I grew up in a small rural town, and I’ve lived in that same small town my whole life. With grandparents that farmed, there’s are things that I notice — or at least try to notice every time I pass a farm.
For instance, there seems to be a dog on every farm. Ok, maybe not every farm, but most of the ones that I go to have one. Sometimes there is even a barn cat to be in charge of the rodent population. Some farmers are happy with one, others with two or more.
My grandparents had many different breeds of dogs during the 40-plus years that they owned their farm. My grandparents had as many as three at one time when I was young. Cindy was a collie. She reminded me of Lassie on the old TV show. Then there was Duchess and Tasha. Both were grey and black German Shepherds. To this day, I think that the grey and black combination on a German Shepherd is the most beautiful.
The last two dogs that would be on the family farm were terriers. Toby showed up on day as a stray. He was a lovable, friendly and beautiful Jack Russell. Some of the neighbors got upset when he would pay them a visit but he soon learned to stay at his new home. Toby gave my grandmother great companionship for several years before he passed away.
Toby was good at letting you know that you had company, so after his passing, Grandma didn’t waste time looking for another dog. She drove about 20 miles to pick up Leroy, a Rat Terrier mix. She renamed him Buddy and he was a loyal and faithful farm dog, although too hyper for the taste of house cats, who were accustomed to Toby’s laid back attitude.
Buddy is no longer a farm dog. He lives in town with me and my Jack Russell, Jake. I do miss the walks in the pasture out on the farm. I wonder if Buddy misses the farm too. Sometimes, we do go out and sit on the John Deere B that I have. It’s just a little way to relive the good old days.