HOMESTEAD DOGS
Dogs were very important to us on the homestead. A good watch dog served to keep coyotes away, and let us know when visitors were approaching, perhaps neighbors passing by or coming to visit, or lone riders who sometimes stopped to water their thirsty horses.
Our first dog was Smutz. Dad had rescued him from being drowned by some boys who were doing away with a batch of puppies. Dad came by just as the boys were putting the pups in a sack, intending to drown them all. Dad brought one little puppy home, and my parents named him Smutz. He was an odd little mutt, with long streaked gray and black hair which hung down and almost covered his eyes. He had a very short drooping tail, so that until he moved you could scarcely tell which end of him was which.
He was a fair watchdog, very vocal, but otherwise he didn't amount to much. We kids liked him, I suppose, though he was cranky and didn't like much petting. He was not good with the livestock, as he usually went to their heads, instead of the heels, when trying to drive them. He was a mortal enemy of Billy, the useless horse. When Billy would come trotting down the lane to get water, Smutz would dash out and chase Billy, on some occasions managing to set his teeth in old Billy's long tail. He would hang on like grim death, and go for a wild ride, being dragged, sometimes kicked half silly, and generally abused. He always recovered from those episodes, though we all thought he would surely be killed sooner or later.
We kids weren't very sorry when Momma decided to trade Smutz to Mrs. Stack, wife of our rural mail carrier. Mrs. Stack was a full-blooded Indian woman; they lived then in the old James place about a mile and a half from our house. Mrs. Stack made very nice rugs, and my mother was a good friend of the Stacks. One day Momma announced she had traded Smutz for a rug! Since the distance he had been taken was not great, it wasn't long before Smutz came home. They came and got him, and he never returned again. We kids thought maybe Smutz had been eaten, simply because the Stacks were Indian people. Of course, now I doubt that that was what happened to old Smutz, but we never did see him again.
Next we got Jack, a "scrub" collie--that is he wasn't born of fancy registered parents--but he was a great old typical Scotch collie in color--brown and snowy white, with a broad white neck- band, small white feet, and a wonderful disposition. He was given to us by the Betz family, probably soon after the departure of Smutz. He was such a fine dog, brave when facing threatening animals or strangers, yet so gentle little children could crawl all over him, and he would just look pleased.
Dad trained him to help with the cattle. He was a natural "heeler"--that is, he knew how to drive livestock, going to their heels, nipping here and there to encourage them to move. Most of what I know about Jack is what I have heard from my parents. I was quite small when one day Matt James and another man came by our place, on horseback. It was winter time, and Matt wanted our Dad to know that he planned to shoot a stray range horse out on the range about a mile from our place, and put poison in the carcase to kill coyotes. That wasn't unusual, and Dad thought it would be far enough from our place to not pose any problem for us, so he agreed.
I don't know how long it was after that--probably only a few days--when one cold morning Jack was missing! Then Dad came in from the barn and told us that Jack was lying down by the barn, dead of poisoning. He evidently had gone off to look at that dead horse, had gotten some of the poison, and then headed for home. But it was too far, and he died there, a terrible death from strychnine. I can remember vividly how angry Robert and I were, sitting there at the breakfast table. I think we all vowed that never again would coyote poisoners be allowed to put out that terrible stuff so near our place. Oddly, I don't remember that we were particularly angry at Matt James; probably we thought of him as a valued neighbor, rather than as a poisoner. I do know that all the neighbors around felt bad about Jack's death, for he was a very good dog.
The following summer we got another little collie pup from the Betzes. He was round and rolly-poly, and full of fun. But we were not to have him long. About that time Momma was on the warpath against the mice which were giving us a bad time in the house. She had purchased some rat poison, mixed it with some lard, and placed it around the house at various points. You can guess what happened! One day the new puppy got into some of that poison, and died under the house in agony. All our efforts to help him failed. I needn't tell you that Momma stopped using poison on mice!
We named the next collie pup we got from the Betzes Laddie. He wasn't marked or long- nosed quite like the typical collie. This dog was dark brown, with a white collar, and was gener- ally heavier in the shoulders than the usual collie. From the time he was very young he showed a lot of individualism and personality. He was easily trained to do different things, though, and was a very good stock dog.
While Laddie was still quite young, Dad trained him to go up into the pasture and bring the cows home. (We sometimes pastured the cows in the horse pasture, when there was enough grass for them.) As our house was below the level of the hill just to the west, Laddie was unable to see the cows when he was ordered to go bring them in. So he would gallop up the hill, and begin looking for the cattle. He loved to do this, and would bring the cows home at a nice easy walk, as if he understood that cows shouldn't be hurried when their udders were full of milk.
There was only one trouble--Laddie enjoyed so much bringing the cows home that he would sometimes go out and do it on his own. As a result, he had to be broken of that habit! He seemed to have an internal clock as he would come every day to meet us on our way home from school. How we loved that! He was very playful, would dash in circles around us, just out of reach. Robert and I would sometimes pretend to be fighting. Immediately Laddie would get in between us, letting us know he wouldn't stand for that!
Laddie seldom got to see any wildlife except jackrabbits and an occasional skunk. He chased jackrabbits to his heart's content, running them for miles, then coming home empty-handed, but happy. He always enjoyed that, though I doubt that he ever caught a healthy rabbit. Strangely, he didn't bother our tame rabbits or chickens. Sometimes in cold weather we would see Laddie curled up out of doors, with a cat or two snuggled up against him for warmth. He and all the pets slept out-of-doors, regardless of the weather.
Skunks were a different matter! I don't suppose you have ever had a chance to see a skunk out in the wild, or especially when challenged by a dog, have you? Skunks have strong wills and are not easily bluffed. When threatened, a skunk will not run, but will stand facing whatever it is threatening him, and will jump up and down a few times with his front feet, as if to make his opponent back up. That's a clear signal for us humans that the time has come to back off, for the skunk's next move is to let go with his nasty spray.
However, that bluff didn't work with Laddie! He seemed to have the idea that he had been chosen to destroy all skunks. After a few preliminary barks, Laddie would dash in, grab the skunk any way he could and shake the daylights out of it. More than once I have seen him do that, shaking the skunk so fiercely it appeared that Laddie had a black and white collar, with the spray from skunk making a strange greenish haze or halo around them.
Laddie wouldn't let go until the skunk was dead, but, oh, what a price he (and we) paid! He would be sick to his stomach, his eyes would burn so he had scarcely see, and he smelled so bad we would have nothing to do with him until the smell had worn off a bit after a few days. Once after such a duel with a skunk, I saw Laddie take a running jump into the water of the creek, as if knowing that would help his eyes.
Laddie never got over that business of attacking skunks! We often wish sincerely that he would leave them alone. Of course, skunks were not very plentiful, so Laddie didn't get smelled up more than once or twice a year. In case you haven't observed this, a dog carrying skunk scent carries it a very long time, and any wetting, from swimming or rain, brings it back fresh and strong! I don't recall that we ever, ever attempted to give Laddie a bath. In those days farmers just didn't bathe their dogs.
Old Laddie loved to go along whenever we took the team and wagon, or rode old Snip, the saddle horse. He would trot alongside of us, looking up now and then with a big grin on his face, happy as a lark. We seldom denied him the right to go along, as he gave us a certain sense of security, especially when we kids went after the cows or were going to town with the wagon.
Laddie was never hesitant about a fight any dog who might challenge him, and I never knew him to run from a fight. He was very strong and quick, and gave more than one dog a sore foot. Exactly as I had read about collie dogs and the way they fight, Laddie would go for the feet of his opponent, biting them severely, and that often ended the fight almost before it was well started.
(Though I'm not finished with the story of Laddie, I must leave it for another chapter in this blog!)