Sep 27, 2012


border collie

This is our mutt, Pepper Potts. She is a border collie and she has been a part of this family for a little over three years. We love her to death, but it isn't always that way. As any border collie owner may know, this breed has brains and energy. In human language this equates to frustrated nights, hours of training, locks on every kennel and dog run, and years off your life. It means countless walks and tennis balls. It means chew toy after chew toy will certainly be destroyed. It means anything that squeaks will be dead within the hour. It also means one of the best friends you could ever have. 

When we first brought Potts home she whimpered and whined through the night. I slept on the floor to keep her company. Then on Sunday we had to leave her in the house while attending church and we came back to chewed up baseboards, tufts pulled from a corner of the carpet, and a few other "surprises" that did not smell nice. This is expected puppy behavior and didn't last more than a couple of weeks. Potts learned quickly and has been an exceptional dog for us these last years. She, as any border collie would, has her moments though. 

Take today as an example. Potts, because I am a full time homebody, usually stays out of her kennel and herds K.B. around the house. Well, today the baby and I were in the living room and Potts had trotted off somewhere. Usually this is up to our bedroom to look out the window or sifting through the closet for one of her hidden tennis balls. She had been gone a while and I called her. Nothing. Not a scamper, not a dangle of her tags, nada. I called again. Silence. This is always a bad, bad, very bad sign. So I scooped up the little man and went on a hunt. I found her, sifting through the trash down stairs. 

Picture this: on the carpet a Papa Murphy's pizza tray licked clean, four greasy brown napkins, a dusty grey lint clog from the vacuum, a paper towel tube, and a plastic swig lid with the straw poking through the center. Pepper, in the middle of the debris was hurriedly chomping down a rainbow sugar cookie from the batch I had burned that afternoon. The best part? There, upright in its rightful spot stood the trash can. This is not your low office can that fits nicely under the desk. No, this trash bin stands three and a half feet. Somehow she had gotten to the middle of the bin for those cooking without tipping it over. How? You got me. She is not a tall dog. This, and many others, are the mystery of the border collie. May you every be amazed is their motto. And yes, yes I am. 

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