Did you ever meet someone or something who did exactly what they were designed, even destined to do? When my wife Rebecca and I were newlyweds, one of her two dogs, Bear, showed her teeth, growled, and made a move at my lower legs when I sat down at the computer. Little did I know that disturbing her peace and quiet in a makeshift den would be such an affront. Needless to say, Bear and I had a little discussion right then and there, about who could growl at whom. From then on we were good.
One thing about Bear is that she was a smarty pants, same with her stable mate 'Old Grandmother'. The trouble with being smart, though, is that you know what you want, and you tend to get it. When you don't, less than desirable traits emerge. Bear, however, got plenty of what she wanted, at least before I met her, and that thing was cows. She'd stare at them, follow them, move them, separate them, and when she needed to she'd bite them. That's right, Bear aka 'Little Baby' was a cow dog, and a damn good one.
By the time I met her, she was already in semi-retirement. We'd go for walks, on the ranch, and she'd move cows out of our way. When we had to deal with a bull, she was an extra layer of protection, and of course when we were out in the thickets of a creek bottom, Bear would of course become like all dogs - bear bait - an added level of sensory perception that we humans will never be capable of relying on. She was amazing. That little brain couldn't have weighed more than a half pound, but the mental intensity, and computational power rivaled or even exceeded that of a few humans that I've met. We're pretty sure that if evolutionary biology would have gifted her with better vocal cords, that she would've had plenty of stories to tell and knowledge to pass.
Now the funny thing about a working girl is that they know how good they are, and they often can't be bothered with lesser tasks. Unlike most backyard bound heelers (house pets), Bear wasn't fond of a tennis ball, or Frisbee for more than a few minutes. Pretty soon she'd lay down and look at us and say, "give me some cows." This was especially the case when we lived in California, in a suburb, for a two year stint. The only upside to that environment was her age, at 12+, she was about as interested in sleeping, and eating spilled scrambled eggs, as she was in herding cows.
California, though, is where Little Baby got her first exposure to airplanes. I decided that while my wife was in school full time, that I would take the old girl flying. Ohhh boy. We had to have another conversation. This time however, it wasn't for trying to bite me, but it was because even after all these years of working around diesel pickup trcks, tractors, horses, chainsaws, and guns, Bear Dog was afraid of airplanes.
I honestly don't remember how we figured it out, but I think she was hesitant to even climb in the airplane - intuition? We must have scrapped our plans that first day.
Not long after we purchased a set of doggie ear muffs - super cute - and I used some scrap Cordura and tubular webbing to sew her up a custom doggie harness just for the airplane. That's right, it was adjustable, gave her a little freedom of movement to stand up, turn around, lay, curl up, or whatever else she needed to do. Critically, however, it kept her where she belonged, out of the controls.
We always took it easy on her Little-Baby-body: slow climbs, slower descents, minimal G forces. Over time she got better at flying. Eventually the frantic shivering happened only while we were walking up to an airplane. Once we got her buckled in and her headset on, she'd calm down and look at us as if to say, "Okaayyy, I guess so."
No matter what the adventure though, there was never anything better for her than unloading from an airplane. As soon as the mixture handle was pulled, she'd start writhing so enthusiastically as to shed her muffs with nary a bit of help from our advanced human digits. With the harness unbuckled she was out of the cabin like a lightning bolt.
This brings me to a fond memory. Me and Bear, in a Citabria with no functional cabin heat, at 8,000 feet above a stratus layer in January, somewhere over the central valley of California with the sun rising in the windscreen. Air smooth as silk, clouds orange as though they were on fire. For my part, I was of course freezing my butt off, the down jacket wasn't quite doing it. Bear however, when I looked over my left shoulder was out like a light, sleeping contently, and probably thankful to have some cold air, as would any Montanan dealing with mild California.
Bear eventually moved onto doggie heaven, but not before moving back to the Montana she loved, and the cows she 'loved to hate', where she lived out her years peacefully without any aggressive interventions from modern medicine.
Would I fly with another Bear Dog, or someone like her? Absolutely, old dogs I can learn new tricks. Of all the things we did right, there's one thing I want to do differently, even though we couldn't do it with her: I'd introduce the pup to flight earlier. Bear really was an old dog, it showed in her mannerisms the first time she went flying. It took her a long time to get comfortable with the whole idea.
I think a puppy, riding on it's boss' lap from an early age, would transition much better to that environment, especially if someday, it was to ride around in the backseat of a Citabria while napping comfortably above the clouds at dawn.