Tip: an aging stockdog

I gestured to our elderly and now completely deaf cattle dog, “Come on Tip, time to go outside.” She half-heartedly got to her feet, took a step to the door and curled back up.

Reaching down to grab her collar I yelled, “Tip, Get Out”!

She stood, turned from the door and squeezed between a cabinet and the water heater with only her rear and tucked tail visible.

It was 18 degrees outside and I was trying to put her out for the night. Earlier, when the door was opened, she had dashed inside and huddled in the utility room. Faced with dragging our aging and grouchy stockdog out by her hind legs I mulled over letting her stay.

One day while stopping by the Amish vegetable stand and harness shop, Cindy spied a basket of puppies. She bought Tip. The mother was a Blue Heeler and the father a wandering Romeo of collie descent.

That was thirteen years ago. Tip has been our constant companion on the farm. With instinctive herding instincts, she has been valuable in getting recalcitrant cows to move, return to the barn or stay away while hay was set out.

In her first year she took off after a coyote on the property one night. She returned ten minutes later with a wooden stake sticking out of her chest. She had run straight into a patch of brush I had recently bush-hogged. We pulled the stake out and Cindy treated the cavity with iodine.

Later that night Tip went into shock from an allergic reaction to the iodine. We loaded her up and made a midnight run to the vet. He met us there around 1 in the morning. (Vets no longer perform that service. If we have an emergency after hours we now drive an hour to the nearest clinic).

He put her on an IV drip and kept her overnight. It must have been traumatic because even today, if she feels insecure, she will lift up her foreleg and sniff where the needle drip was inserted.

Definitely a dog with grit, if a 1400-pound bull would not move in the cattle chute, Tip jumped in, barked and bit at the heels. She has been kicked and stomped for her reward many times.

She has been the guard dog that keeps substantially large men penned in their trucks. She has rid us of skunks and possums that preyed on our poultry. She always came when called and did her part, until these past few years.

These days it takes her awhile to get up in the morning. Stove-up, she takes a few minutes to un-kink, hobbling on her front legs.

She now stands stationary in the middle of the yard as the younger dogs race past, barking excitedly but unwilling to play. And now reluctant to risk getting kicked she leaves those tasks to the younger generation.

She is still my constant companion on walks in the woods, never leaving my side. Or, while I bale hay, she lays at the edge of the pasture and waits for me to finish.

Last night, after the door was shut, she edged out from the hot water heater, sniffed her foreleg and settled back down on the blanket. We let her stay in for the night. She has earned that right.

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