A Good Home Only

Kris was perusing the farm animal sites on facebook that make up the new farming community a few weeks back and ran across a live stock guardian dog for which the owner wanted a "good home", would only entertain "serious offers" and was only asking a hundred bucks. It was a Marama crossed with a Great Pyrenees that was four years old.
"Hey, Bart, look at this."
I was throwing wood on the fire and it took me a second to finish.
"Come on, you're not gonna believe this one."
I was expecting to see a good looking horse, which usually stops her aimless meanderings through these sites. We look at them together and Oooh and Aaah and then, we discuss its beauty, what we could do with it and decide it is an incredible buy, sort of a good buy or overpriced, or way overpriced, or out of their minds overpriced.

Instead, a big white dog was looking out of the picture and into the hearts of anyone foolish enough to be cruising by. Danger, whoop-whoop-whoop, danger!
"What do they want a thousand bucks?" I inquired. We had looked at every breed of livestock guardian dog awhile back and any thing with four legs and tail was a thousand bucks. I was sure the price would save me from telling her no, absolutely no, no way no how, NO!

"That's the best part--- a hundred bucks!" she gushed.

Up until that point the morning had been going pretty well. Reluctantly, I pointed out we had two dogs and another one was out of the question. No, absolutely not, no new dog.

She rushed over and gave me a big hug squeezing my neck so tightly the blood flow was being cut off and said through clenched teeth "Thank you, I KNEW you'd AGREE. I'll call and tell them we'll take it. This will be my Christmas present."

Blood flow returning, I was seeing that, actually, we needed another dog. Well, maybe it will be one we could have run loose, would stay around when we left, and watch the chickens without eating too many.

I began to ponder the "only to a good home" line that is in every ad for animals on the internet. "I really want the dog, but honestly, we aren't a very good home. We only take care of our animals occasionally, and we never pat them or show signs of affection." Maybe I should call and talk to the current owner.

Kris handled all the arrangements, and even got the dog delivered by the owner, who was I am sure, anxious to see that it went to a "good home."

A couple of weeks went by before "Frankie" could be delivered by the owner due scheduling conflicts and Kris was so excited. By the time it arrived, she was just a blur running around trying to make this place look like a "good home." In truth, I have to admit, I was excited too.

We brushed the horses repeatedly who would then roll in the mud and cleaned the goat barn several times. The goats seemed to poop a lot more than usual and the chicken coop was probably the cleanest coop in the state.

Mercifully, the day finally arrived. Kris looked me over, scruffy beard, dirty jeans, barn coat and said "may be you should go somewhere for awhile. They might not get of the car if they see you."

"Okay-- I'll trim my beard and give myself a hair cut and try to look less like a serial killer." This seemed to satisfy her and she went on to correct something else that might indicate this wasn't a "good home."

The day seemed to drag along. They lived down state and didn't leave until noon. I was just doing the goat's evening feeding when they arrived. It was getting dusky and kind of hard to see. I waved trying to look at least like a friendly, well groomed serial killer who takes good care of his animals. I directed them to the other barn where they could find Kris. As they pulled away, I peeked into the small station wagon. I couldn't see the driver, but there were two teenage boys who appeared to be smothering in white fur, in fact, the back of the car behind the rear seat, the rear seat and part of the front passenger seat were filled with it. For an instant a huge white head filled the entire front passenger's window and then the car disappeared down the driveway. I hurried after the car anxious to see if my eyes were playing tricks in the low light level.

I was getting there just as the car was emptying. Kris was still talking to the driver and assuring her it was the right place. The two boys got out and the dog began to get out. It got out some more- and some more- and still some more dog got out. It came over to the driver who was still in the car talking to Kris through her window. He had to lower his massive head to the level of the driver's head to lick her face with a huge pink tongue. BIG dog. After the dog and boys got out, I could see another passenger that had been hidden in back seat on the other side of the dog. Introductions were exchanged and the driver got out. She in contrast to the dog was a small thin woman that weighed a lot less than the dog and probably would be cheaper to feed no matter what she ate.

Kris and she were chattering away like long lost friends and making over the dog. The owner had correctly identified who was in charge and who cut the checks and who all dealings had to pass through. I was left to make small talk with the teens, who it turns out were well mannered and well spoken young fellows. They were obviously very attached to the dog. They had gotten Frankie as a pup to watch the goats and chickens at there small farmstead. Close neighbors, busy road and Frankie had ended up on a chain. Too bad, these kids loved the dog and were doing the responsible thing. These were good kids. I hadn't said a word to the mother and already held her in high regard. We all hope we would have the kind of character it takes to do the right thing too, but I think it is pretty rare. She was putting the dog's needs ahead of the family's wants. Makes you want to try hard to be worthy of such a painful decision.

They stayed quite awhile reluctant to leave, but finally when all excuses for staying were exhausted they piled back into the small car and drove slowly out of the driveway. Sadness hung in the air.

We had slipped a horse lead line onto "Frankie's" collar and he began pulling me down the driveway after the retreating car. "It's Okay Frankie, good boy." I dug in and slowed our progress down to a halt somewhere around the goat barn. Rosie was barking at Frankie threateningly. Kris caught up and we both made over him. "It's Okay Frankie" we repeated hollowly. It was a lie and we both knew it. Everyone involved was trying to make his life better, but there would be some heartbreak first.
It was getting dark and we hadn't eaten and neither had Frankie. One of the things we do at the farm is feed our animals good. The dogs get a good dose of home canned dog food from meat scraps we can after we butcher. This goes on top of their dry food which is pretty boring day after day with no toppings. Frankie ate heartily- a huge relief and a very encouraging sign.

We needed to secure Frankie for the night. We didn't want him to take off on an epic journey to locate his former owners which would make the Disney channel if successful or more likely, end in tragedy. So we walked Frankie around giving him his first glimpse of Missed Skeet Farm and the area we hoped he would keep free of predators, then, I tied him to a post inside the barn with a horse lead and went to bed.

I got up three or four times that night, got bundled up and walked him around the farm in the dark using the same path. I kept a firm grip on the rope and a free hand to pat him when he was close enough. Each of the walks lasted a good half hour. I was trying to get him through the first night without leaving him alone too long. I didn't get much sleep, but that isn't too unusual around here and dawn finally came. Kris was up now and she has a way with animals that I don't. She fed Frankie and untied him, then we went about chores and Frankie followed her around. Frankie stayed within a short distance as we moved about. If Kris walked toward him, he moved away quietly, maintaining his distance. When I moved toward him, he moved away and grumbled vocally- not growling just grumbling. Annoyingly, he never grumbled with "Sleeping Beauty" who spent the night in peaceful repose while I spent the night trying to be a compassionate pet owner and keep Frankie from feeling too lonely.

In pictures, Great Pyranees and Maramas are always laying down and watching the herd from a good vantage point. For some reason it surprised us when that is exactly the way Frankie spends most of his time. When we would move, Frankie moved and found a good spot and laid down to watch what was going on. Occasionally, he would bring his head up, stare intently and trot off barking in that direction. At first we worried he might not turn around and come back, but just keep going. Fortunately for everyone, he travels only short distances from the "herd" and then eventually returns to lay down and watch again.

As I mentioned earlier, we hoped when we considered getting a new guardian dog that it would stay close, without being fenced or tied, even when we drive away. Frankie is that dog. After a week or so, he finally quit barking and grumbling at me to warn Kris when I was approaching. The first few days, he would look in the kitchen window and bark to warn Kris whenever I moved around inside. Apparently, my attempt to look less like a serial killer was not fooling Frankie. After a week or so I could occasionally get a hand on him in passing give him a pat. By the end of two weeks, he and I were fast friends. Where someone goes, Frankie follows-- he is great company.

You can tell he is enjoying doing the work he was bred to do. He moves with purpose and dignity, satisfied with his new job and new surroundings. Frankie loves Kris and tolerates her dull assistant patiently.

So, I think he believes and in fact has come to the "Good Home" that Frankie's previous family hoped he would find. Kudos to them for making a very tough decision.