If you follow our Instagram account, you’ve no doubt seen adorable photos of our latest pup, Boomer, who came to the farm last summer. This is his story.
One steamy July Sunday morning, Cowboy headed out for the day, and I decided it was going to be a day of relaxation. It’s my happy place to have an iced coffee, a good book, and sit on the porch listening to nature chirp and chime all around me. (Side note, when we get up in the mornings, we crack the barn door so that Nightmare the cat can go on farm patrol. That fact will soon become a very important part of this story.)
After whiling away my morning lounging and reading, I finally decided to head out to the barn. When I opened the door, I walked smack into a yellow, smiling dog who promptly rolled over on his back, tail wagging, as if to say, “Well hello there, let’s be friends. And while you’re at it, please rub my belly.”
Stunned. Simply stunned. I shook my head. Where in the world did this dog come from? And how in the name of all that is holy did he get into the barn? (Remember the cracked door? Yep. Just enough space for this wily fella to sneak in.)
I mean yes, country strays are sadly part of life. Goober was a stray who showed up on the farm, but he had the good manners to stay out in the pasture when he made his appearance. But this yellow dog had arrived with no apologies. He was here to make friends, and was not going to take no for an answer.
I quickly moved him out of the barn, Nightmare’s domain, who is clearly a good mouser but not a good dog-er, and moved him to the yard. After I watered and fed him, he jumped up on the cushioned patio furniture as if to say, “Have a seat with me.”
Who was this crazy friendly dog? Now while he was chill, I had a house full of pups who were not. They were, shall we say, losing their collective milk bones. Barking and bounding at the door. I knew I was going to need a second set of hands to settle the situation with my windows and doors intact. And most importantly, if I was going to figure out where this lovable guy belonged.
Dad to the rescue. Bless him. (Of course, when I call the man comes running. He always has.) Once Dad arrived, I quickly made a flyer, posted to our small town’s social media groups, texted neighbors, and we headed out driving farm to farm with this guy in the back seat of the truck, smiling the whole way.
He rode well, which is more than I can say for half of our pups who pant and pace like drooling maniacs when they get to go for a r-i-d-e. This guy, however, loved it. As we drove around, we had no luck. Well maybe we had some luck, because no one chased us off of their property. It’s always tricky when you head down a windy driveway onto someone’s farm on a random Sunday afternoon. People are friendly, but wary. In Texas, we are fond of our fences and our gates.
Giving up for the day, we headed to our local Tractor Supply, dog on a leash, to let him pick out a treat, and of course bought him a shiny blue collar and his very own food bowl. (I mean if he was going to hang around, we had to do it right.)
What in the world was I going to do with him? (And yes, I was already scheming as to how I could keep him. This should shock no one.)
In the midst of all of these adventures, I did text Cowboy with a simple picture, because, as you know, a picture is worth a thousand words. He was less than thrilled, as his running joke is that we can have no more things that poop. He’s over scooping. He also has his own theory as to why these critters magically appear when he is not home, but I digress.
Long story long, one of our neighbor’s let us know of a lady who had been missing her pup. So after five hours of farm adventures, which is more than enough time for this fur mamma to get attached, we loaded him up and took him home. Turned out, he had been missing for over a week, and wandered five miles through dense, thick cedar and bramble woods, with plenty of coyotes I might add, and made it to our place, apparently no worse for the wear. She was thrilled to see him.
But we learned that he wasn’t really her fella. She was keeping him for a friend, who thought he’d be better off in the country than in an apartment in the city. But el poocho was prone to chasing cars, and she didn’t have a fence that could keep him in. I left my name and number, and asked her to let me know if he got away again. I left a little sad, as I had already thought this guy was going to join the herd.
The next day, I could not get this yellow fella out of my head, and so I texted his caregiver to check on him. Turns out, his owner was willing to give him to us if we wanted him. Oh my heart skipped a beat, but I also dreaded sharing this news with Cowboy. But as you know by now if you read the blog, Cowboy is a softie. And well we are plenty equipped for scooping poop around here. So, welcome to the farm, Boomer. Welcome to the farm.
P.S. Turns out that Boomer has decided that Cowboy is his person. That dog loves that man, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.