Doc, a Good Old Boy

Doc, the Guardian Dog

Doc is a livestock guardian dog, now 11 years old, who lost his partner Tia awhile back. When, through lamb losses, we determined Doc could not guard our flock alone, Tia was replaced by Josie, a young female. Though they got along fairly well as a team, with Tia gone it seemed like Doc sorta lost his enthusiasm for guarding sheep. This left Josie on her own much of the time. She tried, she did, but we still lost 6 lambs last summer. This led to the decision to get Thor, one of Josie's young offsprings. Thor knew his place on the farm was with the sheep which encouraged Josie to be more alert and dedicated to her guardian role. We stopped losing lambs upon his arrival. Josie and Thor, since they are mother and son, have a close bond. Once Thor was here it seemed like Doc became a bit isolated, spent a lot more time parked on the kitchen stoop, and he more or less retired himself. This may all be due to doggy dynamics, establishment of the alpha dog, determining the pecking order, that sort of thing.

One evening my husband stepped out to fetch some firewood and found Doc lying on the ground, badly hurt by the other two dogs. He carried him inside. We called our vet who was about to go on holiday, but she was able to drop by with some badly needed eyedrops. Next day we decided Doc needed antibiotics and painkillers but the vet in town wouldn't give me any without seeing the dog. Taking Doc to town would probably have done him in. Fortunately I managed to get our vet on the phone and she faxed in a prescription.

For 5 days Doc lay on the kitchen floor and moaned, slowly returning to life more each day until he finally was able to limp out the door to do his business. But now we had a problem. We could no longer trust the relationship of our three guardians. As Doc's condition improved we came to the realization that to keep him safe we needed to be outside when he was, to keep an eye on things. If not he needed to be in the shop or in the house, safe. Winter set in.

Doc, the House Dog

A few days of walking back and forth from the shop every time Doc needed in or out cured us of the idea of making him a shop dog. Now this 100 pound fellow lives in the kitchen. He's no longer accustomed to the cold weather so he's in most of the time except for warm spells, walks, and tours around the home yard. He never really popped back to full health after his confrontation with Josie and Thor but at least they have a tenuous truce (broken once for another row). His coat is shaggy; he has bare skin in lots of places where he licks and licks. He has a couple of  balloon like protrusions, one on his knee, one on his tit. He's very arthritic. He's tired and old.

It's been kinda fun watching Doc deal with his new environment. Being a guardian he's not comfortable with people other than his own people. The minute someone drives in the yard he begins to bark and continues on and on till he finally settles down somewhere as far away as is possible in an 12 X 18 room. He keeps a wary eye on guests, keeps his distance and, if anyone speaks to him he sets off barking again. I tell folks to ignore him, not to talk to him or try to pet him, but nearly everyone it seems is quite convinced that their sweet tone and obvious love of dogs is going to break the ice with Doc. It doesn't. There's only a few people, after many many meetings, who are no longer greeted by incessant barking. It is getting better. Now I'm able to direct him to a safe corner, tell him to be quiet, and it works most of the time. One amazing thing did happen though. When my son and family came for Christmas he didn't make a peep. Our little grandgirls hugged and petted him, their two tiny dogs bounded in. All was fine with him.

We have a slate floor. The kitchen's wood stove keeps it comfortably warm but it's plenty hard on arthritic limbs (including mine). So I bought a couple of soft mats which I placed in front of the sink and the stove. It took Doc very little time to recognize the advantage of lying on one or the other of these mats, always, it seems, the one I want to be standing on! He quickly learned a new command, "Gotta move Doc!" and he grudgingly rises to his feet, lumbers over to the other mat only to be requested in minutes to move again. Occasionally he sleeps under the table; sometimes he hides in the bathroom to get away from guests. The cleverest move he's made for his own comfort though is to paw the dog bed out from under the stairs. This has always been a comfy hidey hole for our Border Collies and my little mutt pooch, but there's no way Doc can fit under the stairs! So at night he pulls the too small dog bed out and settles in, on, or over it. My husband suggested we get a bed to fit him. "And place it where? Maybe the doorway!" Needless to say that suggestion did not go over well.

I mentioned the poor condition of Doc's coat. The fan on the stove and the little swirling winds created by walking combined with his continual shedding has created a hairy household. I pick up chunks. I try to sweep up the illusive scattering, gathering, hiding bits before they slide under every possible surface or attach to throw rugs and chair legs. But it's an impossible task. Anyone with allergies would be wise to avoid our household. Fortunately I am a casual housekeeper. I do my best but don't obsess.

Why, you wonder, why would we put up with this useless old dog under our feet ? Many a farmer would find him a bullet, or just hope he survives outside with his adversaries and failing health. Why don't we feel that way? Well, I guess we have a respect for this old dog. He worked his heart out for us, protecting our sheep, our property, and our home most of his life. We accepted and expected his unconditional love and loyalty. The least we can do is make him comfortable now.