Serving the High Plains
Serving the High Plains
Ruby, our latest rescue dog, is a hoarder.
She has a kennel in the living room, a good-sized wire kennel. We set that up the evening we trapped her.
We floofed blankets and I put a couple of my t-shirts in there for her. The first couple of nights, I slept in the living room, just to keep her company. She never made a peep.
She loves that kennel. She can come and go as she pleases. She has blankets, toys and a giant tennis ball in there. And if we don’t watch her, she’ll have slippers, pillows, and anything else within teeth-range. She doesn’t chew these things up, just grabs and adds to her collection.
She has settled in with the big dogs with ease. She is dwarfed by Sassy the pyr and OtterPup the Shepherd.
They’ve sent her tumbling head over teakettle with a giant paw. Ruby walks under Sassy, or when playing, will run under her. It’s funny to watch the three of them romp around the yard together.
We’ve had her out with Boots, the giant foster fail who’s terrified of leashes and floors. She’s also romped a time or two with Pete. She will run and follow them until she wears herself out. I think all the old dogs are relieved when she decides it’s naptime.
One of her favorite places to nap? The couch, on a pillow under a blanket.
She is barking at my husband Wayne less and less, when he has the nerve to walk around the house. For the first few days, if he moved, she barked. For a while, she’d curl up next to me on the couch, and go to sleep. If he walked over, she’d pop up, bark and head for her kennel.
When she barks at him, he barks back. They have a conversation, and things are fine. Now when he’s outside working, Ruby is a Velcro dog.
While I was at work, Wayne sent a message with a photo of a nose-to-tail, mud-covered pup. While he was working in the yard, he sloshed water in a pen, and made a decent-sized mud bog. He said Ruby lost her mind, and practically dove into the muck, gleefully. She loves the doggie pools.
There isn’t a lot that bothers her. Like the rest of the Head Acres gang, she’s not a fan of fireworks, and she’s definitely not a fan of gunshots. Someone down road was shooting a few days ago, and she bolted to the front door to escape the noise. Into the kennel she went, amidst her pile of slippers and pillows and blankets.
I think the giant misfits out here have been good for her, teaching her how to be a dog. And I can see how good she’s been for them. Now all she needs is a good theme song.
Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News and Quay County Sun. Contact her at: