Rocket (1985-2000) - Babe (1993-2008) - MacLeod (1992-2007)
The last of these three made the crossover today. Babe (center) was born in March 1993. We've said for the last couple of winters that we wouldn't put her through another one and we finally made good on that promise. I guess that age 15 was the magic number for each of them.
Babe was a bottle baby and grew up believing she was something more than a cow. We spent so much time waiting to find the "right" name for her that the name, "Baby Cow", became her name by default. Calling her "The Babe" helped to avoid sounding stupid calling a half-ton-plus cow, "Baby". She spent quite some time with the family. If she got out of the pasture, we'd find her on the front porch, looking in the window and hoping for some company. You can't miss seeing an adult cow on your front porch.
When she was a baby, our MacLeod (the Aussie on the right) was just a young dog turning one year of age. They played together in the yard and out in the pasture behind the house. A favorite game would involve Babe, now much bigger than Mac, to put her head down so he could stand up with his feet on her face and play "bitey-face" with her curly poll. I wrote once about the last time they were able to that, before Mac became too stiff in the hind end to play like that. It was very endearing to see two old friends playing their childhood game, while a bit slower and graying than before.
As Babe did not join the cowherd until she was quite grown, she didn't consider herself a cow and really didn't want anything to do with those nasty creatures. It took her quite some time to reconcile herself with a life with cows instead of people and her "companion" dog.
She always preferred Mac's company. He absolutely refused to work her (even when she needed some working). She trusted him so much that she would let him clean off her newborn calves. He, being one of the world's greatest small and baby animal nursemaids, was happiest when he had a baby to care for and protect.
Mac was our son's dog originally but, when our son preferred to no longer be Mac's person, he became my husband's and then our family's dog. Actually, if you were to poll most of the family, and ask them whose dog was Mac, they'd each lay claim to him. He was a faithful companion, farm dog, orphaned calf nursemaid/protector, protector of all baby and small animals (like house rabbits), walking and riding partner, and guardian. I never worried when our youngest daughter went for long excursions on the farm, as long as Mac was with her.
Unlike any of our Border Collies, Mac was a natural guardian. We spent a week one summer having our roof redone. We carefully took Mac out every morning to greet the work crew, and he was fine with them working around the house, coming to the door for something, etc. Until the last day, when Lisa and I went for a ride and left Laura in the house alone watching a video. Harry (the contractor) came to the door to borrow the phone. Well, Harry tried to come to the door to borrow the phone. Mac was fine as long as the workmen stayed on the roof where they belonged. No one was going to come to the house where his best friend was alone. Not on his watch. Harry had to sneak around back and call to Laura through an open window.
Mac was like that with his baby calves. He loved to play with a neighbor dog, Maggie. She was his best dog friend. She made the mistake of ambling through the pasture one spring day when there were calves present. Mac raced out, body-slammed her, and sent her yelping home. No family cat could enter a room where Mac was tending an orphan calf or keeping vigil over the body of a beloved rabbit that had just passed on. That same cat could expect the same protection from stray cats or dogs that Mac gave to any of "his" other creatures.
As for Rocket, as you can see in the photo, he was thoroughly disgusted by having to lie next to "the enemy". Cattle were meant to be worked, not socialized with. He was a good dog who got a lot of work done in spite of our totally inept and uneducated efforts at on-the-job training. He spent a long enough time as a young dog, peeking around a barrier at the scary cattle, that we despaired he'd ever make a stock dog. He did, and he made a fearless one.
He's the dog that helped save Ed's life from a mother cow with a calf she felt she needed to protect. He's the one that got the bull by the nose when he was acting uppity towards Ed, and went for a wild merry-go-round ride on the end of that bull's nose. When the bull finally got dizzy and stopped, Rocket deftly let go and dropped to the ground, and watched that bull decide that his priorities lay elsewhere.
Rocket was shot one autumn, on the eve of hunting season. He covered seven miles or more and then wandered into a hunting camp where the good men who fed him for several days noticed that he was acting sick. He was full of infection from pellets in his skin, he had a severe concussion from the wad that split his skull, and he was in pain. The vet and I spent quite some time removing those many pellets from his handsome hide. He looked pretty silly with his butt end and other various parts shaved.
His eyesight never recovered from that concussion. Largely blind, he still worked cattle avidly and accurately. He was attacked while working cattle one day, by a Doberman. He sent the Doberman packing (obviously a bit of a bully and really a wussy dog), and turned right back to his stock.
With age, he became essentially blind and began to lose his hearing. If he got "lost" in the house, he'd stand and woof until someone came and touched him, and then he knew he was not alone and was quiet again. He spent his last years as Lisa's sidekick, hiking, biking, riding, climbing, and just hanging out. Not a bad retirement for a good dog.
Sorry to ramble but this was, after all, for a threesome. Please forgive me if it was inappropriate since only Rocket was a Border Collie (and only half, at that, as he was half Aussie, also). With Babe going, it's been a contemplative (and tearful) day at our house.
