Sonny and I had recently started our life together and decided we wanted a dog. But Sonny was adamant that our pooch would not be a cow dog as NO dog is allowed to harass HIS cows. But he was also determined that the addition to our household be BIG with LONG hair. That suited me. Sonny had always wanted an Old English Sheepdog. That really suited me!
We made calls and watched the ads, ran down a few leads. We weren’t interested in paying $1000 for a purebred pup – we’re more mutt sort of people. A few months into our search we got a call from the East Side Vet Clinic in Miles City. The grapevine worked and the clinic heard of our search. A family near Jordan decided that a big, hairy dog didn’t suit their lifestyle so they’d brought a mixed breed but predominantly Old English Sheepdog to the clinic.
Before we were able to get to town to take a look, the dog made the front page of the newspaper. He was captured on camera scaling the clinic’s six foot fence to get a taste of freedom in old Miles Town.
Sonny wasn’t sure he was the right dog when we first met, but I was. He was definitely big, but he was lacking long hair – actually, hair. His family had not groomed him in his year and a half with them and his hair was so matted it had to be cut off. His trim was so short he was almost nude. He also didn’t look much like an Old English Sheepdog because he had a long tail and a straight back.
We met in the kennel’s yard and he almost bowled us over in his enthusiasm. His joy was infectious and I was instantly in love. The people at the clinic called him Mr. Peabody and we thought the name was perfect. As it turned out, so was he.
But here it was January and we had a hairless dog. We did not want a house dog, and certainly not a 90 pound house dog, so we bought Mr. Peabody a coat. Sonny had ridiculed family members for wintering their horses in blankets and asked the grandkids if they had dresses on their horses. Now the tables were turned and they never tired of asking Grandpa if his new dog had his dress on.
We were feeding ear corn to the cows, so even though Sonny didn’t want a dog around his cows, we took Peabody feeding so he could keep the cows away from the back of the pickup until we were ready to feed. He did a great job. He was quiet and calm and only snapped at a cow if she got too close to the bed, and he didn’t bark. He was a natural, knew what to do and did it effectively and quietly.
So we thought maybe he could do just a little more to help. Once we started feeding, the cows crowded around the pickup until we couldn’t get through them. We thought maybe we could get Peabody to trot in front and keep the cows away from the front of the pickup. He could. But not being a true cow dog, he quickly lost interest in trotting in front of the pickup and went a bit further afield. He just trotted away and started sniffing around following interesting scents. That was no help!
I was driving and Sonny was feeding the corn. Sonny called but Peabody ignored him. Sonny had me stop so I stepped out of the pickup to watch the training session. Peabody was about fifty feet in front of the pickup on the passenger side, just nosing around. Sonny picked up an ear of corn then called Peabody again. Peabody ignored the call so Sonny let fly with the corn. My eyes were glued to Peabody to watch his reaction – when the ear of corn bounced off the back of my head.
Peabody didn’t learn a lesson at all, but I learned that Sonny has absolutely no throwing ability. He says he hit his target perfectly and that I learned to listen to him!
Peabody was such a success at keeping cows off a load of ear corn or cake that we decided to try him working at a haystack. After we fed the cake, we put two big round bales on the bed to feed hay. But with bales on, there was no place for Peabody on the bed. And only on the most bitter of winter days did we put up with a massive, snow matted dog in front with us.
We had two goals – first to teach him to stay at the haystack and second to guard the gate. If he would actually keep the cows out, we wouldn’t have to shut the gate each time we left with a load of bales.
We took a few dog biscuits with us and when we left the haystack we tied his leash to the gate post and told Peabody to stay. He looked forlorn but ate his biscuit and waited for
our return. After a few days of training, we decided he knew what we wanted. We loaded the hay then Sonny told him to stay and handed him his biscuit. Peabody refused the biscuit, refused to even look at Sonny’s hand. His thoughts were clear – a dog biscuit meant he had to stay at the haystack so by refusing the treat he could go with us. No problem.
Peabody greeted us every morning with infectious, boundless joy. No matter what else was going on in our lives, Peabody made us smile. He loved attention, loved the cold, loved snow, loved rain, loved…everything. He was just happy all the time. He didn’t bark, skulk, sneak, chase cows, chickens, cats or horses. He came when called – almost always. He did howl at coyotes, but usually quit if I got up and told him to stop.
One summer night he started howling beneath our open bedroom window. I was sure Sonny was awake, too – how could anyone sleep through that racket??? So I sat up and yelled out the window, “Shut up, Peabody!”
Awakended from deep sleep, Sonny reared up in bed, startled out of his wits. “What? What’s wrong?” He was less than pleased with me when I stammered my apology – small but just payback for the ear corn incident, similarly startling but less painful.
I loved plush stuffed animals as a kid so I got one for Peabody shortly after he joined us. I swear he liked it. It was a soft, green blob about a foot long. He packed it around, he slept with his head or a foot on it, he nosed it around. Then it disappeared. In a few weeks he had it again. It looked a little rough and the green wasn’t quite as bright. He wooled it around as much as before, packed it around, slept with it. Then it disappeared. Each disappearance period lasted longer and longer and with each reappearance it was more drab, more worn and floppier. We think Peabody was burying it, then retrieving it. The last time I saw it was about 3 years later. The toy was in real rough shape by then, and Peabody didn’t keep it around more than a few hours before hiding it again. I bought several more plush toys over the years, but Peabody wasn’t interested in any of them.
When Peabody buried something, he dug with his nose. He rarely dug with his feet, and certainly never dug in the yard or garden. When he hid a bone he’d come back with the hide off the end of his nose. He never acted like it hurt but he had massive paws with lethal toenails but didn’t use them for digging. In fact, Peabody left claw tracks across my cheek a few times when he swiped at me in play so I can testify to how long and sharp his toe nails were.
Peabody pretty well ignored tractors 10 months of the year but he loved to go with us when we were haying. We tried to discourage it, but if he could hear a tractor running and saw us leave, he’d show up. I was raking a field with Peabody making rounds with me when he jumped a rabbit. He wasn’t fleet of foot but he was tenacious. It may have been the longest rabbit hunt in history as they zig zagged around and across the field. Peabody was so exhausted by the time he won the match that he packed the rabbit to the shade of a bale of hay, rested a while, then left his prize when we moved fields. He didn’t even look back.
One fall we decided to domesticate a couple barn cats to help keep down the mouse population that wanted to take up residence in the house. We didn’t want cats IN the house, just near the house. I gentled two kittens and built them a little house – a cat house, you know, like a dog house but smaller. It was cute as can be.
But cats apparently don’t go in so much for cute. They preferred Peabody’s house, or maybe just his company. Early on cold mornings I’d see all three of them exit Peabody’s house. Many of their naps were taken together on the lawn as well. In cold weather, the cats curled up on Peabody’s flank and back. In the summer, they just curled up in a loose pile. They arched their backs and curled around his legs and he gave them an occasional lick across the face.
Peabody never growled or snapped at the cats. Only in his advanced age did he even curl a lip at them when they ate out of his dish, and even that was rare.
We brought restaurant leftovers home with us often enough that Peabody started looking for them. He met us at the cattle guard and loped along as we drove in. We thought he was just happy that we were home. Maybe not.
One day we came home with a large batch of groceries and got right to unloading. After several trips to the house, Sonny said, “Did you give Peabody his food?”
“No, I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I thought it was here on the floor, but I haven’t seen it so it must be on the other side.”
“Look over there,” and Sonny pointed to Peabody on the lawn, eating out of his styrofoam doggy box.
We thought it was so cute that he found it on his own. But after the next few trips when he nearly knocked us down as soon as we opened the car door, then put his front feet inside to search for the food box, we had to stop that nonsense. It wasn’t so cute to be pushed out of his way and to realize he wasn’t so much happy that we were home as he was to see what kind of food we’d brought him.
Peabody loved his grooming sessions. Actually, he loved it any time he was the center of attention. Even petting him, he’d get as close as he could, maybe even sitting on my foot, then look up at me with a big grin. He’d scootch closer, pushing me off balance as often as not.
Most of the time I combed him on the picnic table. Since we don’t picnic, it was an appropriate use for the warped, paint flaked old monstrosity.
Peabody already used the picnic table as his lookout. He could see the road and all the activity in the yard from his vantage point, and for grooming it saved my back from having to stoop. I’ll admit that the grooming sessions decreased in accord with the years that passed, but we still managed a few each month. And I can honestly say that grooming is one thing that I alone shared with Peabody. Sonny never once took advantage of the many opportunities available to him to work on Peabody’s appearance. But even with my frequent efforts, Peabody was often a bedraggled mess.
He did like to be combed though, and put up with me rolling him over to work on his belly and both sides. He did not like facial grooming so it was a loving tussle to get the hair around his nose and mouth even partially combed and the hair around his eyes trimmed. Sonny didn’t like his facial hair trimmed anyway, but I loved to be able to see those big brown liquid eyes.
The matts on Peabody’s face reappeared over night, maybe because I never got them completely out. But after his infrequent baths, we were both pleased with his looks. He pranced around for a couple days, a fluffy hairball. Then life got in the way and we were back to bedraggled.
I had thoroughly combed him just a few days before his death, and had started a brief grooming session the day he died. In fact, his brush is out on the lawn under his tree. I’d left it, intending to groom him some more when we got back from riding. Then we went to town and got home after dark. He died in the night.
Peabody’s story is not over. It will continue with our memories. We have been so lucky and our lives so enriched by his continual happiness and undemanding love. My goal is to honor him by living as he did – bringing happiness to every life he touched.
Yesterday I asked Sonny if he wanted to get a Peabody like pup. He said, “You know, sometimes you get lucky. I’ve had a lot of dogs, and some were great. But Peabody was perfect for us and we could never expect to get another dog like him, one that fit us as well. I don’t even want to try. I’d rather just keep missing Mr. Peabody.”
Sandy Snider Stahl 