Friday, February 3, 2012

The Aussie Named Rusty


Willa's grandchildren, and their parents, gifted Rusty to the ranch in 2007. They were moving to Alaska and only had room for one dog. Brock was his name then. Like many of the critters that are re-homed here at the ranch, his name changed. We chose Rusty for his coloring. But, there can only be one. Later we accepted a pony, chicken and a cat with the same name. Like I said many of the critters here get new names.

Rusty is always happy and he smiles a lot too. He lifts his upper lip high and shows his teeth while he wiggles about. This is what he does best. I remember one time he thought twice about giving me that welcoming smile. It was at the veterinarian's office where I was picking him up after he'd had porcupine quills removed. Poor guy. He wanted to smile but his lips were a little sore.

As a known stock dog, Aussies are supposed to help gather up the livestock. Rusty does not care about gathering up anything. He just wants to be your friend. However, he is a great second in the guardian committee with his Great Pyrenees partners.

Presently, his duty is to maintain patience as he sets a good example for the up-and-coming Pyr pup, Bandit. Uncle Rusty was so excited to help momma PePe with puppy sitting duties, until the pups became too mobile; and then he found them annoying. Pyr pups grow fast, and in quick time, they were half the size of Rusty and following him around constantly begging him to play with them. Being the Uncle and all, he had to show some dignity in his leadership and did so by constantly reprimanding them when they roughhoused him a bit too much.

Rusty likes to ride on the front of the 4-wheeler named Rhonda (red-Honda) as well as in the pick-up truck. At times, he'll give us a good reprimand barking if we forget to invite him in the back during feeding routines. His latest trick is to bark at the truck when it backs up. Instead of a back-up beep, we have a back-up bark. Can we make an app of that?

Willa

In Memory of Sam


It rained a little here yesterday, on the ranch land and in our hearts. Our beloved Sam was laid to rest after struggling for some time with the effects of hip dysplasia. It doesn't matter how well one plans for such a day, it still makes tears well up in the eyes. We are comforted to know that he is no longer in pain.


Sam came to us as an adult needing to be re-homed. He didn't know he had any hip problems and took his guardianship of the Dream River Ranch seriously, to the point of guarding his air space from those pesky egg-stealing crows and ravens. One summer evening just, before nightfall, we found him barking at the tops of our great cottonwoods, which shade our chicken coop from summer sun. With each woof, the whole front end of his 130#-plus body was lifted off the ground. He kept it up until a large owl gave up a predatory perch and flew away; and there went Sam chasing after it as if the owl was on the ground. Behold, no treetop was available that night as a landing perch for that owl.

Each evening's ritual, as he made ready for the night's duty of keeping predators away from our home and livestock, he would sniff the air coming in off the desert. Holding his head high and gazing far away, he could smell the coyotes even before they started their evening choral. He would strut about in a very proud way and make under-the-breath growling noises never letting anything deter his focus. His body served him well then, and on his last day he continued to contribute in the spirit of the Great Pyrenees guardian dog; he woofed warnings of his presence from the deck of the ranch house.

Sam, I am
Coyote Cruncher
Woof, woof, woof.

Rest in peace Sam. Your memory will linger.