Tribute to a Good, Good Dog

On Saturday, June 1, we lost our handsome border collie, Colt, to a tragic accident at the farm.  He was almost 13 years old, and had been our loyal companion for the last almost 8 years.  

His last day was a good one.  We had a long walk, filled with investigating all the good smells, swimming in the tanks and doing the things he loved.  The evening before, he and Rue rounded up our small herd of cows and took them to the barn.  

Colt joined our family on September 9, 2011, two days before his fifth birthday.  Before that. he was a working, competition border collie, Shertom’s Colt.  His life was filled with sheep and cattle, and he earned many awards and championships, like the beautiful belt buckle shown in the photo taken with his previous owner, Sheryl McDonald.

When he was almost 5 years old, Sheryl said that he had reached all his competition goals, and that she would like to find him a home where he could be a companion dog.  I knew Colt from my herding lessons with Sheryl, and knew that he was a happy, friendly boy.  Several months later, after we lost our beloved Lucky Dog, I remembered the conversation and asked if Colt was still looking for a home.  He was, and he came home with John and me, Nickie and Kota.  

Colt blossomed as a companion dog.  Living in a house instead of a kennel was new to him, but Nickie and Kota were good role models, and he figured out the routine in short order.  He had his own soft bed, a big yard to play in…and the best part, his own swimming pool.

Colt loved to swim, both at the farm in our stock ponds, where he learned to fetch sticks, which he proudly brought back to shore so they could be thrown again.

Once he even fetched a duck that John shot from our stock tank.  He was very proud.

Swimming wasn't just in our pool or the stock tank.  In October of 2011, only a month or so after he came to us, we went camping on Lake O’ The Pines near Jefferson, TX.  The dogs were in the water in a heartbeat.  Colt went swimming out into the lake, farther and farther and farther.  We were terrified that he would tire and drown or be hit by a boat.  In spite of our calls, soon he was only a speck in the distance.  Just as we were about to give up hope of his returning, he turned around and made his way back to shore.  Apparently he was just enjoying his swim.  

Colt never lost his love of the water, and felt free to take a dip in our pool any time it suited him.  He also loved to “herd” me as I swam laps in the pool.  He would race around the edge of the pool, sometimes making his way up and across the water feature at the end of the pool.  Then he would enter the pool and do his best to swim around me as I made my way from one end of the pool to the other. 

When it came to travels in the RV, Colt was a trooper.  He didn’t especially like the noise of our Volvo 610.  And he never learned to scramble up the stops to the cab like the girls.  I think the indignity of being lifted up rankled his pride.  But once inside, he settled into his spot on the jackknife sofa or in the “cave” underneath and snoozed away. He accompanied us to places far and near, and enjoyed every moment.

We traveled each summer, usually into the western states where he enjoyed the cool weather.  A couple of times we had snow in Custer, SD.

Once was on his birthday.  What a wonderful time he had; I don’t know if he had ever seen snow, but he wasted no time enjoying it.

There were many trails for hiking, and Colt carried his pack proudly. 

Back in camp, he loved living in the RV and playing tug with his “sisters.” 

 Tug usually ended with the toy being ripped apart, with stuffing flying everywhere. 

Before he came to us, Colt knew nothing about toys and balls.  It took a while, but he learned well.  Though never a hunter, he took special pleasure in dismembering a stuffed toy, pulling out the filling a bit at a time.  And as for balls, he was never interested in playing fetch.  He did, however, take great joy in getting to a ball before Rue, guarding it between his paws while she waited impatiently for him to leave so she could return to the game.  And, when Rue brought the ball to me and I failed to notice, he often came up to “tell” me that it was time to pick up the ball and resume the game.

When we were in Volente, one of his favorite things was a walk along the Turkey Creek Nature Trail.  An off-leash area frequented by many of Austin’s dogs, Turkey Creek has a lovely, shaded trail along a beautiful, clear stream.  There are 12 or 14 water crossings, and several pools deep enough for a swim. 

But, I suppose his favorite place was at our farm in Hamilton County.  There are 225 acres of rocks and hills, stock tanks and creeks for a dog to enjoy.

And, then, there were pet-fests on the bed at night or early morning.

When he first came to us, Colt was reluctant to leave our sides and explore with Nickie and Kota, and with Rue and Kota after we lost Nickie.  He would look up at me for permission, and I told him, “free,” it’s OK to go exploring.  He never strayed far, though.  He was always in touch, in the border collie way.

And at the farm, there were cattle…our small herd offered the border collies an opportunity to do a little herding.  They loved to gather the cows and bring them to us, or drive them to the barn.  

Colt was always firm but gentle with the cattle.  The calves learned early on to respect and obey the dogs, even when they were wearing their shirts to protect them from speargrass and beggar lice.

The cows learned, too.  Red Cow, one of the senior cows, had a word with him one day and at my command he gave her a disciplinary nip on the nose. 

And then, there were the annual photo-ops among the bluebonnets at the farm.

   

Colt had other dog friends besides the girls.  At Turkey Creek we often walked with friends and their dogs.  And at the farm, many times we were joined by the “dog cousins” that belonged my son’s and brother’s family and cousins.  How they romped and played…and what a joy it was to watch them.

Our good, good boy enjoyed people, and was always available if anyone needed to pet a dog.  In the beginning he was afraid of small children.  After all, competition dogs don’t often see little people not much taller than they are.  He was alarmed if one approached him, and often barked in a way that sent the little ones screaming to their mothers.  That wouldn’t do at all, and we quickly showed him that they meant him no harm, and that they even had hugs and pats to give.  He also learned that if you licked their little hands and faces they often tasted good as well.

As the years passed, he acquired a few more gray hairs, and a couple of extra pounds as well, but he never lost his dignity.  He was a gentleman in every way, and a proud protector of his home and his people.  His gruff voice warned away the coyotes that howled across the creek at the farm, or passers-by at the house he didn't trust.

Colt bonded strongly to John and me, and became my shadow.  When I walked from room to room, or from house to yard, he was at my side.  When I got out of bed in the middle of the night, the soles of my feet felt the soft, warm bulk of him pressed close to the bedside.  He was always there for me, a loyal, trusted companion.  

We buried him at the farm beside Nickie on a gentle hillside overlooking the creek.  So many photos, so many memories.. They wash over me like waves, along with the grief.  You were our good, good boy, my Colt, and we will miss you terribly.  Rest in peace, my friend and may your spirit roam those pastures along with those of Lucky Dog, Feathers and Nickie.