You know, toggling back and forth between here and the old board, I can't help but be reminded of an old yellow black mouth cur we had when I was a little younger than I am today.
Tom was as rough as any dog we'd ever had on cattle that were less than agreeable to penning. I swear that dog got a charge out of seeing just how much blood was actually housed in bovine ears.
Once, a fellow, who we regularly penned and worked cattle for, called to say that 6 new angus heifers had gotten out of his pasture and were in the middle of a 2300 acre plantation owned by a now defunct timber company. We loaded the horses and 4 or 5 dogs, including Tom, and headed out to retrieve the cattle for this man.
After about 4 hours or so, we jumped the heifers and started them back to the pasture from which they came; Tom with them step for step. After a mile or so Tom let his guard down and found himself on the receiving end of a well placed hock to the left side of his head. Tom fell to the ground like a sack of hammers and failed to move for what seemed an eternity but more than likely was only a matter of minutes.
When Tom came to, he tried with everything he had to rise and give chase to the cattle that were now some distance ahead and scattered, but it was of little use. He never recovered from that incident and we buried him a short time later.
It literally pains me to see what the old board has been reduced to. To me, there's nothing much sadder than that of something not being able to fill the purpose for which it was intended, no matter how badly we, or they, want it. I actually pray for its swift death.
As someone who loved that old dog and learned as many tricks from it as was possible, I agree. It would be a kindness to put it out of it's misery.
