I grew up on a farm where the general attitude of the adults toward animals was that they were OK as long as they served some purpose; they had to be useful. Cattle became steaks and hamburger. Pigs turned into pork chops and hams. Chickens gave eggs. Duck made a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner. Cats caught mice. Dogs helped round up the cows from the pasture (ideally anyway). I held no misconceptions about animals having some sort of fluffy afterlife. There was no sadness as I helped Dad load the pigs to take to the stockyards. There was not even a remote inclination toward vegetarianism. Knowing the steer I worked with to bring to the county fair (only once mind you) would not find his way home again afterward was just part of the deal. (Sorry to break this news to those of you who were unaware of those animals' fates.)
Yet for me and my sister, Martha, the dogs and the cats were different. We were extremely affectionate toward them to say the least.
Meet Prince:
Oh the warmth and nostalgia that comes over me when I look at this photo! That's me on the left. My Dad (sporting a beard for our small town's centennial celebration) is holding Martha on his lap. And Prince (the first Prince - more on that later...). Prince came to our family just before I was born so there's not a day of my childhood that he wasn't a part of. Mom and Dad said he was a Blue Australian Shepherd, but mostly just a lovable mutt. (It pains me even to call him a "mutt" with all the negative connotations that go along with that word.) People always wondered if he was blind as he had some unique coloring to his eyes, but he could see just fine. He was active, fun-loving, playful, and hard-working in his own way. He was a faithful companion and loyal friend.Like all dogs, Prince was most faithful to his master, my dad. When dad was out in the field doing rounds of cultivating or combining or baling hay, Prince was running right alongside the tractor. Later, when we were older and riding beans, we had to be careful not to accidentally squirt Prince instead of the weeds. He had to be tied up if you didn't want him tagging along. He wasn't really trained to do anything special - he could sit and shake. Dad would sometimes take him along out to the pasture to bring the cattle in. I'm not totally sure, but I think he must have been somewhat helpful for Dad to bring him along.
Martha and I played outside a lot, and it was just a given that Prince would be right alongside of us joining in whatever we were doing if he was on the yard. He was a very social dog. He was keenly aware of when something wasn't right. Mom tells a story of me being into something I shouldn't have been or maybe I'd gone missing (I can't remember the details), but Prince alerted her and brought her to where I was. He'd let you know if the cows had gotten out or if a stranger came up on the yard. While we were there, he would never hurt a fly, but Mom and Dad heard tales of him being aggressive and protective of the yard if we weren't home though he never hurt anyone. I couldn't even imagine that. He'd put up with almost anything. I remember laying on his belly and reading books, dressing him up, trying to ride him (he didn't like that, but he never snapped at us). The best thing about Prince was just that he was THERE.
He definitely wasn't without fault. I can remember Dad being upset when Prince would chase the cows just for fun. Or that he'd follow to the farm (my Grandpa's house just down the road - we called it "the farm") when he wasn't invited along. He also always ran over there whenever there was a thunderstorm. We eventually got smart and put him in when we knew it might storm. Occasionally he'd chase cars on the road. Mostly he was just a good dog though. He lived on our table scraps (which are nothing to be sneezed at when you live on steak and roast, etc.) along with a bit of dog food. He'd sometimes bring a rabbit up onto the yard that he'd caught. Martha and I would get very upset when he'd chew on the cats. He didn't really hurt them; he'd just sort of mouth them and get them all slobbery...yuck!
Prince had a couple of friends: my Grandpa's dog, Queenie, was his mother...thus the name Prince. (Although Martha and I called him Trinester - we had a sisterly thing with morphing words and Prince Chester - his "middle" name - somehow morphed into Trinester...yes, we were silly) When Queenie died, Pepper replaced her and Prince and Pepper got along very well. He was not a fan of my uncle's dog, Max. Those two got into it a couple of times...I still remember being filled with anxiety and crying at the sight of it. We were fiercely protective of Prince.
Prince died in our barn when he was 13 years old. He'd been running alongside Dad riding the motorcycle and he cut across in front of Dad and was hit. A sad, sad day...he lived for a little bit after that, but he was old and injured and just never recovered. There was no taking him to the vet; that's just not how things worked on the farm. It was highly practical. We were all sad, but like I said, he was old and had lived a good life...time to let nature take it's course. We all still think of him fondly.
One thing though - Prince was outside - no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It could be raining, snowing, -40 degrees outside...no matter how much Martha and I pleaded there was no way he was coming in. He knew it too. He could be put in the barn or garage if he needed shelter. There were times that he was allowed down in the basement (really a cellar) or on the porch. But NEVER in the house. Animals belonged outside! Like I said, he was mainly functional although I think most of Prince's function at our house ended up being companionship. We all loved Prince. He stunk a lot of the time (he was a farm dog after all). His hair would get matted and full of cockle burrs. He wasn't the prettiest or smartest dog, but we thought he was. There's something tender about the relationship between farm family and farm dog. As much as the adults would like to claim indifference, this animal is special. I was blessed to have Prince as a significant part of my life. We all were.
