It has been two years now since we were adopted, or perhaps I should say assaulted, by a young border collie cross who showed up on a chilly afternoon to wreak havoc on our lives.
After a fruitless attempt to find her owners (who we suspect may have been hiding nearby, chuckling with glee), we accepted our fate.
She was around 6 months old at the time, and her destruction of our property began almost immediately. While we have doubtless overlooked some items, we know with certainty she has chewed upon and/or entirely consumed gloves, socks, insulation, firewood, water dishes, hose nozzles, coffee mugs, even the grass catcher and starter cord for the lawn mower.
Her inborn herding instinct has been impressive from the first day. She works tirelessly to round up cats, horses, sticks, ravens, school buses, and the occasional passing airplane. We’ve never actually seen her corralling skunks, but she holds the canine record at our place for aromatic encounters.
Out of frustration, I once asked the receptionist at our veterinarian’s office when we might expect improvement. She told me cheerfully that border collies can be slow to mature, but for their second birthdays, UPS delivers brains to them.
I’ve been waiting by the gate since last July. No brown truck in sight.