Farm Dogs
Her name was Nellie. She was a Border Collie. But not just any Border Collie. She was the best sheep dog in the state. Maybe in all the states. She knew the names of every sheep in paddock. Holler out a name and Nellie would go get that one sheep. Shearers came through in the 1940s and offered $1500 for her. If you’ve ever had a good working dog you know that grandpa smiled and declined the offer.
And that‘s the thing with farm dogs. Good ones. Their worth is immeasurable.
This good girl turned 6 today. She’s still outside in the cold drizzle while I sit here in the warm house. She didn’t want to come inside quite yet. She’s not done for the day. What’s she doing? Who knows. She could be checking on the neighbors. Or searching for the calico kittens that momma moved yesterday. Or she could be sniffing around my car, looking for leftover raccoon nuggets after the unfortunate events of last night at 70 mph.
She’s no Nellie. But she’s become a good farm dog. Once a city dog, with anxiety and submission issues that caused her to piddle in fear of her own shadow, she’s become fearless. Here, in a place with no fences and little traffic, lots of fresh air and fields, she’s home.
So, happy birthday, Bella Luna, aka Puppy, part Border Collie rescue mutt. Thank you for guarding me while I feed cattle, thank you for waiting for me to come home, thank you for love and kisses and hours of fetch.
Tomorrow we’ll start learning the names of all the cows. Or maybe we’ll just start with watching gates. You’re a good girl.