Name That Dog!

Miss Jane Doe

We went to a puppy mill yesterday....

and came home with a rescue dog.

With entirely way too many dogs in the "breeding program" we walked away with this one for free.  She is a Bull Mastiff.  Ever see the movie Turner and Hooch?  Even though Hooch was technically a French Mastiff I have to say that every thing this one does reminds me of the movie.

We are going back for more later in the week.

I have never rescued a dog before, but it feels SO good.  Taking this sweet girl out of the dirty 12 x 12 pen she has lived in during her three-year life was exhilarating.  When we let her go at the ranch headquarters we watched intently to see what would happen.  Running, sniffing and rolling around in the grass it was obvious she thought she had somehow made it to heaven.  Within a few hours she was calming down.

One problem:  She needs a new name to go along with her new life.

So, can you help me?

Because I need to go to town and make some dog tags for her.

And I'm tired of saying, "Come here dog."

(Vote now, since this poll will only be open for a limited time.)

I have to admit that I have never been attracted to the Brindle markings, but she is changing that.  I thought it would be fun to name her a feminine name because she is such an intimidating-looking thing.  So, VOTE now!

I LOVE this dog.  I'm pretty sure she loves me too because when I went outside this morning to take her on a walk up the hill I found that she had left me a few gifts from overnight:

A work glove from the shop...

A disgusting left-over rib bone from last week's BBQ...

A slip-and-slide blow-up toy from the garden shed....

And a broken broom handle from who-knows-where.

Un-Invited

Tank (the dog) and Super Joe (the cat)

There are a few who aren't very happy about the dogs coming to live at the Ranch:

the coyotes,

the deer,

the border crossers...

and the barn cats.

*          *          *

"Don't blame me, Super Joe, I tried to take the dogs for a three-mile hike, but you were still up in the tree when we came back."

Tankenstein

Ben with the Farm Dogs

I just thought I would give you a little more perspective on Tank's size.

These pictures were taken yesterday, when Ben was working with the dogs on manners.

Tank (the South African Boerboel) is 18 months old and he is sitting next to full-grown Sunny. (a Lab?)

On this day, Ben was teaching the dogs to SLOWLY and GENTLY take treats from his hand.  They had to sit patiently and follow commands (even if Ben turned his back and walked away).  Ben was SHOCKED at how smart Tank acted.  He learned each behavior after only one try.  Sunny did well too, but it took her a few times to get it.

When Ben saw this picture he kept saying, "Tank looks like a polar bear!"

Ben is not tapping Tank's nose, he is telling him to sit.  Tank can smell the hot dog in Ben's hand.  He WAS able to fight the temptation and gently sat back down.

Muscles!

Remember: Tank is only 18 months old and is expected to fill-out a little more.  Tank reaches Ben's waist.

Tank was sitting just like this one time as I stood straight up and talked to him.  In a split-second, Tank stood on his back legs and licked the tip of my nose before I even had a chance to react.  Then he sat there with his tail wagging, as if to say, "Hah! Gotcha."

Tank

I've heard (more than one dog owner) say that once you own a Boerboel, you never want another breed of dog.

I believe it.

This is Tank.  Tank is one of our new farm dogs and Tank is a Boerboel.

In case you're like most Americans who have never heard of such a breed, let me give you some background.  The Boerboel comes from Africa.  They're actually South African Farm Dogs.  They are a part of the Mastiff family (which means they are huge) and were bred with the purpose of protecting the flocks and children from Leopards and Lions.

That's right I said, Leopards and Lions.

To visit the South African Breeders website (which is full of information and links about the Boerboel), just click HERE.

The thing I like the most about them is that they are SO gentle and SO smart.  Breeder websites are full of stories sent in by Boerboel owners.  For example, the woman who wondered if it was "normal" for her 6-month old dog to keep her two-year old daughter away from the pool.  Or the family who's Boerboel refused to leave Grandma alone at the house because he had figured out that she was the weakest member of the group.  Even our own friends (we know quite a few who are Boerboel owners) talk about their dogs' intuitiveness and watchful behavior. 

Tank used to be a member of (our friends and fellow farmers) the Lloyd family.  Unfortunately, when they moved back up to Idaho the dogs were miserable.  The family realized that they were Arizona farm dogs, who were happier to have free run of the wide open spaces and chase coyotes.  Since we had also known Tank since he was 6 weeks old, they asked us if we would take the dogs.  Boerboels aren't supposed to be passed from family to family, but we were almost like family already.

Of course we were okay with it, so a week later the dogs came back.

We immediately started to notice Tank's intuitiveness and protection of "the little ones."

He finally became acquainted with Ella last week when I loaded her into the car for her first Pediatrician appointment.  As I strapped her teeny-tiny body into the car seat, I suddenly felt a gentle push against my thigh.  I looked down to see Tank's nose and huge head.  I stood back to see what he would do.

He stood there motionless as he stared at her for quite a while.  Then, he started to sniff....and sniff....and sniff as he stared some more.  When I leaned in to tighten the straps around her, he backed-up and stood behind me.  After I closed the door to the car, Tank sat outside her door until I pulled out of the driveway.

Since then, Tank has acted like a mother hen toward Ella.  When we are outside and she fusses or cries, Tank will come running from across the Headquarters and sit down in front of me, back straight, ears perked and staring at me and Ella.

At night, he sits perched outside our front door and growls at whatever is nearby (and let me tell you: he doesn't bark much but the sounds he makes are CHILLING).

And just a note:  Just before Tank showed up the "illegals" were coming to the Headquarters in DROVES.  I'm talking about 20-24 in each group.  Many were coming to the door at night.  Another group came through with huge backpacks (a classic sign of drug-running).  I became scared to be at the Headquarters alone, especially at night.

Funny thing, nobody has been through the Headquarters since Tank came to live with us.

Bobbing For Ice Cubes

Jack is one of the most spoiled farm dogs in this area.....and has NO idea!

On a farm, dogs work. Their shelter is the porch, and they sleep on the ground. I'm actually going to the feed store in town this week to get vaccinations for Jack. I never thought in a million years that I would be the one giving my dogs their shots, but we live on a farm now, and that's just what you do.

Farm animals do NOT come into the house, they don't get dressed up for Halloween, and they definately don't get to have ice cubes in their water! Jack doesn't come in the house, nor does he have a costume for Halloween, but he DOES get ice cubes in his water.

Although this place will NEVER get as hot as Phoenix (and I make sure I give thanks in my prayers for that everyday) it IS, afterall, summertime. I felt sorry for Jack being outside in the 90-degree weather, wearing his fur coat, while I came in and out of the air-conditioned house. I decided to give him a treat. I came out with a glass full of fresh ice from the freezer and placed them into his water bowl.

He came over for a drink. First he touched his nose on one and it bobbed down into the water. Then he did it again, harder, and the ice cube went all the way down to the bottom before it bounced back up. He realized they were cold, so he started licking them until his tongue got chilly. He started playing: pushing them to the bottom of his bowl with his nose and sticking half his face into the water. I think this may have been the first time he realized he couldn't breathe underwater, because he kept coming up and sneezing. It was comical to watch and I laughed from my air-conditioned spot, just inside the french doors.

Now, I bring him ice cubes twice a day. He plays with them in the bowl before grabbing them one by one and chasing them around on the concrete sidewalk. Before they melt completely, he chews them up like a piece of hard candy.

Jack also likes corn-on-the-cob. Since I have thumbs and he doesn't, I hold it for him and he eats it until it's clean. Then, I throw it into his bowl and he chews on the cob like it's a bone.

Ben and I are going on a vacation this summer. I can only imagine what it will be like to instruct whoever will be feeding Jack for us while we're gone.

"All of his toys go in this pot, there's corn in the fridge, his dry food is over there.....Oh yeah! and he likes to have ice cubes in his water!"

(Oh, and by the way....our dog will not be sleeping on the ground for much longer-eventhough he DOES sleep on an old sleeping bag. We are building him a dog house next week. I have already chosen the elevation and color scheme....Spoiled dog!)

Miss Daisy-Lou

I realize I haven't been keeping up with my writing. I've been running around with my family (as mentioned last time), but I have also been dealing with a little bit of loss. I haven't really felt like writing about it, but I knew I needed to in order to "move on" with the blog.

One of our dogs died. Daisy. She was hit by a car....and I was driving it. I realize this is a farm and that the blog is about the farm. I realize that things like this happen quite frequently in farm life, but it's never happened to me personally, (especially when I was the one at the wheel), so I've been pretty torn-up about it. In order to avoid this being a totally "bummer blog" I've decided to share some of my favorite memories of Daisy.

Daisy was MY dog.

I was the one who insisted we take her, eventhough she was the runt and the littlest one of all. I think she knew that I fought to keep her. She loved to cuddle with me and would usually snuggle up to my neck and fall asleep immediately while making little grunting piggie noises. As she got older and bigger, this became more difficult, but I always said I would keep snuggling her no matter how big she got. When I called her I yelled, "Hey, Miss Daisy-LOOOOOOUUU!" It sort of stuck.

She had floppy ears that seemed to wave when the breeze blew. Sometimes, she would pause, stick her nose up in the air and let her ears flap away. Daisy and Jack liked to chase dust devils together. As the twisters danced around the field, Jack and Daisy would run right into the middle of it and spin around in circles. As it hopped around, so did the dogs, always trying to get right in the middle.

We burried Daisy under the big Cottonwood tree they liked to play under together. She might have only been our dog for three months, but I'm going to miss her for a long time.

Puppy Love

I guess if you're going to live on a farm, then you need to have

"Farm Dogs". In an effort to more fully embrace the Farm Life and culture, we are happy to announce the addition of two puppies to our farm. The male is named Jack (right) and is the Alpha Male of the litter. He's huge...and smart.

His little sister is named Daisy (above-left). She was the Runt of the litter and I have to admit, being the softy that I am, I have a special place in my heart for the Runt. She's a snuggler, and snuggles right up to the neck of anyone who will hold her. They are 10 weeks old. Friends are asking us what breed they are....they are 100% pure Mutt. The mother was an Austrailian Cattle Dog and the father looked like a pit-bull, which would explain the muscles.

One of the reasons to have Farm Dogs is to warn you when creepy creatures are around....like snakes. We had our first test a couple of nights ago. Jack passed. Daisy didn't, but we're hoping she learned a thing or two from Jack. We heard Jack barking and making a lot of noise. Then, we heard Daisy cry. When we ran outside there was a....well....we're not sure....a HUGE rodent-looking thing. Ben called it a shrew, but I don't know what that is. Jack barked at it (GOOD) while Daisy sniffed at it....or tried to lick it...or SOMETHING (BAD). It bit her on her ear. Ben went out and killed it with a broom ("my hero!"), because I most certainly was NOT going to wack it! (I wanted to shoot it...okay, forget about what I said earlier about being a "softy"; at least not with stinky rodents!) Hopefully Daisy will leave big creepy things alone from now on!