At the shelter, there was a crazy dog named Butch, who sprang up in the air continuously, a female golden retriever who was a little older, 7ish maybe. And then there were 2 border collie puppies, about 6 months old, named Ziggy and Marley. Marley could have cared less that I was there. He was mildly interested in me, but that was about the extent of it. But Ziggy, Ziggy came right up to the door of his cage and put his snout through the opening and gave me kisses. His broken heart was obvious and he was scared and insecure. I immediately felt a connection to this dog.

Someone suggested I take him into a separate area and spend time with him away from the other dogs. I put the leash on him and he stood facing away from me with his nose in the corner of his cage. I spoke to him in my most persuasive voice and still he did not  move. I had to pick him up and carry him into the other room. He continued to face away from me with his little face in the corner. I tried talking to him, but he was so afraid he just kept staring straight ahead. So I sat down next to him and removed the leash. We sat that way for a long time.

Pretty soon, he stopped staring in the corner, and turned to face me. I didn’t dare talk or even breathe because I didn’t want to spook him. He took a few steps towards me and I sat perfectly still. He laid down next to me and put his head on my leg and my heart just broke into a million little pieces. Before long, he had climbed up into my lap, and put his head inside my fleece and let me pet him. This was the moment I said to him, “I think that I need to take you home with me. OK?” So I did, and Ziggy became my Jackson.

Somewhere along the way we began to set time limits on toys. Toy Time officially ends at 10pm. Jackson has learned what “It’s past Toy Time, Buddy” means, along with “Last time” and “One more time.” The best part is that  he seems to have a sense of when Toy Time should end. Occasionally my husband will try to tell him that Toy Time has ended early, at say 8:30. Jackson knows better and will look at him like he’s stupid. But tonight at 10 o’clock exactly, Jackson stopped bringing me his toy on his own and laid down. My dogs never cease to amaze me.

When Jackson was little, we lived near a reservoir with a bike path around it. Often we would take IO and Jackson for a bike ride. (I can barely even remember what it was like to only have 2). The reservoir was next to a cattle ranch. One beautiful spring day we set out. Jackson was just under a year old. On the way back to the car, we came around a corner to cattle scattered everywhere: in the trail, down by the water, on the other side of the trail. Apparently there was a hole in the fence between the trail and the ranch. Somehow I had never noticed just how BIG cattle are until there was no fence between them and me. One of them saw me and began trotting straight towards me.  And when I say trotting, that does not fully convey exactly how fast an approximately ½ ton animal was quickly closing the gap between itself and me.

Suddenly, Jackson, in all his tiny little Border collie glory, sprinted ahead and placed himself between the cow and me. I started to call him back, but my husband said, “Let him go.” I was nervous, I had read never to turn your border collie loose in a herd of cattle because they could hurt the cattle, or get hurt themselves. He was so small still—the runt of his litter and 25 pounds on a good day, and the cows were impossibly big next to him. I just didn’t see how this was going to end well. But I did have serious trepidation about riding my bike through the herd and I had no idea how else to get back to my car. This was not the rancher’s property and I certainly did not bring Jack with the intention of testing his herding skills. So with a sigh and a prayer, I let him go.

I needn’t have worried about either his safety or lack of experience. He knew exactly what to do. This little dog immediately started bossing the cows around, beginning with the one running straight at me. He rounded it up, began driving it down the trail and before I could blink, others soon followed suit. I could see this moment of success spark something in Jackson, and soon instinct took over. He methodically began to gather all the smaller groups of cattle with the larger herd. A little cluster of cows was down by the water, he circled them, made them start moving, and deposited them into the herd, before moving on to another group on the other side of the trail.

I could hardly believe my eyes. Not only did he know exactly what to do, not only was he unafraid of these huge animals, they were actually listening to him. I realized I was witnessing a very old “dance”, an interspecies relationship that has evolved over centuries, one hardwired into both these animals’ DNA. It was breathtaking to watch. Words cannot express how beautiful and amazing this moment was to behold.

We soon made it back to the car and Jackson was beside himself with excitement. He strutted around with his chest puffed out for week afterwards, as though he had found his calling. It is bittersweet to note this, as he has not had opportunity to pursue this skill and live the life that is in his blood.

Is that a border collie or a retriever? He’s even pointing! So excited that these days draw nearer!

Let me start by explaining that I understand, or more accurately thought I understood, dogs with issues. Jackson, my Border collie, was an emotional wreck when I adopted him. He was terrified of everything, most notably stairs and riding in the car. I worked tirelessly to get him over both fears. I learned what motivated him, I encouraged him, supported, pushed and comforted him. We sat in the car without it running, I treated his motion sickness and I was patient and encouraging, and he not only conquered these fears but worshipped me in the process. I let his adoration go to my head. Looking back, I was probably quite smug; I thought I knew it all. I expected Cheyenne to react the same way, grateful, hanging on to my every wish, existing only for me. I had no idea what was in store for me or the ways that my life would change. The thing is that somewhere in between the many, and I do mean many, eaten shoes, chewed up couches, shredded blankets, books, pens, holes in the backyard, chases through the neighborhood, small rodent kills, and rolling and eating decaying creatures and feces, this little brown spotted dog has run away with my heart.

However, we have learned that we can use this to our advantage. Jackson has still not gotten over the addition of Cheyenne. He plays with her outside when we are not looking, but he is not thrilled that she is around. Sometimes, her mere presence annoys him and she seems to thrive on irritating him by sticking her face right up to his and wagging her tail. He will growl and show his teeth, sometimes excessively. Telling him to stop is useless. So now, we sniff. It works like a charm, he stops everytime.

1. Crying.
2. Knocking things over.
3. Knocking things over and then off the counter.
4. And as a last resort–beating up Baby Titten.

We only reached Stage 3 tonight. Then he started mingering around, waiting for me to pick him up. Its possible that this tactic has worked in the past, thereby reinforcing the behavior. And now, Jack is setting toys on the ottoman and giving me the Border collie eye as though by simply staring he can teleport the toy into my hand and make me throw it. If only life were that simple, objects would never be broken, toys would not accumulate on my lap, and Cheyenne would never paw at my face.