Meet Rose.
Rose was already featured in an earlier photo sitting in my car wearing what looked to be laser luminescent goggles of an ungodly green color. That's Rose. Full of surprises, mostly of my invention. Rose is, really, at heart, a straight shooter. I've been tempted many times to change her name to Earnestina. I am pretty sure her serious take on life is the result of living her first year on a cattle ranch north of Cranbrooke, B.C. As much as Rose is a diligent dog, she was no cow-puncher. I think Rose took one look at the hooves on those gigantic bovines and decided if she wanted to have all of her teeth in her old age, she'd best get off the ranch. So she got herself fired. Refused to co-operate with the Boss. Got the Boss so riled up he chased her right off the property, which is where some hiker friends of my rancher friend Margie, found her. She was cowering (no small coincidence there) under a horse trailer miles from her tormentor. They called him up and he admitted Rose was not working out as a herding dog, and he needed a home for her. That's where I came into the picture. Margie knew I had to give Caleb up, and before Caleb even saw the Zehnder Ranch and met John, I had a second dog in the back of my car. I paid that rancher $400, a peach pie (Margie's idea) and a painting of his favorite dog, Parker (Margie's idea) , for Rose. I should have given him a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. As it turns out, Rose is the meekest border collie in B.C., and if the meek shall inherit the Earth, it's all Rosie's. The flip side of this is that she was so danged grateful to get off that ranch that she is willing to go to any lengths to please me. Rose, as Margie predicted, is a very good dog. A willing dog, a dog who is done with cowering and has taken on the role of Best Dog on Earth. Sit Rose and she sits. Come Rose and she comes. That kind of thing. Simple but effective. Rose has become a no-nonsense, ball-crazed, obedient model of canine compliance. She's quick, but there is also something heavy about Rose. The rancher, Hugh, thought maybe she was retarded (How retarded can she be? She got herself out of that god forsaken place.). But there is something 'heavy' about Rose, in spite of her prowess at ball catching. It's hard to put words to, but she's heavy on the lead, where all my other collies were a light touch. She's slow to pick up on stuff, dogged once she gets it. She reminds me of kids I knew in grade school who sat at the back of the class, didn't say much, tried to stay out of trouble, but didn't really get what school was about. That's Rose, slow to pick up on what life has to offer. But she's catching on, and now she plays with other dogs (didn't for a whole year) and knows what a ball is for (not a hurled projectile at her) and knows what a stick is for (not for hitting her) and has lightened up a bit. And Rose is my mostly companion.
See how proper Rose is? She knows well-brought -up ladies cross their legs when they sit. Didn't even need to teach her this... she must have picked it up on her own.
