Our ranch is home to a passel of dogs. Caine, the only useful dog, is a purebred English shepherd and fantastic stock dog who lives to move cattle. Avon and Daisy, English shepherds, prefer hunting. Dottie and Patches are rat terriorists. Jiggs is an English shepherd x rat terriorist. (Long story. Don’t ask.)

Yesterday, we passed a vacant chicken tractor which has become a mouse haven. A minute later, Dottie had half a mouse sticking out of her mouth. Daisy was chomping on a rat. Avon, Patches, and Jiggs were frantically digging.

Caine was proudly sporting a mushy butternut squash harvested from the compost pile. While he has a high interest in keeping up his vitamin A levels, he has little interest in mice or rats.

Though I am the keeper of the dogs, I blame Bernie for the fact that we have so many of them. As a kid, he and his five younger siblings begged for a dog, but they lived in a city and had no yard fence. Their dad said he wouldn’t keep a dog on a chain, and mom said no dogs in the house. Thus, they grew up dog-deprived. Of those six kids, four now have house dogs.

Due to early dog-deprivation, Bernie decided that each of our four kids should have his or her own dog. Bernard had a St. Bernard x Pyrenees puppy who was replaced by a corgi. After I was bitten by a rattlesnake, Helen and Wyndom got a pair of rat terriorist sisters (who could really do a number on a snake), and later Helen got Patches. When she decided to raise puppies, she acquired Dottie. Sybil had Biskie, the yellow lab loved by everyone and then Daisy. After his rat terriorist disappeared, Wyndom got a Great Pyrenees. For a Mother’s Day present, I was gifted Bard, our first English shepherd. He was such a fantastic cowdog that we acquired Avon for breeding. They produced Caine. Daisy had puppies by Bard and later Caine.

That last paragraph reads like the first paragraph of the Book of Matthew. Maybe I should re-write it, implementing the word ‘begat’ along the way.

Though I blame Bernie for the dog acquisitions, I love them all. (Bernie included.) While walking one day, I turned and snapped a photo of the entourage. Along with the regular herd was a group of five-week-old puppies. There were fourteen dogs trailing me. I felt well protected from any potential danger: stampede, snake, badger, box turtle, tumbleweeds. The only possible threat to my wellbeing was being sidelined by running dogs. People have lost anterior cruciate ligaments that way.

All the dogs love to ride in the pickup, but Caine and Patches can’t be together or Patches emits secret decoding fluid. Dottie likes to drive and insists on being in my lap. Avon prefers the back seat. Jiggs likes the middle. Daisy prefers to stand under the power line and bark at the birds perched on the wire.

Dogs.