In February 2001 I found an ad in the paper for McNab puppies ready for new homes. I called my friendly animal communicator hoping that she’d tell me my current dog, Sarah, really didn’t want a new puppy in the house. Much to my chagrin, instead I was told that Sarah wanted me to quit fostering, but that she wouldn’t mind a puppy. Of course she thought I was going to get one of the McNabs or a border collie — which were my first choice.
But the McNabs were snapped up and a friend’s dog the next day had a litter of Australian cattle dogs. I’d been around heelers before, enjoyed them, but never actually lived with or trained one but I figured that having spent 20 years with border collies, how hard could it be?
Nine years later I’m still reeling from the shock. I should have known better than to name a cattle dog “Rose Lassen” — it was purely an emotional decision and I completely ignored the possibility of Karma being involved. “Rose” was the name of a dear friend; an older, very independent, stubborn, opinionated woman who I used to spend ranching summers with. “Lassen” is a volcano in Northern California — I grew up in its shadow and the name was in honor of my dad who died a couple of weeks before Rose came to live with me. Rose has fulfilled the promise of both names.
I really didn’t know anything about the personality of Australian Cattle Dogs and I had a steep learning curve awaiting. Thank goodness I found sites such as www.cattledog.com and www.aucado.us to help with ideas, suggestions, and general sanity savers.
Life with Rose has not been dull, but for the most part it’s been interesting (like the curse: May you live in interesting times….). Life would be easier if Rose was the only dog — I think we’d all have a lot more fun and she would not feel the need to keep everyone else in line. Rose is definitely a working dog and she’d have been much happier living somewhere that she could keep busy. I tried: I waited too long to introduce her to livestock, so herding wasn’t much of an option — she had no interest in getting near “those animals”; she enjoyed agility….up to a point. Just playing on the dog walk & tunnels was good, but she really doesn’t like the A-frame and jumps and has no interest in any type of competition. We tried once. Basically, every time we enter an agility arena and there’s any hint of competition going on, she pees in one corner, poops in another & comes back to me with her ears up, little stump of a tail wiggling & waits to leave the area.
Rose is my Devil Dog — she will make sure order is always restored, and she’s also expert at getting everyone riled up. There are days when I look at her and wonder what the heck I did. And there are days when I laugh as I watch her working out new situations, deciding who she needs to snark into line, trying to get comfortable for a nap, or cruising the aisles of the pet stores. One thing I know, I never look at her without smiling, even when she’s doing something I’d really prefer she not do.
Last year about this time I thought we were going to lose her; Rose developed a skin condition that was causing her hair to fall off, her feet and legs were crusted and oozing blood, and nothing the vet tried seemed to be helping. The vet initially thought it was a food allergy, but after a month of meds and hypoallergenic food, things seemed to be getting worse. I was facing euthanizing her because there was no way I would allow her to live in such misery and there didn’t seem to be an answer. Finally, after three skin scrapings over the course of several weeks, we determined that she had demodex and once we knew what it was, it was a matter of weeks before we had her cleared up. But each day I check her over carefully for any sign of a recurrence.
Facing the loss brought me to the realization of just how much I love Rose and how much joy she brings me — even at the times I’m trying to get her to behave. She has so much joy and mischief built into her personality. When her eyes sparkle and her ears go up & her little tail stump sticks up… well, it’s hard not to laugh. Rosie isn’t a perfect dog by any means: she has a bark that’ll pierce your eardrums; at 9 she still acts like a 2-year-old; she’s domineering; she’d prefer no other dogs lived in her house; she thinks the bed and the couch belong to her and doesn’t hesitate to push you out of the way of her comfort. She’d prefer her life revolved around lounging and eating bon-bons — preferably beef-flavored; she hates going outside to potty in the rain; she’s chewed holes in most of my fleece clothing that she’s gotten ahold of as well as couch throws, crate blankets, and bath towels (but never shoes!). She’ll sneak food off of a table if it’s at her mouth level; she has no consciense; but she does know when I’m upset and does her best at such times to make me smile.
On the other hand, Rose has a sense of humor and mischief that won’t quit; she can be affectionate; she’s a velcro dog who I never have to worry about running away — teasing me to catch her – yes – running away – no; and if one of the other dogs has any kind of an accident in the house or car, Rose hurries to let me know either by just running back & forth or in the car, barking until I pull over and clean up whatever it is that she disapproves of.
Happy Birthday Rosie — I hope you remain strong and healthy for many, many more.
