dream ranch

I give up on names. I keep calling the new guy Cowboy, like his predecessor. Except this guy for the record will be Cowboy2, without the pretentious Roman numerals. I say Cowboycito to myself but that seems too cute for public consumption.

I worried about dishonoring the other Cowboy, who I had to put down on October 26, 2023, because of cancer. This morning I’m thinking that naming the new one Cowboy too is a form of tribute. As a practical matter and mental health remedy, it allows me to think of both at the same time. The new guy, my fourth Placitas dog in 33 human years, can share. They’ve all been in this house but we’re on a second picnic table. And so far our main stomping ground, adjacent BLM land, remains protected from development.

Cowboy2 weighs only 28 pounds now. He looks big to me in pictures and small in real life. They guessed at the Animal Humane shelter in Albuquerque that he is around two years old and said he was healthy.

The only other clues about his past were that he had been living outside before his initial rescue, that he had come to Animal Humane from the Best Friends sanctuary in Kanab, Utah, and that he had come with a sister. They said he was an Australian shepherd, although I see heeler, too. His small, pointy nose and light-footed walk say coyote to me.

He gets up in the morning as soon as there is pink in the sky and goes to bed as soon as the sun goes down. That seems more Cowboy than Pickles, as they called him at the shelter. I reserve the right to change his name again if lightning strikes but I can’t get Cowboy out of my head. Plus, I can say “Cowboy, come” quickly, even with my diminishing breath.

He was friendly with the staff at the shelter and my dog-counseling neighbor, Lori, who went with me to to check him out. I didn’t have any reservations. I spotted him on Animal Humane’s website the night before and adopted him the next day, December 6. Though friendly with everyone so far, he has been timid around the house. But it has been clear where he wants to sleep — namely with me, or on the bed he now allows me to share. The bed I built is high. Like Cowboy before him, Cowboy2 likes to climb up on things that let him see outside, including the table beside my bedroom reading chair. He likes that chair for daytime naps, too. He climbs up on the picnic table in the back yard so he can see out over the high, for the most part snake-proof, wall.

I don’t know if he’s house-broke although he seems to get the concept. He comes and laps loudly at his indoor water bowl when it’s time to go out. Except two nights in a row, I’ve fallen asleep in the living room, oblivious to his tip-toeing around. He’s lifted his leg twice near the bedroom bookcase, both times hitting my hardbound copy of Bob Woodward’s Plan of Attack.

Lori and huband Mike recently lost a dog too: Sara, who had been friends with Cowboy and my Cooper before him. In more testament to how overflowing with dogs all the nearby shelters are, they quickly spotted just the kind of dog they were looking for to refill their hearts. They brought a wonderful new girl home and call her Izzy. It’s important that the new dogs get along since we help each other out. The big introduction was yesterday. Izzy and my guy were enthusiastic friends from the get-go, racing and chasing for an hour as we tried to record blurs and streaks on our iPhones.

Neighbor Remi, a friendly Aussie, is coming over today. Meanwhile, Cowboy2 has had his breakfast. As soon as I finish here, we’ll go for a walk. He seems to be waiting.