Little Dog

Early last October we returned home to find that our dog had invited a friend over.  Well, not really.  What we actually found was a cute, little black, tan and white dog that had obviously become separated from her owners.  She looked a little like a corgi that had been crossed with an black and tan shepherd.  Short legged and thick tailed, she possessed a sweet face and a gentle disposition. 

When all efforts to locate an owner failed, Sadie, aka Little Bit, aka, Little Jump, settled in with the farm dogs.  Possessing a playful nature she spent hours playing tug of war with the Aussie and even enticed the neurotic, aloof collie into whirlwind games of tag.  The grandkids thought she was cool, but Hubby was less than enthusiastic about another dog.  "We're going to have to start getting the feed store to deliver dog food in bulk by the ton", he grumbled, as he headed to chore with Little Bit right behind him.

I knew he was hooked when he stopped by the house one day and mentioned he was going to check cattle but first he had to change from the four-wheeler to the ranger.  "Why are you taking the ranger?" I questioned, thinking that maybe he needed to take some tools or equipment in the bed of the ranger.  "The little dog gets tired." he mumbled.  "Huh?" I queried,  "I didn't catch that."  "The little dog.", he repeated with a touch of defensiveness in his voice, "She follows me with Ellie (the Aussie) and she gets all worn out with her short legs.  With the ranger I can give her a lift."  Ducking his head, he headed to the barn.  Shortly later, I watched with a smile as he left to check the cattle with the little dog sitting proudly beside him on the ranger's seat.  Yep.  He was hooked.

Then Christmas morning arrived.  We left before daylight to be at the son's house when the kids opened Santa.  The little dog escorted us to the garage and watched as we pulled down the drive.  Hours later, we returned to the house, full from a big breakfast and exhausted from our early start.  We went straight in and to the couch.  Our son stopped by that evening after chores and informed us that we were short one little dog. 

Over the next day, we looked and looked for the little dog.  The farm rang with our calls as we went about our daily chores.  Hubby even drove up and down the road searching, with dread, for a small, furry body.  The Australian Shepherd moped around, missing her playmate.  The grandchildren were as worried as we were, adding their calls to ours.  Every outbuilding was searched, hoping she had just accidently gotten locked in.  We eventually accepted that the little dog wasn't coming back.

Sunday morning, we drove to town to pick the kids up for church, still automatically checking the roadsides.  It was a subdued group that pulled into the parking lot behind the church.  I gathered up kids and belongings and started to escort the little ones up the back stairs to their Sunday School class when a small, dark whirlwind appeared across the lawn. "Little Jump!" squealed the granddaughter.  Soon, the little dog was the center of an excited, mass of Campbells, all talking at once.  "Where did you come from?" "How did you get here?"  "We thought you were gone!"

I looked up to see a gentleman approaching us across the lawn.  My heart did a little sad lunge, realizing that the little dog had obviously had an owner before us and  this could very well be him.  "Is that your dog?" we both asked at once.  Laughing, I replied, not very helpfully, "Yes. No. Well, sort of. Is she yours?"   After a few more false starts we sorted out how he wound up with the little dog.   It seems that he had found her on the main highway in front of the farm, where she was hunting on the roadsides. Fearing she would be hit and killed, he picked her up and brought her to town.  She had been living the high life in his apartment, eating doggie treats and sleeping on the couch, when he let her out to potty just as we arrived at church.

He said she had been a perfect lady and obviously was housebroken.  Watching his gentleness as he petted the little dog, I asked him if he would like to keep her.  She really was a stray, not really our dog.  He shook his head sadly, "She's a doll, but I live in an apartment and am gone a lot with my work.  I just can't have a pet, but I might come see her, if I can."  "Anytime!" I assured him, as I gathered up my excited brood and sorted out how we were going to get the dog home before church.

I had mixed emotions while taking her home.  It was obvious that the dog was used to being someone's house dog.  At the farm, she was an outside, farm dog.  Maybe she was miserable being outside all the time.  Maybe she would rather be with her rescuer in a comfy house.  However, she certainly seemed to enjoy her games with the other dogs and her rides in the ranger.

I guess I wasn't the only one thinking about this.  A couple of nights later, our son called from his house after leaving the farm.  "I've got the little dog.  She's going to spend the night with us."  As he was leaving, after calling his dog to the truck, he scooped up the little dog and put her in, too. 

So now we are "co-owners" of the little dog.  I keep her in the day and she goes home at night with her friend, Ellie, the Aussie. 

Maybe living a dog's life isn't all bad.