My favorite Doodle dog

It is the end of an era, the death of our fine dog, Skip. He was to be named Kip, Jack said, like a good cattle dog he’d once known. But It kept coming out with an S on the front. So Skip he became. Not that the name ever mattered much to him. What mattered to him was belonging. Having a place to come home to, where there would be food and love, always.

The boy was just there waiting on the stoop one day when we got back to the ranch. A black dog with brown points above his eyes like a Doberman or a Rottweiler. Nothing about this thin mangy guy was threatening, though. He tilted his head, pushed his ears back and smiled. I’m a love. Can’t you tell?

And so he stayed. As an outdoor dog, a decision which nearly split my marriage. Having a furry dog covered in snow lying next to the door with temperatures well below zero was not in me. Jack insisted he was an outside dog, with a job, and bringing him in would confuse him and his system. (Only after I found a scholarly research article about this did I relent - it indeed was hard on them to come in only to go back out.)

His job was to keep the coyotes off the place, and he was especially good at guarding the chickens who never even had to be locked up at night. I once watched as a few coyotes (or a pack - who can ever tell how many there are?) came close into the ranch and he ran them off. “Regular” dogs often fall victim to their tricks, but never Skip. He charged them, but always came back before they could get him surrounded and turned around to charge again until they gave up and left. Wileyer than a coyote.

When we moved to town we worried most about him. The transition from roaming hundreds of acres with nary a fence in sight to one acre would be tough. But here he came in. A dog bed. Treats. A ball to chase after (and never return). A ditch to soak in on days when the heat made being a fluffy black dog more intolerable than the snow and freezing cold.

Nicknamed Skipper LeDoux by a friend, at home he began to answer to Doodles, a ridiculous name that suited him just fine.

The bounding leaps of joy! The racehorse dashes down the fenceline after his arch enemy! The belly rolls with one foot flopped to be extra cute. His special nest in the middle of the giant lilac bush. Laying down to eat, while the hyena corgi circled. His squeals when his favorite people came to visit. His last ears relaxed, bright eyed smile at me in the vet’s office.

In 2002, an intuitive told me that I’d live in a white house at the base of a mountain and a back dog would come and bring my deceased uncle to guard my life. Did I mention that our house was beige? And surrounded by mountains beyond the plain? That Skip was black? Whenever I touched my head to his head all the stress drained immediately. It was magical medicine.

He was a blessing in our lives and we miss him. Thank you for coming, Skip.

Playmates

We thought when we got Sluggo, he would be a playmate for Mater. Obviously, we were new to life with a corgi. They do not play, they direct.

Poor Mater became the object of all direction; moments of play were few and far between. Mostly they wrestle over toys and make a big show of their tussle, but only until Sluggo decides he has had enough. Like real brothers, they are competitive and want all the attention.

 When Skip arrived, we weren't sure how he would fit in. As a guard dog, for sure. But into the canine family? Turns out, he was the playmate Mater had been waiting for.

 
Sluggo tries to direct Skip, but Skip dismisses him like a gnat. He is a real dog, patrolling for miles, saving the chickens from coyotes and generally keeping everything in order. He has no time for stunted little barkmobiles like Sluggo turns into around him.

 But Skip loves Mater. They roll around, gnaw on each other's necks and Skip runs laps trying to get the blind dog to catch him. Pure joy. No one can help but smile at their delight at simple play.

 

So please excuse my absence. I have taken their lesson to heart and been engaged in simple play this summer.

Nature taking its course

First, let me say if I could have stopped this from happening I would have. I tried running them off. I tried separating them. I tried scaring them. Nothing distracted their focus on each other. After several minutes I gave up and went for the camera.

I hope this isn't too distasteful for anyone, but it so clearly fits the mission of this blog (former PETA member hosts cockfight??) I had to share.

The backstory is that Charlie (left) is older. Charlie became the second rooster on our place, submissive to Rocky, our old comb-less, one-eyed Plymouth Barred Rock rooster. Rocky was the best. He warned the hens of danger, kept them together and never bothered us. Charlie kept his place and so we kept him. He had a brother who harassed the hens and therefore went to live elsewhere.

Refuge under the horse trailer (where they can't jump up).

The other rooster is part of a unique hatch of three: two hens and a rooster. They have stayed together ever since they were chicks. Almost all of the time they roost in the barn instead of the chicken house. Separate but equal?

Last week, we found Rocky's body near the barn. We don't know what happened, but he was old. I like to think that was it. Please don't ruin my illusions. I like them. Besides, how much more reality can I take than a cockfight in my driveway? Anyway, apparently this is where it gets very Lion King, chicken style.

There was a lot of this.

And a lot of this.

Probably for the benefit of these chicks who watched the whole thing from behind the fence. Like ultimate cage fighting in reverse.

At any rate, it appears Charlie did not appreciate Samuel moving in on his territory and decided to express his feelings on the matter.

At first I blamed Charlie since he seemed to be the aggressor, but when I ran him off, the younger rooster went after him. Without any fences, they were easily able to avoid me and focus on each other.

Minutes went by. Many minutes. This was no flash in the pan, let's get it out of our system and be done with it. This was menace with meaning.

Blind dog watches cockfight. He was totally confused, but pretty sure they weren't supposed to be doing that.

Now here is where it got amazing. I was sure they were just going to keep going at each other until one couldn't fight anymore. Ugly. Then from around the trailer comes Skip. He bounds into the middle and does I 'm not sure what. Whatever it was, they immediately go their separate ways. End of story. I have a picture, but I still don't know what happened. Animals are phenomenal.

The results.

Crowing about his "victory" to the heifers.

 

The prize? 

As soon as it was over she came running over to him. 

Florence Nightingale?  

Pink lady to his T-Bird? 

Perhaps I am projecting too much on to this?

How's the view from your end?