He Ain’t No Cow Dog

Reno spends a lot of his time riding in the truck and on the four-wheeler through the mountains and valleys of central Utah. Ever since his youth he has had a fascination with cattle. At first sight of a critter of the bovine genus he stiffens up, gets a mohawk, and becomes aggressive. Jill and I have discouraged this sort of behavior. As a result of the yearly and expensive trips to the veterinarian to mend Reno’s self inflicted wounds we have not encouraged Reno pursue his dream of becoming a cow dog.

As temperatures become cool, leaves begin to change, and hunters make their way up the mountains strings of cattle make their way for the valley to winter. Some of these cattle rest and wait to be sorted and claimed at the Saw Dust Pits west of our home. This location is the same area that Reno and I go for a nightly run.

Reno rides on the four-wheeler until we reach the Saw Dust Pits and then he jumps off and runs behind for nearly a mile and a half. Reno has run hundreds of miles on these roads. He has run them so much that he has figured out shortcuts that take him cross country. This night his decision to take the shortcut answered me many questions of the character and demeanor of ol’ Reno.

I looked over my shoulder and no Reno. I was not alarmed because Reno often detoured this portion of the course. I proceeded to the dike on the east side of the Saw Dust Pits and found Reno running at full throttle cross country to try and meet up with me on the four-wheeler. As I proceeded southbound and Reno eastbound I noticed not one, but three bovine standing in a small depression adjacent to a culvert chewing their cud. I froze! It wasn’t clear to me exactly what was going to take place. As the guardian of this dog should I wave my arms into the air, whistle, and chase the herd off and pick Reno up like a hard ground ball up the third base line? Should I just stand back and let Reno fulfill his dream of becoming a cow dog? Because of the lack of trust that I have for bovine I chose the latter.

As Reno topped the depression his eyes locked on the small herd. His four legs locked up like the disc brakes on a new Ford pick up. The hair of his back stood up and formed the familiar mohawk, his back arched like that of a Halloween cat, and his tail stiffened and pointed forward. He stood in this position for sometime like that of a pointer over a covey of quail. What was to Reno going to do next? Was he just sizing up the herd deciding which way to push them? Was he waiting for my command to let the ol’ girls have a piece of Reno?

He began to pace while remaining in this awkward position. He growled a bit just to remind the bovine ladies of his position on the food chain. Then it happened… One of the ladies took a casual step toward him. He let out a sound that I am unable to describe. He then fell out of the awkward cat like position, switched his tail position to folded tightly beneath his torso, and sprinted to the north at a speed that resulted in a rooster tail of dust. After nearly 25 yards he looked over his shoulder to make sure of my health and location. He noticed that I had not moved. He stopped, caught his breath, then very cautiously, giving the bovine an extremely wide birth made his way back to me on the four-wheeler. He ran the rest of the route, but stayed on the east side (left side) of the four-wheeler. This kept the four-wheeler and I between he and the bovine. He ran so close to the tires of the four-wheeler that I was nervous that he may become pulled beneath and suffer injury. As our run concluded I picked him up, sat him on the four-wheeler for the ride home, and told him that he ain’t no cow dog. He didn’t argue.