End of an Era

I killed my dog.

She was protecting the sheep at the time, watching them from out of the wind.

She couldn’t hear much and cataracts clouded her eyes, but she positioned herself between the sheep and any errant coyote.

About 14 years ago, I brought Snow and her sister, Ruffles, home.

That was Snow’s last ever ride in a pickup.

I had resisted the idea of livestock guardian dogs because I assumed guard dogs would be aggressive and was worried that they would bite my kids or friends who often showed up at the ranch.

Losing a third of my lambs to coyotes one year convinced me to give them a try.

I picked them up in December and put them in a pen to bond with a few ewes.

By late spring, they were hanging around the new lambs near the barn.

Curious little puppies that they were, they decided to help me fix the fence around the sheep lot.

We didn’t have a lot of money then, but I had splurged on a good wool hat guaranteed to last a lifetime.

I got warm and the puppies got bored.

When I looked up, Snow was chewing on the brim of my expensive wool hat.

I matched the wool to the closest color of duct tape that I had and taped it up.

I still wear that duct taped hat.

Snow and Ruffles became a great team.

Every morning, they trotted out to the pasture with the sheep and lay somewhere at the periphery of the flock.

I watched them chase coyotes away, one taking a shortcut while the other kept on the tail of the zigzagging predator.

At the barn, they were timid yet respectful of any two-legged creature, from chickens to humans, bursting the bubble of my lack of guard dog education.

I counted on Snow and Ruffles and they delivered.

Snow always stayed with the sheep – if Snow was missing, I knew I was missing sheep, too.

Lamb depredation fell from losing a third to losing about 10 percent of my lambs.

The rest of life was good then, too.

The kids were thriving, I rode good horses and the grass was green.

As Snow and Ruffles aged, I brought new livestock guardian puppies home, one or two at a time, to help them.

Snow barely tolerated those puppies, for good reason.

They tried to jump on her back, nip her ears, and generally annoyed her.

Two years ago, Ruffles developed kidney issues.

I tried various treatments.

Ruffles spit them out before she followed the sheep out to pasture.

One day, she didn’t come home.

I never found Ruffles.

By then, Snow began to thin.

I bought better dog food and supplemented it with meat and fat scraps.

She trotted to the barn for breakfast and supper.

Then she developed a growth on her eyelid that impeded her sight.

A ride to the vet clinic would be too traumatic for her, even if I could manage to get her loaded.

My veterinarian, Dr. Dick, came to the ranch.

We managed to sedate Snow and removed the growth, but she wasn’t happy about the process.

Despite my efforts, Snow grew thinner and thinner, stiffer and stiffer.

She shivered in the cold, didn’t eat much and took longer to get to the sheep.

One morning, she didn’t come to breakfast, remaining curled in her warm wool bed instead.

I carried breakfast to her, but I knew her time was coming.

I considered my options.

I didn’t like any of them.

I called Dr. Dick.

Then I cried.

I buried Snow on the hill, where she can watch from out of the wind.