Other People’s Dogs

In going through journals number 28 and 29 I find several entries about dogs.  They need to be brought together into one place.   Today I told my sister, Ellen, that I generally never like other people's dogs, but that her little "Jade" and Adam's "Sam" are exceptions.  They're the only two dogs that I like.  Maybe these stories have something to do with my feelings about all the rest.

Richie

Working cow dogs are something that no cattleman would be without.  "A good dog's worth 10 men," is an oft-voiced sentiment in cow country.

"Working cow dog" means that the dog works the men.  It takes 10 of them to control a "good" dog.

Just about all the ranchers around here have a blind spot where dogs are concerned.  A rancher can be perfectly sensible about everything else, but is unable to see and assess the extra work and lung power his cowdog costs him.

Most of these cowdogs are known variously as dingos and blue heelers.  They're called cowdogs, not because they're trained to work and herd cows (none are), but because they have fixations on bovines.

Some nip heels—every heel in sight.  Hence the name blue heeler.  Others prefer noses.  Still others go for the tail and relish holding on for a ride until the hairy whip comes off.  All blue heelers instinctively know that their proper station is the gateway through which the cow or herd is to be driven.  This has the intended effect of prolonging the fun.

It has the effect (also intended) of stirring cowboys up to fever pitch.  Shouting increases, the cattle get excited, and if properly handled, the operation can be extended for twice as long as it would normally take.

Dogs aren't dumb.  Their only mental limitations are in knowing when their handlers have been pushed far enough.  No blue heeler has figured out where far enough is.

Richie has a blue heeler.  He's had a long succession of them.  He currently has a pup in training.  Its predecessor, a true "working cowdog," worked Richie into fever pitch until he snapped one day.

Matt was treated to a scene that is vividly etched into his memory.  It is of Richie, a big man, hunched over the handlebars of his motorcycle, the throttle wide open, racing through a field and over ditches, with no abatement of speed, chasing his dog.  "The dog was a blue blur, racing for the house," he said.  "Right on his heels was Richie, leaving another blue streak behind him," (of words).

Taz and Cindy

Neighbor, Duane, and daughter, Holly, have had a long succession of blue heelers.  Taz might qualify as the worst.

"Holly, you have a worthless dog," my son, Adam, told her.  "It's caused us two hours of extra work.  If it was my dog, I'd shoot it!"

But Duane and Holly loved Taz.  Most of the time.  They loved him whenever they weren't working cows.  There were times every day, though, when they had to be with the cows.  There were times every day when Taz wasn't popular.

On the feed grounds it was his duty to harass the cow with the newborn calf.  Duane wasn't happy with Taz as the entire herd went into a bawling frenzy to rid the field of the danger.  Away toward the tractor ran Taz with the herd in pursuit.  Duane opened the cab door.  Up the ladder, and into the cab scrambled Taz, right onto the tractor's controls.

"The tractor was doing funny things," Adam said, "until Duane picked Taz up and threw him to the other side of the cab."

Alas, Taz came up missing one day.  Posters went up and ads went out offering a $100 reward for information leading to his recovery.  Taz was an ill-tempered dog, so, thankfully, he never turned up.

However, someone hoping to claim the reward reported an obviously homeless blue heeler in town.  Duane and Holly went to check it out.  The dog was a female with an appealing personality.  Holly immediately dubbed her "Cindy," and took her home.

Judging by the facts that Cindy was found at the truck stop and knew how to climb up into the cab of the tractor, it was guessed that Cindy had been a trucker's dog.  It was very likely that she'd never seen a cow before in her life, but no coach was necessary to teach her how to be a cowdog.

I helped Duane work cows on Cindy's first day at the ranch.  We got the cows corralled with no problem.  Where Cindy was during that phase, I don't know.  But phase two required cutting off small groups of cows and putting them in a pen to be run up the chute.  There, in the gateway, Cindy took up her position.  She was a quick learner.

I am, too.  I'd been through this before when helping other neighbors.  I trotted out my remedy.  "You can have me help you work cows, or you can have your dog; but you can't have both," I gently told them.

Cindy was put on a leash and into Holly's care.  I'd gotten rid of the dog's help, but in doing so I'd also lost Holly's.  She was no longer available to ram the pole in behind the cows in the chute.

Straining to hold the cows, I shouted, "Put in the pole!"  While continuing to strain and shout, I watched with interest as Holly wrestled with the dog on the leash.  It was a two-handed job.  Holly wasn't able to drag the lunging, leaping dog close enough to touch the pole, let alone find a hand to lift it.

A novel idea occurred to me (obvious to some, but novel to most cattlemen).  I locked Cindy in a shed.  The rest of the operation went smoothly.

The next operation wasn't so smooth.  On a subsequent day Duane was working with a cow and her new calf in the barn when Cindy took a pass at the cow.  The cow exploded.  Cindy made a quick exit.  The cow went for Duane, knocked him down, and proceeded to blow snot all over him while dancing on his leg.  The leg swelled, then went purple, then hard, and took several months and several hundred dollars to heal.

At last report Cindy is still around.  "Just about all the ranchers around here have a blind spot where dogs are concerned," Adam says.  "Duane is sensible about everything except his dogs."

Various Dogs

We had a tragedy here.  Mary Stevenson Turner came to visit Amy.  She brought her two little girls and her dog.  I wish that people would leave their dogs at home.  This one killed our little fawn.

A couple of weeks ago Margie's cousin, Janine, and husband came to visit.  They had their beloved traveling companion, a dog, along with them.  It nipped both Jamie and Kami.

Wesley Kerns' dogs put Adam out of the pheasant business when they came with Wesley, and ripped through the netting to get at the pheasant chicks.—We're also out of the chicken business because Bardizian's dogs got loose and came visiting last year.—The Owens came to visit the Farbers, and brought their dog which was chasing the chickens.  Katie told them to put it in the car.  They did so, but shortly thereafter she saw it after the chickens again.  Emery was standing there smiling and chuckling because he had cleverly let the dog out again.  I dislike other people's dogs, and I wish they'd leave them at home.

$23,000

Leona Hayhurst's dog just got out of the hospital.  Margie jokingly asked Ed whether they had health insurance for the pet.  He chuckled and said that a lady he works with just added up the medical expenses she's paid out for her two dogs.  It came to over $23,000!!!