anything about the chicken. Having been in bed for several days I don't know anything about anything, so I send him to Becky to call Liz to find out about yon chicken.

I won't repeat the response, because it was profane and didn't auger well for the bird's future. 

However, when he went back outside it was gone anyhow. 

Then came the dog. Mack is such a heinous little Hell hound that I really can't let him loose in the kitchen unless I watch him very closely. I felt sorry for him, having been crated a lot the past few days of my illness, so I had him on a leash, upon which I was sitting, while I tried to talk to my brother.

In between, I was untangling him from the chair...the dog, not the brother...and giving him a little more slack to get the ball he just rolled out of his reach.

Suddenly I glanced down and rapidly excused myself to bro. There was a fat green caterpillar rummaging around the floor dragging a chair. See, Liz puts up an old green sheet between my two dogs' crates and Ren when she passes, because to say that they loathe each other would be to put it kindly.

Mack had wound himself up in the sheet until he was completely covered, no head, no tail, etc., but unperturbed was chasing his ball around, dragging the chair that it had hung on.

He was so entangled that it was a challenge to get him out, but honey badger...or Jack Russell don't care.....

 It's a wonder anyone ever calls me.

Air Dog

Song for a Minus One Friday

Finnbar the hairy sheepdog

Had a very curly coat

And if you ever saw him

You would think he was a goat.

All of the other sheepdogs

Used to laugh and call him names

They never let poor Finnbar

Join in any sheepdog games

Then one foggy Christmas Eve

The shepherd came to say

Finnbar with your hair so tight

Won't you find my ewes tonight?

Then all the sheepdogs loved him

As they shouted out with glee

Finnbar the hairy sheepdog

You'll go out instead of me!

I was Never One

Biscuit required to get him to be still for a moment

To dress up dollies, or even to play with them unless they could somehow be coaxed to ride plastic horses or sit in toy cars that we ran down the tilted side rail of an old bed in order to crash them better.....(Barbie had it tough at our house)....

Undaunted, he eats the stove for dessert

Now I find myself dressing a DOG!!!

But is cold and he shivers so. And he loves his new jacket that Becky bought him.

And speaking of girls who play with toy horses.....do turn up your sound to hear the training instructions.

I have a Confession to Make

See these guys? Back in the day I had dogs that would put them right in your lap if you so desired, and sometimes even if you didn't desire. Mike would work the worst bulls and meanest cows we had...except number 171, who had it in for him...and he did the best he could with her. We had dogs that got 'er done. Even Gael, who was pretty much a wienie, at least wanted to work, and tried her darnedest.

However this guy.....this cute, fluffy, nicely housebroken little leg breaker....butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and all, but he will knock you over in a heartbeat.

Yeah, he is scared spitless of them. Good thing I don't need a good stockdog, because I sure don't have one.

National Dog Day

The Fairy Wogdog

Is no relation to either of ours....

Yesterday Mack laid a good one on me. Of course I should have known that a Jack Russell terrier would have guts of granite and a constitution to match, but I am used to Border Collies.

They are much more tender.

Anyhow, each morning I have been taking Fin out on a leash and letting Mack run loose...in order that neither be inside barking while I walked the other, in deference to the night shift. They have a great time mauling each other.

I think it will be a long time before I can trust them together though. Mack loves the pup, but he is so darned fierce. I fear he might hurt him without meaning to.

Then I bring Fin inside to have his breakfast and leave Mack out to hunt rats. Yesterday he was most successful....except that his chosen prey was the lovely carcass of a deceased chicken.

A long deceased chicken. Bones, feathers and decay.

Or actually, upon further research, two of them. I think he found them up under the small chicken coop, which is vacant because something...probably rats....was killing the teenaged chickens there.

Guess the clean up crew missed a couple.

I did not discover the crime until AFTER I had given Mack his breakfast. He was bulging in an interesting fashion and looked as if he might soon pup a nice litter.

Then all day long he ate newspapers. This is not normal for him. I guess he wanted to pad the bone ends or something. I worried, as worrywarts are prone to do. We had just finished getting the other pup over some typical Border Collie tummy troubles. Just what I needed.

However, this morning the signs of pregnancy have subsided and he seems to be his usual obnoxious and overbearing self, barking at something or other and tearing around like a wild man....btw, Jade went back on days and the darned dog is back on his cable....bark away, buddy, bark away....

Me, on the other hand....at least ten new grey hairs.....see, right here.....

Why Yes,

As a matter of fact, I AM in the toy box with all the toys...

Who wouldn't be?

We are really great buddies.....

You work with what you got

Prior to the knee I had a reasonable routine worked out....for doggies that is.

First thing in the AM, walk the pup on a leash and put Mack up in back on his running cable. Let him exercise on the cable until the sun got warm, bring him in, leash walk him at noon, and put him back out there when it got cool later in the day...

It worked for everyone. I don't let him loose with Fin because he has such a tremendous prey drive that I'm afraid he'll kill him.

Enter the knee. Just one trip up the muddy slope to the backyard laid me right up. Thus I now walk the pup, crate him, and just let Mack outside loose. He is such a hunter.... he peruses the yard and barnyard for vermin at warp speed. He has a lot of fun and it's fun to watch him at it.

This morning all was in place. I was washing dishes and keeping half an eye out the window for him. He was hunting under the horse trailer.......when an all too familiar scent wafted in the open door.

Oh, crepes! Not that!

I quickly crated the little guy, closed the doors, which were propped open, and went out to assess the damage. Plans whirled through my head of how Mack was going to have a nice vacation over in the cow barn...in solitary...

For a week at least. Or two. A month. Or two. A year....you get my drift.

I was getting some drift too, and it sure didn't smell good out there in the yard. My heart was down at my knees. I was all clean and showered, nice fresh clothes and all, and now I had to catch my dog......who was certainly neither clean, nor freshly showered, and probably not smelling of roses and daffodils either.

I called. Called again. "Here Mack."

And he came, bustling up like a good boy.

Covered with mud, panting and soggy with dew, but smelling only of muddy dog. I don't know what riled the skunk, or where it is, or anything else about it.... But at least he didn't get the dog....and that's what counts.

Alas, I obviously now have to cook up a new knee-saving morning  routine, as, if there is a skunk out there, probably Mack should not be hunting off leash.

Dagnabbit.

BTW I discovered, much to my surprise, that he comes when I blow my shepherd's whistle just like the old BCs did. Which is handy.

Finnbar

All the young people who promised so vociferously to aid in walking and so on will be held to those promises......because you talked me into it...you really did.

Carpe Canem

Ren and the Not Ren

What a day yesterday was. I love May anyhow..... trying to cram as much into every day as I can. Yesterday was a little over the top though....

I had just finished hanging some sheets on the line and stopped to weed the new flower bed  when I heard a sound behind me. 

I turned to look, and there was a tall, golden, dog, standing under the big spruce, and pausing to look around as if confused.....

Speaking of confused...for a minute I thought it was Ren, the kids' dog. Her daytime kennel run is right where this dog had just come from and it looked so much like her.

I called, tentatively......"Ren?"

And the dog jogged away on long, loping legs, like a cheetah on the Serengeti. 

Not Ren.

It was a tall, lean dog and looked wild, every rib an anatomy lesson. It was tattered and battered and torn, but it did and still does look familiar, as if maybe it has been in a Facebook lost dog post at sometime. I followed it hoping to get a pic with my phone but it was just gone.

I posted a description on FB and told the family to BOLO.

When the boss came home it was back, trying to drink from the garden pond. Alan went out to see it and it cornered itself right in the horse yard with Sunny. Not a good plan as the latter is no fan of dogs. Thus Becky put Sunny in the barn and Ren in the house, and Alan gave the wild dog water and a can of food. Loved the water; spurned the food.

He couldn't get closer than 20 feet or so from it, as it trotted and loped nervously up and down the fence. The horse yard is fenced with page wire and cattle panel, so the gate is the only easy ingress and egress. We stood at the gate so it wouldn't leave.

Our local dog warden was called and said he would be right down to pick it up. Thus began one of the coolest things I have ever seen. 

That nice young man spent at least an hour....probably more like over two....patiently talking to the dog, cajoling it with treats and creeping up on it, crouched on his haunches. He covered that yard over and over again, hunkered down at dog height, gently offering friendship, trust, and food to the poor animal.

Talk about a dog whisperer. 

The warden discovered that someone, at sometime, had taught it to sit on command and got it to do so. It wanted to let him touch it so badly, desperately, wagging the tip of its twisted, loopy, tail in a tiny, wistful flutter. It couldn't seem to surrender its safety to someone it didn't know..... it was just too terrified

Then finally, almost suddenly, the loop of the leash was around its neck. As so very often happens with free-running formerly pet dogs, it instantly seemed to sigh with relief and turn from feral wild thing to somebody's lost pet. It trotted calmly beside him down to the truck, and when he patted the tailgate it tried to jump up in the back of the truck.....

How I hope there is a good ending to this story. The dog was taken, I believe, to Ayers Memorial Animal Shelter where it will be evaluated and cared for. Hopefully someone will get all the ticks off and feed its bony body and treat its paws, which were worn and torn right down to bloody flesh and nubs of nails.

Hopefully some caring someone just lost it, rather than discarded it to find its own way, and there will be a happy reunion.

At any rate, we will surely be watching to see what happens. I already was following the shelter on Facebook....now I will make a point of it.

Mad props to Brian Alling, our town warden on a job very well done. 

Good wishes to the poor nameless boy...he looked like a George to me.....I hope it all turns out well for him.

Update:  Owner has been found. Not George, but "Red" will be going to his home ....and how happy we are!

Safer now......

Sproing

Spring is springing up all around us. From parrot tulips the kids bought me last fall to Robins nesting everywhere, including places we would prefer they had left alone.

It's all good. Had a nice Mother's Day trip to Cabela's, which is where we found  a toy...finally..that Mack can't destroy. 

At least so far.

 A nice lady clerk told us that she had bought one for her dog, but dogs couldn't make the squeaker in it work. Too complicated because you have to turn it on its side to activate the noisy part.

I told her I had a Jack Russell Terrier. They can do anything they want to.

She said, "No, I have one too, and he can't work it". Although Mack loves noisy toys and squeaks and honks them all early and often, I did wonder why someone would be concerned about a JRT not being noisy.

Anyhow......

Guess how long it took Mack to squeak it....

Yeah, half a lap around the kitchen table and it was going. He loves it and plays with it by the hour. Honky, honky, squeak, squeak, squawk.

Let's Have some Fun