I’ve been a little down lately. I went to a stack of my old paperbacks, picked up one of the late Robert B. Parker’s Spenser novels, turned it around to read the cover copy, and there was a photo of the author standing next to a handsome German shorthair pointer. It made me think of other authors I know, like Dale Jackson, or Don Bendell who has two big, gorgeous dogs. Real dogs, as I like to call them.
I have had several real dogs in my life, the most recent was an Australian Shepherd, registered under the name Cody Joe Heartbreaker, but I just called him Cody. He was, bar none, the smartest dog I had ever known. He listened so intently, and you’d swear he understood most of the English language. He was also very handsome, with perfect symmetrical markings: thick black coat, white breast, copper eyebrows, and white feet. A perfect black tri.
He was like a sidekick and went almost everywhere with me. He’d sit on the passenger side of my truck and put a front leg up on the armrest and look around at the country side. Whenever I’d see a horse, I’d say, “Look, Cody, horse!” And he’d perk his ears and locate it. There could be other animals around but it didn’t matter, Cody found the horse.
But his favorite animals were cows, of course. Cody was a cowdog. There are several breeds of stock dogs, or herding dogs, and I’m not sure which is better. I’ve had border collies, known several people who have had blue heelers, and others, but when it came to personality, I loved my cowdog the best. I sometimes wondered if it wasn’t the Aussie breed, but sometimes I think it was just Cody.
Just like with humans, sometimes animals can like something so much that it almost gets them killed. One time when Cody was less than a year old, he decided to go over to the neighbor’s pasture and chase his cow herd. I was working in the garage and didn’t realize he left, because he’d usually always lay somewhere near me. But, these were COWS!
I heard a gunshot and looked outside the garage to see where it came from, because it sounded real close. Then I realized Cody wasn’t in the garage, and started calling for him. Here he came a running from the neighbor’s pasture and lay right back down on the garage floor. I quickly noticed that he wined a lot and kept licking his side. I squatted next to him to see what was bothering him, and sure enough, he’d been shot.
I rushed him to the vet and lucky for Cody it was just a graze—the bullet went in and out the hide. There were two holes, and it never penetrated the flesh. I don’t know how that happened, or how we could be so lucky. But I immediately began to work harder on his obedience and made sure he didn’t chase cows again.
I also went over to my neighbor and introduced him to my dog. I barely knew the guy, we were mostly just acquainted because I had recently moved to the area. He was a man of about seventy years, I’d guessed, who wore blue denim bibbed overalls and some sort of cap that advertised a local business.
He said, “Is that the son of a bitch that was chasing my cows?”
I said, “Well, apparently yes, but he’s just a pup and didn’t know better. I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t do it again. But if he does happen to slip over here, please don’t shoot him, just call me.”
“No, by God I’ll shoot any damn dog who chases my cattle.”
I paused a few seconds, took a deep breath, then said, “All right. If I had a son or daughter, and they were out there chasing your cows would you shoot them too?”
“Naw, they’s just being kids.”
“Okay, well Cody is like my kid. And he’s not hurting your cows. So think about it that way next time.”
I turned and left. I wasn’t angry, because I’ve known many like him over the years. Farmers like him get in that protective mode, especially with cow/calf herds. The wrong kind of dog will kill a calf, and truly stress out the cows. It was the farmer’s instincts to protect them, just like it was Cody’s to chase them.
Luckily Cody never got shot again, and went on to sire three litters of Aussie pups, and became quite popular among breeders. The first litter I took to sell at a horse show in Shawnee, Oklahoma, and took Cody with me. Most people there are dressed in cowboy, Western type clothing, but one particular man kept walking up to my pups, dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt. He had dark hair and skin like an islander.
He paid little attention to the pups, but kept looking at Cody. “That’s a good looking Aussie,” he said. “Is he for sale?”
“No,” I said. “He’s my buddy I could never sell him.”
“How much are you getting for the pups?” he asked.
“Three hundred.”
“That’s too cheap. You could get a lot more.”
“Well, that’s the going rate with the breeders I work with, and with his pedigree.”
“Yeah but look at his markings. They’re perfect. I’ll give you a thousand dollars for him.”
I laughed. “No, I couldn’t sell Cody.”
“Okay, well congratulations. He’s a great dog.”
I thanked the man and he walked away. I hadn’t been there fifteen minutes, and within an hour all of the pups were sold. Maybe that man was right, I thought. And before I could pack everything up, he came by again.
“Sell them all?” he said.
“Yes, they went quickly.”
“I’m telling you, they were too cheap. Should have asked $750, and maybe $1,000 for the merles.”
“Is it because of this market? They don’t go that high in Missouri.”
“No it’s because of your sire. He’s perfect. I’ll give you ten thousand for him.”
I laughed again. “Why would you do that? Are you a breeder?”
“I show Aussies for a living. That is a perfect dog, and he would make me a lot of money.”
“Well, I’m flattered. But not a million, not ten million. It’d be like selling my kid.”
We left it at that.
Cody was my sidekick for seven more years. He was the smartest, most obedient dog I’ve ever known. And everybody we met, who loved dogs, fell in love with Cody. He was friendly and loveable. He has been the dog love of my life.
One spring, while in our camper at a campground in Kansas, he woke me up at 3 a.m. to go out. That was unusual for him to do that in the middle of the night, but I walked sleepy-eyed to the door and let him out. I sat on the front step for a few minutes, rubbing my eyes, and then called him back. He never came, and I’ve never seen him since.
I spent weeks looking for him, as did the campground owners, and dog people all over the area. He was gone, and it was a long mourning period. There have been many theories offered as to what happened to him, but only Cody knows. All I know is that he is gone, and without closure. I could only hope that if he is alive that he is okay.
Cody was five when my son was born, and he grew to love Cody as much as I did. So when Cody went missing, it was really difficult to break the news to him. A year or so went by before he stopped asking about him, then wondered if we could get another dog. I never imagined making that kind of decision being so difficult, because I loved the companionship of a dog.
A friend of mine kept trying to give me a puppy because she knew how badly I missed Cody, and how badly my son wanted another dog. Problem was, she raised Shih Tzu’s. I wanted a real dog. A man-sized dog. So I said no, but that didn’t keep her from trying, or keep my son from asking. When she had her next litter, she tried again. This time she sent a photo. I made the mistake of showing it to my son. That’s where the trouble began.
I have never had a lap dog. A foo foo dog. A dog without brains. Sure, he was and still is very cute, but he is so completely different from any dog I have ever had and loved, that it has taken quite an adjustment. Obi, my son called him, from Obi Wan Kenobi on Star Wars. My son adores him, but Shih Tzu’s bond differently than Aussies, and he really doesn’t care for my son. I learned later that they are not a good breed for small children. So, he loves me, only me, and won’t be anywhere that’s not right at or under my feet.
As much as I love animals, I had an attitude about Obi. I missed Cody, and it showed. I complained constantly about his difficulty with training, having to have him groomed, and his horrible breath. But it didn’t matter; Obi loved me loyally, faithfully.
I’d had Obi about a year and a half and I had to go on a book signing tour to Arizona for three weeks. My sister usually watched Obi for me when I went out of town, but she was starting to have problems with him fighting with her lap dogs. So, I decided to take him with me.
It was the best thing that could have ever happened between Obi and me. He had finally grown up, and was the best little companion I could have asked for on my trip. He never once caused any trouble, was obedient, and I can’t fail to mention that he drew a lot of people to my book table. :)
Yes, I love Obi. But I can’t help but feeling a little sad when I see photos of my fellow authors and their man-sized dogs. I know, I need to get over it, and all it usually takes is for Obi to come prancing into the room carrying his miniature tennis ball, looking playfully at me and wagging his tail, ready for a throw and run. He may be a boy-sized dog, but given half a chance, he’ll show you a man-sized heart.
Visit Steven Law’s website at www.stevenlaw.com.
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