Famous last words 😂. I think it was less than 2 weeks after I said these words to my agility pals until I ended up with my first border collie. And I fully meant it. I knew I was a golden person through and through. I had 3 of them at the time. And of course most of my agility friends had Border Collies or Aussies and since I was REALLY into agility everyone assumed I would jump on board and get the dog best suited for it. But I really didn’t want a border collie, all that energy, all that seriousness, naw I liked my silly goldens who were happy with whatever level of energy I wanted to expend with them. Always up for something but also always up to just couch surf as well. I knew I would never win in the agility ring but I was ok with that, I was ok being the best as we could be even knowing we would never been seen as serious about it as those with those black and white blurrs.

At the time I was as busy as I have ever been, I was working full time lead tech managing a Vet clinic, spending my evenings and weekends driving all over the state for agility competitions and showing my golden in the breed ring as a special. I also ran a golden rescue and fostered 15-20 goldens a year, most of which had medical or behavioral modification needs. I set up a foster intake and was waiting after work for them to drop of “Toby” an 11 month old male. Though I was not quite ready for a foster as I had just placed two eldery goldens who had cost me a fair amount as they needed a lot of vet care before being placed, and my funds were running as thin as my husband’s patience. But it sounded like this boy was in dire need as they had moved into a new home and Toby was living alone in the backyard of the old home since he was not allowed at the new place, they had not been able to find him a home in time. My plan was to just get him in and see if I could find someone else who could foster him for me.

I heard the door of the clinic open and close, it was after hours and I was the only one there so I knew it had to be this person with Toby. I walked into the waiting room and there sitting in the middle of the room was a black and white border collie, all alone, the room was empty. “well hi there, who are you”, his big ears flattened to his head and he melted to the floor. The door opened and a man walked in carrying a bag of food, a bowl, a ball and a leash. He had tears he was fighting to keep in his eyes. The man didn’t say much, told me which vet that treated Toby as he had Parvo as a puppy, that Toby was a registered bc, but he couldn’t find the papers after the move, he had 2 toddlers at home and Toby was great with them, his wife didn’t want the dog. “How did you get my number for rescue” I asked, very confused how a border collie found it’s way to my golden rescue 😂. “A friend at work, she said she knew you from her agility class”. Oh dear, well ok, it wasn’t like I was sending this pup back, then he told me then that he had tried to take him to the shelter before he called me, but they told him he didn’t pass their assessment to be put in adoption because he was a fear biter. (umm thanks for not telling me this until now 🙈, that’s going to make finding a foster more challenging.) He pleaded with me, that he had never bitten anyone, for me to please help Toby. Well crap. He said goodbye to Toby, tears down his face and ran out the door.

It took me 20 minutes to get Toby to walk with me to my car, another 20 to get him in the car, 30 to get him out of the car and 45 to get him to come in the front door. Toby was indeed a fear biter and made it clear he was not down with being touched AT ALL. I sat on the floor inside the house with him sitting outside on the front porch at the end of his leash while the other dogs waited impatiently on the other side of the baby gate in the kitchen doorway, dinner was now quite late and they were not to pleased about that! There is a moment you can have with a dog like this if you are patient enough, after 45 minutes Toby sighed, walked through the door and crawled into my lap. He pressed his body against mine and right then and there I knew he was staying forever. Like we both committed our hearts to each other in the space of the second it took him to take that step into my lap, “I will trust you” our souls said to each other.

Thank goodness he liked other dogs, because I had 4 of them already. 3 goldens and a shepherd. But he was not a fan of husbands, or really most any humans in fact he basically tried to bite Michael every day for the first 6 months. None ever broke the skin when he did make contact, and much of that was because Michael just refused to let the fact the dog wanted to bite him get in the way of making friends with the dog. “He keeps biting me”, “well, stop trying to touch him”, “naw” as he reaches passed snapping jaws and pets the dog anyway “I will honk his nose if it’s the last thing I do”, “they’re your fingers, guess you are not attached to keeping them”. Training dogs is so much easier than training husbands.

We changed his name, because he seemed to cower and get nervous when you said his name.

From reactive and fear biter to my bombproof helper with other reactive dogs

It was immediately clear that Ricky had never been in a house. He was not housebroken, nearly knocked the TV over trying to herd the things moving on the screen, he lost his mind when the phone rang, he slammed full speed head first into the sliding glass doors. He also slammed head first at full speed into a chain link fence at the park. He seemed to have no experience with much of anything. His name became Ricky- short for Ricochet as he bounced off of everything like a pinball. Ricky was my second Dog with Big Feelings. He had big feelings about everything! He would turn into a spinning snarling barking tornado at the end of my leash when anything moved, Car, bike, person walking, dog walking, squirrels, leaves, ANYTHING he just went bananas.

Needing a way to connect his brain to his body I figured well, might as well dive into some agility training. He was always willing to try anything. He came preloaded with toy drive, tug your arms out of their sockets, frisbee sure, sticks oh boy. He did make my hands bleed with no concept of how to play without mistaking my hands for the toy. He did snap at me if I forgot and reached for his collar for many months. Early on we were on a walk and he was playing with a stick, suddenly he started pawing at his face and whining, without even thinking I grabbed him, pried open his mouth, seeing a piece of stick wedged between his teeth across the roof of his mouth, I reached into his mouth ans grabbed it out. He had a complete look of OMFG on his face, but also it happened so fast he was not sure if he was still mad about it or not, so he just glared at me for a moment, his lips curled, then he shook off, picked up the tiny piece of wood I had pulled out of his mouth, dropped it on my foot and bounced back wagging his tail. Forgiven. He never snapped at me again after that day, I could now touch him anywhere.

Father time creeping up on my boy meant he finally got cuddly

He was so good at staying with the pack, frolicking around, chasing games with the goldens, so I let him hike off leash. He showed no signs whatsoever of wanting to run off and recalled quickly each time I called, he was always the first one to reach me even if he was twice as far away as the goldens he always beat them back. And then I lost him in the mountains. It was a hike like any other, we were about 3 miles in, the trail pops out of the forest and meets this irrigation ditch where the mountain streams are funneled down to the valley, always the dog’s favorite spot to swim and cool off. They had developed this game, the goldens would crash through the water racing each other and Ricky would race on the banks of the ditch as fast as he could to head them off by charging down into the water in front of them. They would turn and frolick off back towards me until he raced again to cut them off. His little flock of golden sheep, it made him so happy. On this day he did a big outrun, racing down the bank of the ditch way ahead of them then turned to lay and wait, then all of the sudden there was this explosion of crashing from across the ditch out in front of the goldens between them and Ricky. A baby Elk bellowing jumped across the ditch between the goldens and Ricky, who stood frozen, the baby Elk crashed down the mountain away from us, I called and the goldens came back to me, Ricky started towards me and suddenly more crashing and barrelling right at Ricky with her head down, screeching was Mama Elk. I’ve never heard a dog make quite the same panic shriek, he panicked and ran away from her, down the mountain, unfortunately for him, he was running away from her, but in the same direction the calf had run.

So I stand there in disbelief calling as loudly as I could screaming his name. Listening to the sound of the bellowing calf, the shrieking border collie and the angry bugle of the charging Mama growing fainter and fainter as they race down the mountain away from me. Until they were so far gone they were out of my ear’s range. I stood their yelling until my voice was growing hoarse, for what seemed like forever. I waited for a half hour hoping he would run back to this spot when he got away, too afraid to think about him not getting away. It was late in the afternoon and I knew I only had a couple hours of daylight to work with. I decided to take the shortcut back to the car, there was a road that ran above the irrigation ditch that would go back to the car in under 2 miles vs taking the trail back that added on another mile. I thought well maybe he would reach the trail coming back up the mountain and take that back to the car instead of coming back here where I was. I was so conflicted about whether I leave and go back to the car or stay here calling. I ran back to the car calling all along the way. I got back to the car and my heart sank when he was not there. What do I do? There was no cell service and it would take me 20 minutes to drive to where I would have signal to call for help, and what if he came back and the car is gone, what would he do? I stood there for 15 minutes calling and calling. The sun getting low in the sky. Maybe he was back at the spot he left from? Do I go back there? Walk so I can leave the car for him to stay at if he comes back here? Drive because I can get to that spot ten times faster?

I had his crate in the back of the car, he had to be crated in the car, because in Oregon you can’t pump your own gas, and it was Ricky’s personal mission to end every gas attendant’s life, or at least take a hand or two. So I pulled his crate out and set it on the ground next to the car. I took my sweatshirt off and put it inside, propping the door open, I tossed a bunch of treats inside it. Then I drove back to the spot I lost him, windows down, calling as I drove. He wasn’t there. I am basically hysterical now, I have had dogs for 30 years and had never lost a dog. Tears streaming down my face as I drove back to the spot where his crate now waited, it’s been well over an hour. My heart sank again as I pulled up and the crate was empty. I’m starting to really panic now, it’s less than an hour until sunset, it will take me almost an hour to drive to where I can call Michael and get back up here, I am in hysterics, crying so hard I can barely breathe. My voice is almost gone from screaming so loudly for so long. What do I do? What do I do? I better drive to call Michael to let him know when he gets home I’ll be up on the mountain searching for Ricky in the dark. I start to drive back down the mountain, windows down, squeaking out what little sound I can trying to call him. I reach the top of the road spur where I meet the main road that will take me down to the valley, I can’t make myself turn. I can’t leave without him, I can’t. Michael will come home, see I’m not here and eventually figure out to come look for me up here. He knows I am almost always up here in this spot. I turn around and drive back to the crate, still no Ricky. I call and call and call. I walk down the trail a quarter mile calling, nothing. Back up to the car, I honk the horn over and over again. Nothing.

My eyes have no more tears to give, the panic has given way to complete dispair. I’ve lost him. I lost this poor sweet (aggressive biting) dog up in the mountains miles from a home he barely knows. I drive up and down the road between the two spots where I lost him and where I left the crate. Honking the horn, calling, blaring music. Hoping he can hear me and find his way back. The sun is setting, in the thick of the forest twilight offers little as the darkness stretches it’s way towards us. I look up the mountain watching the light racing higher and higher as the trees swallow the light. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. I make one final pass, knowing the light will be gone by the time I make it back to the crate this time, it’s been well over 2 hours and at any moment Michael will be getting home to the dark empty house.

I pull into the parking spot back at the trail head, and the headlights catch a reflection inside the crate, two little eyes refract the light back to me. Please, please, please don’t be a wild animal stealing the treats. Please, please, please. I put it in park and he takes one step out of the crate and collapses. I race over to him, and grab him into a much despised hug. You fucker, you scared the ever living shit out of me I whisper into the ruff of his neck. His chest is heaving, his tongue as long as the road back home, he’s completely covered in burrs, mud, sticks. He looks like he’s been to hell and back. I hold him as his lungs race asking for air, I pick the debris off his face, wipe the dirt from his eyes, check his body looking for injury, other than angry looking paw pads and being completely exhausted he seems ok. He’s panting too hard to take water, so I just use my hands to wet his belly and paws. After a few minutes his breath calms, his eyes return from the barely open slits, he looks at me and pushes his head into my belly. He was scared too. I lay him on my sweatshirt and put his crate back in the car, feeling hungover with relief. My head pounding from crying so much, my throat dry and sore from screaming so much, all my water in a bowl next to him, my legs rubbery from sprinting to the car, but my heart singing with joy. I go to pick him up to carry him to the car, he gives me the look and pops himself up, walking slowly to the car and jumping in unassisted. He was so exhausted, but not enough so to be ok with being picked up. No snarls or grows, just not giving me a chance to help.

We drove home and met a confused husband wondering why we were out so long, I explained the ordeal as Ricky, now batteries recharged from napping on the way home was doing his usual TV stalking. Ricky was the wildest ride of my life. In agility he was like running a Ferrari with no brakes. He actually took me out on course a couple times when I was in his way, he also: jumped a pole setter, ripped the chute off the barrel and still made it over the next jump, qualified on runs where I was literally crawling on the ground after falling trying to keep up with him. He either won the competiton or left the entire ring in shambles. Running him was such a rush. Also, agility people who I had run beside with my goldens for YEARS were introducing themselves to me and finally acknowledging I existed. All my non-bc agility pals kept saying “oh you finally went to the dark side”, “NO! It’s not my fault, Toby was supposed to be a golden 😂 I was set up!” Not only was Ricky the wildest ride, but he is also brought me to a long lost piece of myself. He is the one that pushed me to be the trainer that I am, to run with that dog I had to dig deep, really deep. Oh the times he pushed me to the edge and over it. The humility of having my skills stretched beyond their limits, of having to look far and wide to learn more. He was the one who brought me from hiker to mountain climber, literally taking me to new heights as I chased him through life. Ricky taught me a little bit of what it is like to live life leaping before you look.

He also brought me fully into the world of border collies, helping me tap into the border collie parts of myself. Kiwi, Emily, Nick and Julia have Ricky to thank for turning me to the dark side. I think about Ricky a lot when I look at Julia, she reminds me so much of him, that same unleashing, that same zest for life. I feel like she will also peel me to a new level with my skills, I am not sure yet, by I suspect that she will be the one that loves the sport as much as he did. I am hoping my skills have improved to skip the leaving the courses in shambles bit.

The most miraculous part was how much he changed, he went from being a fear biting reactive dog, to being the most bombproof stable dog! He became a dog that I could hand his leash to a person we just met as we used him as the distraction dog for working with other aggressive/reactive dogs. One time while camping I looked out at the lake and he was on a paddleboard with a kid he just met, the kids camping next to us declaring he was way more fun then their beagle. So good with the vet she used him as a blood donor. He became the easiest dog to travel with, hike with, climb with. He was the ultimate water dog that would just swim and swim for hours when we camped, you would hear sploosh and look out and he’s just out there doing laps. After his two vestibular strokes we had to put a life vest and long line on him, because he would still try to swim even when he would tip over and go under. He never ever slowed down, at 17 he was still the busy one. I had to train Em to herd him so she could keep him from running the wrong direction when his eye sight started failing. The one thing that never changed was his hatred for gas attendants! However Michael did indeed honk his nose and one could say Ricky maybe even liked it.

I won’t make you cry like I did with Seamus’s story. I won’t share the details of his end, except to say that he lived to be my second oldest dog ever to 17 and a half. He did not pass on his own, as his vet said as she sat on our living room floor with us as we said goodbye “some dogs just have no quit in them and need our help letting go”.

“I will never have a border collie”

Kate

Dog’s with big feelings Oh how I love them