Hello again, y’all. Betcha thought I was gone forever, huh? Well, to tell the truth I’ve been kinda busy with other pursuits and blogging hasn’t been one of my priorities. There’ve been a lot of cattle to herd, and varmits to chase away, and holes to dig or help dig. Not to mention keeping the cats in their place and Rio in check. (Remember him? My half-brother?) So you can see, I’ve had little time to think about blogging. Even in wintertime there’s plenty to do on the ranch.
This past New Year’s Eve, our new next door neighbor decided to set off fireworks. I kept trying to tell him to stop because he was scaring Rio, who was desperately trying to find a place to hide (the cats had all found their hiding places because they were no where in sight); but he kept setting off those firecrackers. I guess he finally heard me because the noise did stop.
It’s been unusually cold here in South Texas, colder than it’s been in a long time. I vaguely remember once when I was a puppy we had some snow. Auntie Tash was alive then and we had a great time playing in the white stuff. The goats weren’t too happy, though: they don’t like to get their hooves wet, so they wouldn’t come out of their pen until the snow had melted. Snow doesn’t last very long in South Texas. A few weeks ago we had a big freeze and the roads were all iced over so Mom got to stay home, even though she still had to work. (She has the kind of a job that allows her to work over the Internet). I know I was kind of a pest asking her to pet me every so often, quite often actually, but I was just so happy to have her home during the week. Wish she could work permanently from home. Maybe some day . . .
I know that Memorial Day has come and gone, but I still want to take the time to remind all dog lovers, that we too have made the ultimate sacrifice for Liberty and Freedom.
Here is a fact about the service of dogs during the Vietnam War:
Military working dogs (war dogs) were approved for use in Vietnam in March of 1965. By July 17th, forty teams had been deployed to the bases of Tan Son Nhut, Ben Hoa and DaNang. By the end of the 1965, there were 99 dogs in the country. By September 1966 more than 500 dog teams were deployed to ten bases. Between July 1965 and December 1966, not a single Viet Cong sapper team penetrated a base guarded by sentry dogs. These dogs gave their lives to protect American soldiers, but most were left behind in Vietnam.
The Military brought home their human soldiers, too bad they didn’t think enough of us dogs to bring us home as well.
I know it has been a long time since I last posted, but I guess I have been sort of depressed after the death of our little goat friend PeeWee. My friend Chewbakka, the cat, told me I should say that I was on a sabbatical. “What’s a sabbatical?” I asked him. “You know, a leave of absence, like college professors take,” he replied. “But I’m not a college professor, just a plain Border Collie.” “It doesn’t matter,” Chewbakka continued. “Better than saying you were too lazy to write, or dictate as it were.” “I was not being lazy,” I protested. “I was just really sad. And I really miss PeeWee. He was so much fun!.” Chewbakka looked at me for a while with his crossed-eyes, then sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I miss him, too.” Anyway, I decided I needed to get back to posting. Life goes on, whether we want it to or not.
As you can see, we (I say we because Chewbakka helps me put this blog together) have made some changes to the blog. We have a new look, have added an Amazon store (tons a good stuff to buy there at good prices, too), and videos (we’ll be changing these periodically, so visit often), and advertising( only doggie stuff. Chewbakka can advertise cat stuff on his blog). As always, a portion of all sales generated by this blog will go to the efforts of the Border Collie Rescue of Texas organization. Please be generous. It’s for a good cause.
I hate coyotes! It’s OK for them to roam the prairies and wildernesses of this country, but stay out of my backyard! There are plenty of rabbits, and moles, and voles, and mice to eat out there, you don’t have to prey on my goats!
About ten days ago, coyotes got onto the ranch. They dug a hole underneath the fence and attacked Mom’s goats. PeeWee, the little pygmy goat, was their first victim. Poor little guy: there was no way he could outrun those varmits with his little legs. Then they went after Pongo, one of the big Boer goats. He was able to evade them for a while, but they caught up to him and ripped his hind leg open all the way to the bone. By this time, Rio and I were raising cain in the house. Mom got up quickly, threw some clothes on and out we went (we stay in the house during the summer ’cause it gets so hot outside). There was enough moonlight so we could see them, although Rio and I didn’t need any moonlight to find them: we could smell them. We went straight after them, barking and growling, teeth bared. Those cowards didn’t even put up a fight, heading straight to the hole they had dug, and escaping into the night. I wanted to go after them, but Mom called Rio and I off.
We returned to the carnage. PeeWee lay dead, his throat ripped open; Pongo stood few hundred feet away, holding his right hind leg off the ground. Mom was able to walk him slowly back to the house. After cleansing the wound and giving him a shot of antibiotics (which Mom always keeps on hand for emergencies such as these}, she put him up in the garage for the night. The vet came the following morning, gave Pongo more shots and left Mom with instructions and more medicine. We cared for him for three days (I say we because I was there helping her, licking Pongo and trying to keep his spirits up, but I knew he was hurting badly). Around 2 am on the fourth day, I woke Mom up. I knew something was wrong with Pongo. We went to the garage and found Pongo, lying on his side wimpering. Mom sat down and put his head in her lap. We knew the end was coming. Pongo passed away about an hour later.
PeeWee and Pongo are buried together underneath their favorite cedar tree where they used to lay in the heat of the day. We are very sad here at the ranch to have lost two good friends. I always admired PeeWee’s spunk, standing up to the bigger goats and grazing among the legs of the cattle; and Pongo’s ingenuity (I would watch him bend down the tender branches of the yaupon trees so he and the other goats could eat the tender leaves). May they forever browse on tender leaves in those heavenly pastures beyond the Rainbow Bridge.
Hello, hello, hello! Sammy Honeycoat here. I am so excited that my friend Barkley allowed me to post on his blog! So you know what I look like, I have inserted a picture of myself on the left. I think I’m quite a cute little guy, don’t you thnk? But enough of me, I’m here to talk about “table scraps“. I know it is as hard for us to resist begging for them as it is for you not to give them to us, but pleeease don’t! Dog food is made for dogs and people food is made for people. Our diet does not require all the extra ingredients you put in your food. I tend to be a little rotund, and giving me table scaps would only make matters worse. You see, dog food contains everything we dogs need and allowing us to become your table scrap disposal is not a good idea. An occasional small treat in the kitchen (never at the dining room table) is OK, but only if it is something that would be in our normal diet (no pizza, cake, pie, mashed potatoes, ice cream … you get my drift). I like people food as much as the next dog, but my Mom makes sure I only eat what is good for my health. That means an occasional piece of chicken or turkey is alright, without the bones, of course.