The Best Dog Ever - Rusty -2006 to 2021

It’s taken me several days to get to Rusty’s obituary post. The first few days it was too sad to deal with and after that I couldn’t find the photos that I was sure I had taken when he was much younger. There are big gaps but I found some of my favorites. And then I found enough later photos that I may fill two or three blog posts. I enjoy seeing these photos because they help me remember Rusty as he was most of his life with us instead of how he had become in the last several months.

Rusty is (was?) a red and white Border Collie. “The Best Dog Ever”—that’s what Dan would always say to Rusty when he came in the house with his lips pulled back in a smile—the only dog I have had that would do that. He was about six months old when he came to live here in the fall of 2006.

Rusty’s littermate, Jake, lived with a friend of mine about a mile away. I don’t think they remembered each other but we got together occasionally.

Rusty had less interest in other dogs and was more focused on an animal that might need to be herded or seemed out of place—like the cat he has his eyes on just outside of this photo. Those two photos are not dated properly so I don’t know how old Rusty was there.

I know that Rusty was only about a year old here. These are Toggenburg kids, offspring of my son’s goats.This was taken in 2007.

I never had to worry about Rusty with the kids or lambs.

I don’t remember what Rusty had done but he put up with Farm Club members giving him a bath (2010).

Rusty knew that the chicken belonged in the chicken house and not in the spinning circle, no matter how much Shelby was in control of the situation (2011).

He also knew that there were treats to be found in the wheelbarrow during lambing time. (2012)

Rusty had the kind of coat that caught everything—weeds, hay, grass. I had to keep his feet trimmed through the summer because the soft fuzzy hair was a foxtail trap.

Looking back through old blog posts I found this one (2013)of trying to get dogs (and sheep and the donkey) into the holdiay spirit. Rusty was never one who liked dress-up. I knew I took lots of photos back then, but I just can’t find them.

In 2013 I thought it would be a good idea to get another dog so Rusty would have a companion. I found Maggie in a foster care situation, but I don’t have photos of the earlier years. I was looking back through old blog posts and found this one with a photo of Maggie. That led me to thinking about Rusty’s blog. Did you know that Rusty wrote a blog from 2011 to July, 2019? It still lives out there on Wordpress and the photos I was looking for and can’t find on my computer are there. Rusty’s blog is called “Perspective of a Border Collie”. I should probably just let Rusty’s blog tell the rest of the story of his life—he was an amusing writer with a perspective of farm events that was different than mine.

I’d forgotten that he also tried his paw at photography. I found this photo in an old blog post of mine.

In 2014 Ginny came to be part of our lives.

To be continued…

Ginny in Pink

I was throwing the ball for Ginny a few days ago. She yelped and ran for the house, getting caught on a gate as she went around it. I still don’t know what happened to cause her to yelp—maybe she jumped and landed wrong—something made her run for the house. But it was when she got caught on the gate that she injured herself. I didn’t that she was injured until the next night because her long hair covered the wound.

That was two nights ago that I was petting Ginny and discovered an injury that I knew should have had stitches the day before.

This is a not-very-good photo of the gate that was the problem. The tips of those horizontal pieces stuck out and inch or so longer than they are now. Dan cut them off so they don’t extend beyond the pipe border now.

We took Ginny to the vet and left her for the day. When I picked her up she was wearing a cone.

The actual wound stops about half way down that shaved area and there was a flap of skin and tissue about 2” in diameter near the top.. The bottom part of the red part is drainage from the wound. The vet had to trim away the edges of the wound so that there was fresh tissue to heal together. Now it is stapled and Ginny has to wear the cone so she doesn’t lick the wound. She started to scratch it with her hind foot so I covered it with a t-shirt.

I cut about an inch off the outside edge of the cone because I didn’t think it needed to be quite so big. Now she can reach the floor and her food dish.

Ginny was a bit distraught last night—probably still from the effects of the drugs she had, but also not happy with the cone. Today she seems to have bounced right back. While we were working in the barn she was right there wanting someone to throw a ball.

No running or jumping for 10 days? That may be a problem.

Around the Farm

These are random photos taken around the barn as I’m doing chores.

My sons have a tool to use a chainsaw to make slabs of downed trees. Chris got chunks of oak from a friend whose property burned this summer. These are just some of the slabs that he now has stacked in the barn to dry. He made a gorgeous table out of a tree from a couple of years ago.

The goats are always anxious to help with barn cleaning. These are the two doe kids left from April. I didn’t have the heart to sell them as food animals so they are still here. I’m hoping to still find a way to get them to Texas for my daughter’s family. The pandemic prevented that last summer and fall—maybe this year?

That’s the two adult does in the middle and the two doe kids on the outside. You’d think from the photos that we had a goat farm. No, the goats are just always around when there is activity.

Trista and Hazel looking for attention when I came out to do chores. Hazel isn’t even looking for grain—she truly likes to have her face scratched.

I saw pink debris on the wall of the barn. Do you see the teeth marks on the crayon marker? My guess is rats and not mice because those look like good sized teeth. But maybe both.

This is Meridian Rambler, a 10-month old ram lamb. See a look at his fleece is below.

Ten month old Jangle, another ram lamb. See his fleece below. They will be shorn in about two weeks along with the rest of the flock. I”ll be posting fleeces on-line and give people the opportunity to come look at fleeces in the couple of weeks following shearing.

Have you seen the new roving in the shop and on-line? I don’t think I’ve put it in a newsletter yet. Here is your first view of it.

I am working on creating some slide shows from guild presentations that I used to do in person and now need to do in Zoom. I will be presenting one next week called What’s in My Toolbox?—about weaving tips and techniques.

Here is one tip—using a mirror to check for slack threads when weaving a problem warp.

On yesterday’s walk Across the Road I did not take a ball. But we found one…I’m sure it’s one of ours that was left behind on another walk.

This is typical of all four dogs. Ginny and Finn are looking at the ball. Rusty is looking at Ginny. Sawyer isn’t watching but if anyone makes a move for the ball she will be right there.

Ginny Entertaining Herself

I took Ginny Across the Road a couple of days ago. I did not take the ball thrower thing but she knows how to entertain herself with the ball. She drops it over the edge of the canal into the water and then goes after it. There is a video here. I wasn’t thinking in terms of a blog post at the beginning of this little story so I didn’t take photos to explain this. The photo below shows what this canal (more of a a cement lined ditch) looks like at a different point in our walk.

Most of the time it is fine for Ginny to purposely put the ball in the canal because she gets it out herself but this time she put it in a part of the canal where the water is backed up be a dam and then flows through in a kind of waterfall. That is what is shown at the end of the video.

At that point there is a drop off of a four or five feet and the water flows quickly and swirls in continuous eddies. Ginny is too smart (or too timid) to go in after the ball at that location. That’s a good thing because I think it would be dangerous for her. However I couldn’t get to the ball either. This is the tail end of the “rapids” but doesn’t really catch the swirling action of the water. And the angle of the cement wall is such that I couldn’t keep my feet under me and try to reach. There is are wood planks over the ditch but they are too high from the water for me to reach. I was sitting or kneeling here at the edge of the ditch to try and get to the ball but couldn’t reach it. Ginny doesn’t understand why I don’t just get it for her.

I found a stick and could reach the ball some of the time when it appeared but the water was swirling too much to be able to make any progress getting the ball closer to me with the stick. I found a forked stick thinking I would maybe have better luck. That still didn’t help. I needed a net. I had a leash with me.

I made enough of a net with the leash that I was finally able to drag the ball close enough to the edge where I could get it.

Then we continued our walk. I was proud of my newly made tool.

Here is the next obstacle. There isn’t a steep drop off here but there is a culvert where the two roads connect. Notice where Ginny is.

She dropped her ball there and it didn’t take long for it to disappear into the culvert.

You’d think it would be a simple enough thing to get it at the other end.

We waited. ..

…and tried the other end again. I dropped a few sticks in to see when they would come out. The sticks and the ball never appeared. That’s the second ball we’ve lost to this part of the canal. I don’t know if there is a whole cache of balls there but they are stuck in there somehow, along with the sticks that I dropped..

We continued the walk.

I found this a ways down the road. They had just disked the filed and I wonder if this turned up and someone threw it out of the field onto the road. Between my dogs and C&M’s dogs we have lost plenty of balls out in those fields.

This ball has seen better days.

This was the next place that Ginny rolled the ball over the edge. This time it didn’t go very far—just to the rocks a few feet down.

Ginny took the newly found ball down into the big canal where she got a drink of water and the ball didn’t make it back. I think that one probably sank.

Most of you have seen this view before. That’s our barn on the right and the house is hidden by the trees. What is remarkable about this photo is the view of the hills. and the blue sky—such a refreshing change after what seemed like months of smoke-filled skies that completely hid those hills.

Maggie's Story - The End

If you’re a regular blog reader then you probably know the dogs who live here. Rusty and Ginny are the Border Collies and Rusty wrote his own blog for several years until he got too tired to do it. This post is about Maggie, who came here in 2013 and died today. Rusty was the only dog here in 2013, and I thought he could use a companion. I searched the rescue and foster sites until I found Maggie who seemed like a suitable companion. She was about his size and, although timid, did not have any aggressive tendencies—important since so many people come out here to visit the farm. The only thing I knew about her was that she had been rescued from a hoarder (almost 200 dogs) and had lived at this foster home for at least a year. She was extremely shy and timid but eventually overcame most of that.

Maggie had lived here a couple of years when I got Ginny as a puppy. Here is a blog post with photos of Maggie babysitting Ginny when she was a puppy.

It turned out that Maggie wasn’t as suitable for a farm dog as I would have liked. She was completely overstimulated by activity with sheep and she barked frantically at them when we worked with the sheep. That made it difficult to teach Ginny appropriate sheepherding manners. To this day I think that Ginny’s habit of barking at sheep who defy her authority when she is trying to herd them came from Maggie. Nevertheless I tried to give Maggie a decent life here. She liked it best when we all took trips Across the Road.

I’d take all three dogs Across the Road on leashes.

Once there I’d let them off the leashes. Ginny mostly wants to chase the ball and Rusty wants to chase Ginny. Maggie was usually off on her own just doing dog things.

Maggie didn’t see any point in playing with a ball or chasing a stick.

She wasn’t thrilled about swimming either but would use the canal to cool off on particularly hot days.

She would have been a good dog for someone who wanted a running companion but she got me instead. We used to go Across the Road several times a week, a mental health time for all the dogs.

None of the dogs are big fans of car rides even though we did get up to the mountains for occasional hikes.

But sometimes a car ride meant a trip to the vet.

They were never happy about that.

There was the time that sheep panels leaning on a haystack fell over on Maggie and broke her foot. She needed a vet visit that day but fortunately the wound healed well.

Overall Maggie did OK here. She put up with the people who came for field trips or on shearing day. She didn’t mind being out in the barn with us as long as people mostly ignored her. She presented a good lesson for kids on field trips because I could use her to teach them to think about what a dog was telling them with her behavior and body language.

The dogs always have been able to sleep in the house at night but during the winter Maggie didn’t mind sharing the dog house to keep dry during the day.

She was OK with other dogs, mostly leaving them alone. Finn and Sawyer are my son and DIL’s dogs and live next door. This is how dogs celebrate a birthday when they have wait their turns for the puppy cake.

One of Maggies’ traits was her obsession with small animals. Ground squirrels chirping in a woodpile set all the dogs off

Maggie’s method of attack though was to chew her way through, whether it was a pile of wood or the wall of the chicken house. I’m surprised that she never had teeth problems.

Speaking of chickens, I always had to be careful if I had let the chickens out for the day that I didn’t let Maggie our on her own near the barn. She occasionally ended up with a chicken in her mouth—usually I got to the scene before the chicken was killed but I could never trust her with the chickens. During “baby bird season”—the time when baby birds seem to fall out of the nests in the barn almost daily—I’d see Maggie trotting by with legs sticking out of her mouth. I guess I couldn’t blame her for that one. We called her the Dingo—listed as an opportunistic predator on a sign seen at a zoo in Australia. This is a blog post that Rusty wrote about a chicken escapade that had a happy ending.

We were never sure how old Maggie was. If she was 3 or 4 when I got her then she was 10 or 11 this year. That’s not that old for a dog but over the last few months she had started to look old. Her coat was rough, her hearing was poor, and her hips were getting weak. She just didn’t look good and over the last couple of weeks I thought that she didn’t seem as aware of her surroundings or activity as she used to and didn’t seem especially happy. This week we noticed that her belly looked fluid filled, her throat seemed swollen, and she wasn’t eating well. The vet I’ve known and respected for years once said in a discussion about euthanasia that “it’s better to be a week too early than a day too late”. This vet has shrunk her practice and works mostly with large animals now so I’ve been taking the dogs to another clinic. But when I called that clinic with my request for euthanasia I was told that there would need to be a consultation and they might determine that the dog wasn’t ready and they wouldn’t do it. I respect their rule and there have certainly been times when I’ve wanted to extend an animal’s life for a positive outcome. But I also have worked with animals long enough to have a pretty good feeling about when the outlook is not so good. I am not saying that I could look at someone else’s dog or sheep or whatever and tell them what is wrong with it, but I think I have paid attention to my own animals to be able to read the signs and pretty much trust that I am making the right decision. Besides a dog here and there, I’ve made decisions to euthanize a goat, a donkey, a sheep, and a horse—these were never easy decisions, but I still believe that they were the right decisions at the time.

I knew that my previous vet would trust my decision and I called to see if she was available. She was in the area and able to help. I took Maggie to her barn office and Maggie didn’t even have to get out of the car. Like I said before, she seemed unaware of her surrroundings and not even stressed to have been put in the car. The doctor at a glance agreed with my assessment of Maggie’s condition. She said that the swelling I saw in her throat was likely cancer and this was definitely time.

Maggie is now buried at the edge of the pasture near a friend’s dog who we recently buried when his time had come and not too far from the pet goat.