by Natasha Reichlin
This story is not only a tribute to my first stock dog, Jesse, but a story of how I was first exposed to stock dogs and how they can change your way of thinking, working stock and completely burrow into your heart.
My husband and I and our two little kids had been ranching for 11 years and I had always had dogs, just not stock dogs. I figured I may as well have companions that might be able to do more on the farm than the usual watchdog responsibilities and chasing deer from my garden. I had heard about stock dogs and spend many hours calling and emailing people I knew to see if anyone had dogs in our area. This was before Facebook was such a help in this area and my networking was tedious.
Finally, my Environmental Farm Plan Advisor mentioned she had met a rancher south of my town named Scott who had several good cow dogs. I was quickly in touch and although he had no puppies at the time, he had a few left from a litter of started dogs. I explained what I was looking for (female, good in the house and with children) and explained our ranch and handling ideas and he said there was only one female that he though would work.
Not being a patient person when it comes to dogs, I was soon arranging a visit to the ranch. As I drove into the yard, I looked around at all the cattle grazing, guardian dogs quietly watching a pen of sheep. I thought about getting an older dog and wondered how I would bond them. How would I know that we would get along?
The litter in question were a mixed breed, mostly border collie with some Australian shepherd. Scott claimed they were tough dogs, three years old, almost too tough for sheep, and very capable of handling the meanest cows. When he let them out of the kennels, it was a big mass of black and white freckled bodies, heading everywhere. They all looked similar to me, and I tried to watch detachedly while they ran around, relieved themselves and took a look a their surroundings. Of the three he had for sale, two ran straight past me for the small sheep pen containing a few bottle lambs. I knelt in hopes of calling them over to get to know them, but before I could get a word out, the third dog, a small black and white long haired female with a naturally bobbed tail, sneaked in behind me and shoved her head under my arms and onto my lap. As I petted her and Scott introduced the three and their skills, I knew in my heart it didn’t matter what he said, that this little dog who wouldn’t leave my side would be the one I went home with. Scott smiled and said that her name was Jesse and she was the one he had mentally earmarked for me.
From the very first, the 40 lb dog and I we were inseparable. Having never had a stock dog, I was unprepared for the loyalty and devotion given to me by Jesse. From day one, she wanted to be with me (and the family) and fit in perfectly with the kids, allowing herself to be dressed in Halloween clothes, cuddled and loved. As a pet, she was 100% perfect.
As we have established already, I’m not a patient person. I was ready to work cows with this dog from day one. I guess if this was the me of today, I’d be a lot more patient, and give myself a few months of bonding, but back then I was less wise! =) I still have the emails to Scott, asking if he was SURE this dog would work cattle, because she wasn’t doing anything for me! In retrospect, this poor young dog had been put into a new ranch, family, taken away from her family and pack and was expected to obey this rancher who really knew nothing about managing a stock dog.
As I look back, it makes me shake my head. I was so new, and not only had to develop a relationship with this dog, but I knew NOTHING about working stock with a dog. I could not figure out why she was always on the “wrong” side of the stock and finally called Scott to ask this? I will forever remember his response: “Are you sure its not YOU on the wrong side of the stock? Try walking to the gate and getting the dog to bring the cattle.” And it worked!!
It was a paradigm shift and by no means an easy journey. I am certain Jesse thought I had the intellect of a four-year-old and kudos to her for never quitting on me or losing her temper. Granted, she often just ignored me and did the job properly despite my shouted commands that probably made NO sense to her. It is a tribute to her genius that she managed to get all the jobs done with NO guidance (at least, in retrospect, none that would make any sense to her). I cringe to think about it, but we slowly figured out a system. If I could communicate where I needed the animals or what job I wanted to get done, she would do it. There was nothing she could not handle, from stepping between me and a charging momma cow during calving, to calmly moving newborn calves and mommas to nursery pens. I will never forget her tracking nine missing yearling heifers one Christmas break through snow and narrow bush trails until we found them on a frozen lake over 10 km from home and walked them home. That was the best Christmas present I have ever received watching them walk into the yard at home.
Another time, a stubborn bull refused to come home with the cows from our huge 2,000-acre range, and we finally located him with an old leg injury, holed up in a draw near the Fraser River, several km’s from home. At the time, several forest fires were raging in the Cariboo, the closest one was less than 10 km from our ranch and the area was blanketed in thick smoke, making even the midday light as dim as twilight. Jesse and I spent several hours convincing that bull to move from his safe area and head towards home and every time he found a trail that veered off the main trail, he would try to run away. Jesse continually had to turn him back, sometimes with her teeth, until we finally trudged into the farmyard, all three of us tired and barely walking, just before nightfall. It is times like those that bond you to a creature who will continue working with and for you in the smoke, dark, and bush. She never gave up.
She can hear a gate chain from across the farmyard and will be ready to bring whatever needs to be moved. One calving season not too long ago, I did my rounds of the cows (probably one of thousands Jesse and I have done together) and saw a heifer with a water bag protruding from her back end. I left immediately to set gates and ready the barn pen. As I walked back out towards the calving field, Jesse had cut that heifer out of the group and was bringing her down the funnel towards the barn. My husband has always said if Jesse could open gates, I wouldn’t even need to go outside. It’s not far from the truth.
I could tell stories of this dog and her bravery and skill all day but I will leave you with an update of where she is today. As I write this, she is curled up on one end of the couch with me. She is now 11 years old and the years of living hard have made her a bit stiff getting up in the morning, but that swiftly wears off if there is any chance of work needing to be done. Her expressive eyes are getting cloudy with cataracts, but she doesn’t seem to miss much that goes on around this ranch. She is still the first to stand with me at the door while I pull on my cold-weather gear, always game to join me, whatever might be happening.
The inevitable thing is coming though. I know someday I face heading out the door without this dog that has been such a huge part of my life, so this spring we purchased our first purebred border collie pup. I hope to someday do a field trial. Learning how to train her, networking with some wonderful people in the British Columbia Stock Dog Association, and some amazing other trainers in our area, has made me realize Jesse and I could do so much more, so I have recently asked for more precision from her, more requests based on her trust of me. Again, this dog has amazed me with her resilience, especially for a senior dog. She and I had some success with some small arena trialing this summer, even winning some money! The competition has sparked something in both of us, she seems younger and happier, and I know that I am in a zone when I step into that arena, blocking out the people, noise and distractions, somehow going mentally to a place where its just Jesse and me and the stock, just like our work at home. And that place, I have come to realize, is my happy place.
So, here’s to as much time as I can squeeze in with this little dog with the big heart and our journey together. I will always be grateful for the chance to learn with this dog that has become my heart. I will always have a stockdog in my life, but there will never be another Jesse.