Tom

Ragnar, King of the Vikings. Actually he's a 6 month old Bernese Mountain Dog who might be big enough to ride into battle one day. That's not who this story is about though.

Gus, a scary looking Healer that had been kicked, bitten, shot, and beaten because of his intentional wandering to other farms and picking fights with the dogs that lived there. He always came home though and loved his family which he mightily defended. That's not who this story is about though.

There’s Miley, a 16 year old Bitch (you decide if the technical term is used here), who was skinned alive at a young age, survived, and now likes to bite young children that get too close.

Then there's Lou, Copper, Sam, Red, Lucy, and a whole array of dogs that have made their way into our family. This story isn't about any of them though. This story is about Tom.

When my dad speaks about Tom, his eyes light up as he reminisces about the best dog he has ever owned. His favorite. His best friend. Their journey started one day at the livestock Auction where my dad worked full time. It was after his mission while he was trying to pursue an Agricultural degree from SUU. It was before he met my mom, who also worked at the Auction, or at least would in the future. It was a time where he was trying to figure out where to go in life and a small puppy was placed in the center of the auction ring that usually housed horses, cattle, sheep, and goats. My dad always had a love for farm dogs and their companionship as well as their ability to work livestock. The small puppy sniffed at the dirt under its paws and wandered a little ways from where it was originally placed while the auctioneer did his job to try and sell this puppy. My dad bid fifty bucks, and without any other bids that small pup was his. He went and picked that pup up and took her to his truck that she would later defend with all her power. Tom became family that day.

Tom was a Blue Heeler, Australian Shepherd mix and was meant to work livestock. Her home was the Auction where she chased cattle and sheep, herding them to their designated area, and listening intently to my dad for her next task. The two became such a good work team that the owner joked that if Tom could learn how to open gates, then they could fire about half of the workers there. Impressive was an understatement.

There was a time when she was still new to my dad, but was already in tune to her duties, that she went missing. My dad remembers feeling saddened and a bit upset because she had disappeared without a trace. Did she run away? Was she hit by a car? What happened? Her disappearance was on a Thursday when the auction was live and my dad went on his normal business without his dog by his side. When the next Thursday came around Tom reappeared out of the blue and went right back to working as if nothing had happened. My dad speculated, although never confirmed, that a farmer or rancher took her after seeing how well she handled livestock. Tom was loyal to my dad though, and nobody else, so after being taken she probably hid, barked, bit, and ultimately ignored any orders from her "new" masters and was deemed useless. She was returned and my dad wondered what County or State she might have gone to for a week before making her way back to him.

Tom was a fierce protector of all things hers, including my dad and the truck he drove. Once my dad took a turn too sharply and Tom fell off the hay bale in the back, breaking her leg on impact. A lesser dog would have been put out of their misery because my dad could not afford a vet bill. He was a very poor college student. Tom was different though and my dad fixed her leg up and made a payment plan with the vet. If anybody leaned on the truck they would be met with her teeth and my dad would have to remind them to respect Tom's truck and space. When a new girl would come into my dad's life, Tom would look them over and greet them with growling, barking, and sometimes a quick nip to show her dislike. All girls were met with this and my dad recalls it was hard to keep a girl long. That is until my mom came into the picture. Lightning can strike twice in one place, because as my dad found companionship with Tom at the Auction, he also met my mother.

Tom loved my mom. It could have been because she smelled like the Auction, a mixture of dirt, sweat, and animals. It could have been because my mom was familiar, riding her big horse Sport every Thursday at the Auction to herd cattle, sheep, and whatever else came to the yard. It could be that my dad loved my mom since the first day he saw her and Tom knew this, because sometimes dogs are wiser than we give them credit for. Or it could have been because my mom would put French Fries in her mouth and let Tom eat the half that was sticking out past her lips. It always surprised my dad when Tom would gently take her half of the fries instead of biting my mom's face off.

Tom was by my dad's side through the years. She was part of the family. Even when my parents got married, Tom was family. Even when they moved houses and my dad got a new job as a Farm Hand, Tom was there. When kids started to come, Tom accepted them as her own as well. She knew her place, she was loved, and she defended all that she loved.

Then one night she didn't come home.

I can still see the heartbreak in my dad's eyes as he speaks of this. The sorrow in his voice as he tells me of a snowy cold night. He was finishing up evening chores at his work where he had to make sure the cattle were fed and secure. Tom was there, and then she wasn't, and my dad called out for her. He looked for her. He didn't want to leave the farm without her, but he had a family to get back to. The snow was falling too hard for him to find her now and he hoped that she had just found a place to hunker down for the night and wait out the storm. He hoped he would find her in the morning.

He did find her in the morning, off the side of the road near the farm. She had been hit by a driver and died soon after. It isn't known why she was separated from my dad doing routine chores. It isn't known exactly when she died, if it was before my dad called to her or after. All that is really known is when she was found she was gone and it was a real heavy loss for my dad.

Wrapping her in a blanket, my dad brought her home and dug a hole out back. The hole was hard to dig and my dad recalls having to stop every once in a while to gain composure. He gently set Tom in her grave and buried her. Even now, after 30 years, my dad talks fondly of her as he remembers her vividly. He can still point out her unmarked grave in the pasture behind our house that has offered new growth and new life to a small farming operation that my dad always wanted. I know he thinks about her often, even as new dogs have ridden in his truck and made their home with ours. I know he still misses her and wishes that she could be by his side.

There's been Lou, Copper, Sam, Red, and Lucy. There's been Miley and Gus. There's been Ragnar, the newest to the family. They have all made our lives better. Well, except Sam, he was a jerk. They all have memories with the family that we can look at fondly with smiles or chuckles. They are ours and we are theirs. None of them compare to Tom though. They can come close, but in my dad's eyes and in his heart, HIS dog already came and gone. It wasn't many years, but they were great years. In the livestock business there is a saying that "the best die young." For Tom, this was true and because of this she will never be forgotten.