Moe

In the winter of 1998, Clay and I traveled to Auburn, Alabama, (an hour's drive) to buy a dog. It was our first time ever "buying" one. I don't remember exactly the cost; we either spent $100 or $150, and we wondered if we were going to get our money's worth.

Eight years later, I can look back and say we got a bargin.

Dogs are wonderful, and Moe was one of the best. I remember driving back home with her curled on my lap, and we were trying to figure out names and running through the gamut. While thinking about different T.V. stars, the Three Stooges came to mind, so I called those out. "Moe," Clay said. "I like Moe." However, "Moe" was a girl. "How about her name be 'Mona,' but her nickname be 'Moe'?" Clay agreed, and she was never referred to as "Mona" again.

She loved squeeky toys. She tolerated a lot, but she had no problems fighting if any other dog went after her toy. Clay really didn't want her to have a toy outside because she would carry it around everywhere, but she loved them. Whenever she came inside, she would go to the basket right away and pull out the squirrel squeeky. She was so funny about it - as if no one noticed. It's still there from last night. I haven't put it back in the basket.

I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but if people acted like good dogs, they would be more Christ-like in their actions. Basically, dogs want to be around you, they want to pleae you, they don't worry what you wear or look like, how much money you make, the level of education you've had, the new additions that become part of the family, they'll still want to lick you in the face when they have to be disciplined, and they tolerate pain without complaining. In Moe's case, both her bottom canine teeth had been broken off, her joints were stiff from arthritis from the numerous kicks she's had, and recently she's had to endure the constant attention of our lab-mix, Gus, who, by the way, thinks he is also a blue heeler. Unfortunately, Gus had not figured out that Moe couldn't pay attention to the heels of cows and also play with him, so she also suffered many kicks trying to babysit.

As she got older and her arthritis got worse, she didn't do much field work. She would wait under an oak tree for Clay to bring the cows out of the pature. She was smart; she knew Clay would return and the real work would begin - in the pens.

Certain dogs are bred to do certain jobs. Not letting them fulfill their purpose breaks their spirit a little, I think. We had talked about "retiring" Moe and getting another puppy, but Moe wouldn't work with other dogs. We were afraid that if we got one, she would quit working totally. We couldn't take away from her what she loved.

There are some people who don't believe that their working dogs should be treated as pets. I disagree. Dogs offer too much. If you just tap into one resource they provide, you miss out on so much more.

Moe died tonight. She's buried under that oak tree - ready and waiting, in spirit, to work.

We're going to miss you, Moe-Moe.