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Editor's ViewpointMeditations Of A Minnesota Mossback |
Down to the Last Sheep
I grew up with German Shepherds, but I married into a border collie family. That’s how it goes, you know—you get married, you make adjustments.
Border collies are intense, and they like to have something to do—especially when they’re pure-bred, which was the case with our first border collie, Cassiopeia (Cassie for short).
Gentle to the core, she delighted in lovingly herding the children, of which there were four.
However, Cassie had a protective streak.
I’m sure our former UPS guy still hyperventilates when he recalls the time the kids were all outside in the front yard and I had curled up on the couch for a quick shut-eye: our normally predictable dog, with whom the man was well acquainted, had cornered him in the garage and was actually snarling. Mr.
Brown looked very glad to see me when I appeared through the kitchen door.
Katie K-9 has said that our current dog is half border collie and half springer spaniel.
I don’t doubt her: Halley can jump several feet into the air from a standing position when it appears she might get to go for a ride.
Adopted from Second Chance, Halley has a few issues—not the least of which is a household devoid of children, as during her tenure they suddenly all grew up and went off to greener pastures.
I’m sure she takes it personally.
Which is why I bought her a sheep.
Not a real one, but a Boots & Barkley dog toy special, on sale at Target last year.
It made a nice, baa-ing sound when I picked it up out of the herd in the clearance bin and squeezed it.
I bought seven (one for her Australian shepherd cousin in Everett, Wash. for Christmas).
When she naps, Halley uses her sheep for a pillow.
During her waking hours, it accompanies her around the house, held gently between her jaws like a small puppy.
Halley occasionally gives “Sheepie” an affectionate nip just to hear her bleat. Of course, the non-replaceable battery has run down to nothing.
Five times.
When that happens, the poor dog brings her sheep into the kitchen with worried eyes, wondering why Sheepie has laryngitis. I can’t resist those eyes. A visit to the closet makes it all better, and a new Sheepie bursts on the scene, vocal chords intact (rather like a new pop star).
We’re now down to the last sheep. I know, because I’ve been counting them.
I feel a bit like the harried mother who hasn’t a spare pacifier, and is aware that it’s only a matter of time before the last Nuk wanders off to hide under a couch cushion while the baby howls.
How to find a discontinued dog toy? This is the question of the hour.
I’ve searched online under Boots & Barkley, baa-ing sheep and on the Amazon Web site.
Yes, I feel silly—I haven’t lost all sense of proportion.
But frankly, I think I’ll be as sad as Halley will be when this last sheep bites the dust (gently, of course, as sheep apparently don’t have teeth on the top): I’ve become accustomed to Sheepie on the stairs, Sheepie in the dining room.
It’s worth noting here that I have not yet heard Sheepie in my dreams—Halley is a considerate dog.
Sheepie never bleats at night while we are sleeping. The dog just seems to grasp the ground rules.
In the end, we may have to adjust, switch to squirrels or opossums or groundhogs, with which Halley has become well acquainted.
But squirrels and opposums and groundhogs don’t make Sheepie noises.
It occurs to me that my next trip to Target will involve a visit to the pet supply aisle—very likely to include a protracted session of squeezing the discontinued plush dog toys.
And when I find one, I’ll buy—as many as they’ve got.
You can count on that.