This is Jasmine, aka Skootchie Butt. Jasmine is an Australian Shepherd and she used to herd sheep back when we had them. She was pretty good at it and we do still have bratty goats who get out now and then–putting them up makes her day.
Moving to the suburbs did something to Jasmine, though. Or maybe it was reading ‘Where the Red Fern Grows,’ but suddenly? She’s treeing coons. You see we live on a little patch of heaven to the tune of 15 or 20 undeveloped acres smack-dab in the middle of progress. Well, what someone besides me might call progress anyway.
So we read, ‘Where the Red Fern Grows,’ to our little girl and the dog apparently listened. As we went through the book it did strike me how much like Little Ann, our Jasmine is. She’s small and very puppy-like in her playfulness and she also takes care of everyone. She’s constantly checking to make sure we’re all present and accounted for. She’s smart, too, and as much as I hate to say it, she’s much smarter than her son, Thunder. That’s one of the ways Jasmine is different from Little Ann–she had puppies.
On the subject of raccoons, however, my little blue merle stock dog is obsessed. I just got back from across the creek where I was sure it was her death song I was hearing. I knew she’d been dragged into the marsh and half drowned, or been chawed and clawed to bloody chunks, but no. She came bouncing out from under the pier over there like a bunny rabbit, happy as all hell with herself and the terrible noises continued.
I guess I was just happy that getting her home involved me getting a little muddy and being firm, rather than getting bloody, having to beat a rabid coon to death my broom and then watching my goofy dog die. She’s no bigger than a coon herself.
At least she’s up to date on her vaccines.