I've had a dog in my life for as far back as I can remember. There was Corky that caught fish in my mom's decorative pond, Lancelot that thought the malamute down the road was in love with his one-foot tall self, Jake who was captain of the boat and my heart - and now Tank and Jag, the dysfunctional brothers that make us laugh every day. I've stepped on their feet, tripped over them, ignored them in selfish moments, left them for hours, yelled at them, crammed pills down their throats, given them lettuce as a treat and taken them to the vet. And yet I can count on a grand greeting when I wake up in the morning or walk through the door after being gone thirty seconds to take out the trash. They cuddle with me when I cry, wag their hind ends when I smile and trust me when things get scary.

I can't say I've earned this royal treatment but that doesn't seem to be the point with them. They love me in spite of myself. Isn't that what we do as parents with our children? With our spouses? With true friends? We love them for who they are to us. We tolerate and learn from the part of them that doesn't quite gel with us. We accept them for all the things that make them uniquely them. This is about as close to unconditional love as we humans get. Canines are by nature loving, trusting and loyal. It comes freely and without reservation.  They want us to be happy with them AND with each other.

Like all the animals in my life, these guys are teaching me every day how to be better, kinder, more genuine.  I'm not a star student by any means but fortunately my teachers refrain from all harsh judgments and see potential in everyone. If gold stars were wagging tails, I'd have a million of them. 

Herd behavior is so interesting to observe. With each change here at the ranch - whether it be a new horse moving in, a foal born, a horse going to their new home, an aging horse or a death – the herd adjusts and establishes a new order.  With wild horses there is always a mare in charge – and second in command is the stallion.  The rest of the herd falls somewhere under these two.

Here, from day one, the mare in charge has been Sugar.  She is the smallest but the mightiest.  A look from her or a toss of her head and horses scatter!  It’s really quite funny to watch. In her younger years, she might have popped that leg out to emphasize her point, but these days, it’s all in the flip of that head. However, in the last couple of years we have watched a slow progression.  Kit, Sugar’s undeniable daughter (they could not look or act more alike) is being groomed to take over and the process is almost complete. Kit is now 5 years old and all muscle and attitude, just like Sugar when we first brought her home. The confidence these two exude is admirable.  They are strong and forceful but not bullies.  It’s simply their duty within the herd to guide the others.  Sugar has been a phenomenal teacher. Kit has taken to her new position well, but I find it so sad to watch our Sugar age albeit gracefully.

Passing the torch requires changes from the older mare as much as the replacement.  Whether she instinctively has to or chooses to, I do not know, but she separates herself from the herd.  We’ve watched this escalate over the course of a few years.  Sugar spends more and more time grazing by herself or coming in for some human TLC.  My heart hurts as I watch her because I know how strong and regal she has always been.  However, when I look in her eyes I don’t see sadness.  She’s as proud as ever.  She’s just doing what she’s meant to do – taking care of her herd the way nature intended by training the younger, stronger Kit to take her place.

We have no stallion so our gelding Beau assumes the role of second in command. Since the two other boys we’ve had - Joey and Jackson -have been adopted into other families, he has never had to jockey for position.  Beau has been quite content to do whatever Sugar tells him for years.  It’s obvious that the transition to Kit is not complete in his head because he still gets annoyed with her for tagging along with him everywhere he goes!  It used to be him following Sugar’s path and I suppose that will soon be the case with Kit. 

The rest of the herd seeks their place within the lineup.  Although it doesn’t change often, it is by no means set within the lower ranks. It seems to depend on how they are being treated by the King and Queen as well as how they handle themselves among their peers. It’s not necessarily the strongest that are higher in rank.  Horses, like people, are so very individual.  Some horses have no interest in bossing around a herd-mate.  They are content to pull up the rear of the line at feed time. Some become Miss Congeniality and work at keeping the peace. Some are continually playful and dance around the others like every day is a party! And still others work hard to stay in the middle of the pack so that they aren’t really noticed.

I could tell you who currently holds each and every one of these positions within the C4 Ranch herd. Belle’s recent passing has defined the remaining herd members’ positions more than ever. She was the bridge between royalty and the commoners. I would have loved to see her as Sugar’s successor but she was far too docile for that.  I watched with awe and respect as she took a back seat to Kit, a mare thirteen years her junior.  Belle was bigger, stronger, faster and probably smarter than all the rest.  She never used those characteristics to bully her way to the top.  Horses seem to know and accept their positions in the herd without cockiness or shame.  Each role, from the bottom to the top, is of equal importance.  The end result is a functional family with unconditional love and respect for all members… I know a few human families that could benefit from sitting in our pasture and paying attention.

Sugar and Kit the day Kit was born.

Sugar with a three year old Kit.  A bit of a family resemblance,

don't you think?!

Kit in the forefront, literally and figuratively.

She loved any kind of treat – the normal horse temptations of course - carrots, grain, pears, apples - but she would do tricks for a handful of vanilla snow cone or Sonic ice! Today I stopped at the stand in Farmersville for the first time and
bought a large vanilla and strawberry snow cone. It was delicious! I was already smiling at the thought of sharing it with Belle and Beau.  (Both of them meet me fence-side at the sight of a big Styrofoam
cup.)

...It's pretty apparent to me after this evening's walk that it's not me! These boys LOVE to swim but since the weather has gotten a little cooler and they take longer to dry, I haven't been letting them in the ponds. 

However, that all changed a few days ago when we went on one of our typical walks around the property. In true doggy fashion, they always find something to roll in but it's usually a dead bug, a crawdad hole, or a snake skin  if I  see anything at all. This time they dove under the fence and found new smells on the neighbor's side. They began rolling feverishly as if they just couldn't get close enough to whatever had their attention.  

I was taking photos of the horses and didn't give them much thought until I started heading back to the house and called them to come with me.  When my two puppies appeared before me, unrecognizable and dressed in cow poo, I immediately screamed at them "go swimming" in the meanest voice I could muster.  They took off with lightening speed and I heard a spash long before I got to the pond. I found a stick and threw it at least a dozen times for retrieval to make sure they were clean before getting anywhere near my back door.

The next day we went another route on our walk, avoiding the neighbor's pasture, and stayed close to the woods instead.  There we came upon an area where wild hogs have been partying in our pasture leaving huge dugouts of dirt.  Tank and Jag quickly grabbed hold of their scent like it was lavender and rolled to their hearts' content.  By the time we left that area, I had two dirt brown dogs from head to toe. Again, I yelled, "go swimming" and they happily ran to the pond.  By the time I got there, Jag had found the stick from the day before and brought it to me.  After several tosses, we were on our way back home.

This evening I grabbed my camera like always and we headed out.  We went  to the back pasture to check on Beau. (His feet have been doing really well so he's getting to spend more time grazing with his girls.) As soon as I turned my back on those little Corgi hoodlums, they were back under the fence wallowing in whatever nastiness they could find.  I no more than called their names before they dashed past me and ran to the pond. I never had to give the command. THIS time, Jag actually took the stick and laid it by the bench where I usually sit my camera before he dove. I swear to you they literally frolicked and smiled as if their plan couldn't have worked better.  What better way to get to go swimming than to get dirty and be ordered into the pond?! 

Now I find myself smiling at my very clean, very tired Corgi Boys.  I'd like to come up with a plan of my own to avoid this newly developed ritual tomorrow but I'm pretty sure I'll be outsmarted again. Who's in charge at your place?   

I once considered myself quite the dare devil - racing mini-bikes as the BACK passenger on a horse; running off the side of a mountain in a glider;cliff jumping into the lake; night diving with my dive  buddy holding the flashlight; raising children - but now, I get my death defying thrills from walking in my backyard at night.  

Each night we take the dogs out before bedtime for what we call our "flashlight walk". Out here, especially on a night with no moon, the flashlight is our only light.  Since we have no idea what's lurking out there (like that snake that got our horse Bobbie last month OR the wild hog that might decide to attack OR the coyotes we hear howling every night OR, heaven forbid, the skunk that has it in for Jag), walking around at night here is an adventure. 

A few nights ago I was out by myself with the dogs when I was met with what looked like hundreds of eyes in the not-far-enough distance.  I quickly took the dogs back inside before they figured out that something worth chasing was on their land and went back out on my own. (A hundred yards from my backdoor and I felt like I was in an episode of American Hogger.) I walked to where I had seen the eyes and shined my light.  They were still staring back.  I moved closer and closer until I realized that the coyotes or wild hogs I thought I was going to find were actually deer - fourteen of them (okay so there were twenty four eyes, not hundreds. Blame my adrenaline.) There were big deer and baby deer - some motionless, some eating - but none terrified of me enough to run. I was quite flattered that they thought of the C4 as friendly territory. Since then, they've been in that spot every evening.  

We went out a bit earlier last night.  The deer weren't in their spot yet but the persimmon tree by the pond was ROCKIN, literally!  We shined the light in the tree and the eyes looking back at us looked like Christmas tree lights. Apparently Smokey and Bandit (the thieving raccoons that terrorize our cat and destroy our barn) had brought their friends and family to feast on persimmons. I admit to complete joy watching those little suckers scamper out of the tree and run into the woods when we got close. (Anyone who thinks a raccoon is cute has not cleaned up after one.) And I don't know why I referred to them as "little".  My friend and I were on foal watch one night and saw one stand up on his hind legs, use both hands to push in opposite directions and open the big barn doors. There are days when that is a feat for me! 

We live on the edge of Corps of Engineer land so there is no telling what is living in those woods. Lots of hog hunters come through here boasting of their catch and my husband has caught the rascals rooting up our back pasture. I have gladly never come across one.  It's the coyotes that boldly run across our land in broad daylight and sing all night long that unnerve me. Tank and Jag think nothing of chasing them. Although I know they could never catch one, I fear the day a coyote decides to turn around. That's another animal I  thought of as small and thin, but no more.  The ones that trot through here are fat, happy and can jump a four foot fence like they are skipping, all the while never taking their eyes off of you.

The sounds are everywhere out here. The donkeys and the cows next door heehaw and moo "hello".  My favorite is the roosters that have no idea what dawn is and doodle doo every time we step out the door after dark. Even the pond is not immune to night terrors.  We have frogs the size of big rats loudly croaking and turtles by the hundreds that plop into the water as we walk by.

There is no telling what kind of excitement awaits us when we head out on our flashlight walk each night. We look forward to ALMOST any adventure. I offer two lessons in this rambling story. (1) Adventure is as close as you allow it to be, and (2) when someone tells you that they are enjoying a "peaceful" life in the country, you can rest assured that they are not being completely honest. The stars at night ARE big and bright here in Texas, but so are the critters.

This morning I was getting my coffee and looking out the kitchen window. Belle caught my eye, as she so often does when the sun is hitting her coat - so much so that I reached for my camera to take the distant shot.  What I realized when I looked through the lens was that Belle, along with the other horses, was on point - ears perked and bodies stiff and ready - watching. 

I can always count on Belle to keep a close eye on things.  No trespasser - human or otherwise - can get past her. I turned my attention in the direction the herd was looking and, sure enough, something that wasn't part of our ranch family was hopping back and forth across the far fence.  Fortunately we were far enough away that the Corgi Boys didn't notice anything so I put them up for safe keeping and grabbed the shotgun. I wasn't sure what I would find because a few days ago I witnessed a couple of coyotes chasing a white cat that has taken up residence here. (Einstein the cat was still here yesterday so you can stop imagining the worst.)  

The question I should have asked myself at this point (but didn't) was "what did you bring the gun for?".  Looking back on the situation, I suppose it was a prop to make me look tougher than I am, because I have no idea if it was even loaded and am not gun savvy enough to feel comfortable checking!  (I can shoot a target - moving or stable - but apparently I am a pampered Annie Oakley since I've never loaded my own gun.  This is now at the top of my "skills to learn" list.)

I had the distance of a couple football fields to walk but
kept looking at the last spot where I had seen movement as I made my way. The next thing I knew, Belle was standing on her back legs and began a quick dash towards the woods as she came down. She stopped at the edge of the property as
quickly as she has started. She stood in that spot for a few minutes and then did what I call the "Belle Dance". It really should be called the "something is not right here and hurry to me" dance because she only does it when she's worried. 

Once I got near the horses, Belle made her way to me and did her dog trick.  She is as good at pointing as any hunting dog, just not quite as stealth.  There in front of me, just past the trees, was a precious little deer - on the ground, stuck in the brush, and terrified. 

I'm not sure if he had been playing with other deer or running from something but he was clearly stuck now and a prime target for the coyotes I had recently seen. I'm not sure who was more jumpy - me or him - but after a few EEEEEKs from both of us, I was able to loosen the hold the branches had on him and he quickly disappeared.

I gave Belle a big hug and leaned on her strong neck for a minute. Then, as if nothing had happened, Belle turned and went back to the herd who had all put their heads down and begun grazing again. Were they blind? Did they not just see me save a life? Why were they not as exhilarated by this experience as I was???

I'll tell you why - because in nature, instinct and intuition rule. Challenges and threats are part of every day and animals make decisions based on what they know instinctively to be best. They groom and guard each other. The protect their
family and their friends from predators. They are loyal and forgiving. They choose their leaders for their strength and accomplishments. The teach their young to be able to stand on their own and they respect their elders. Belle used her communication skills to let me know my part in the rescue
of this little guy. To her and the rest of the herd, there was no act of heroism, just a responsibility to another being.

So.....in true human fashion, I  humbly walked back to the barn where I told Tank and Jag about my noble feat.  (If I use the right tone, they think anything I tell them is incredibly newsworthy!) 

  

Bobbie's recovery from the snake bite last week has been slow but I'm happy to report that she is improving daily.  At first her coordination was really off, making it difficult for her to walk a straight line into her stall or even stroll through the pasture without running into the fence. We wanted to close her in a stall to prevent this but the steroid she has been on for the snake bite had her pacing and anxious.  Instead of locking her up, we did the next best thing - we put Rey in the small pasture with her.

Rey is a four year old foal out of Bobbie.  She is gentle and cautious and has never stopped showing her admiration and affection for her mom. Even under normal circumstances, they spend a lot of time together. At some point it changed from Bobbie looking after Rey to Rey watching over Bobbie. For instance, when the herd moves from the front of the property to the back pond, Bobbie's pace is slower than the rest so she lags behind.  It's not unusual to see Rey standing between Bobbie and the others patiently waiting on her. 

When we put her in the pasture with a pitiful, snake bitten Bobbie that couldn't hold her head up or walk a straight line, we hoped she would protect her and reduce the obvious stress Bobbie was under. She did not disappoint us. That first day when I witnessed Rey watching Bobbie's every move and quickly putting herself between a fence or gate or tree and  Bobbie when she would begin to lose her balance, I was humbled. Rey hardly ate. She just stood close by and watched over her mother.  She let Bobbie lean on her when she slept (Bobbie was not coordinated enough to lay down for several days) and Rey would guide her to the water trough now and then. When we called them to the barn so that we could give Bobbie her shots, Rey would walk her safely into the corral and wait to escort her back to the pasture. 

It's been a week and Bobbie is doing very well.  She is holding her head up. Those big brown eyes have never been more beautiful. She's regained her strength and along with it, her coordination.  I'm sure the prescriptions had a great deal to do with this miraculous recovery, but I can't help but believe that Rey's attentiveness and calm were the real medicine.

Once again, the more I pay attention, the more I am amazed.  This week Rey reminded me that patience and compassion are invaluable in our relationships - as friends, parents, children, partners, even strangers .... yep, I'm being schooled by a four year old horse.