I started to write an article for a magazine about farm dogs, and it turned into an expose of remembrance about my first dog. My article took on a life of it’s own, much too long for the publication, and I had to submit a much abbreviated version.
My first dog was a true friend to a teenager who, being quite shy, often didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Pets never judge their owner, and are always happy to see someone come home. They keep secrets well and love unconditionally. My Tippy was no exception, and wound his way into my teenage heart in a matter of minutes.
I thought I’d share the article in its entirety with you.
My Faithful Friend Tippy, A Border Collie
Our family dairy farm always had a dog to help with the cows, specifically a Border Collie.
When I was about 13 years old, Rex, the old Border Collie I first knew growing up, passed away. He was a true farm dog, not a pet. He spent his days in the barn, around the farm, or sleeping in the shadow of a tractor.
All that winter I ask my dad for a “real” collie – a sable and white rough coated collie, like Lassie. You see, everything on the farm was black and white – black and white Holstein cows, black and white barn cats, and always a black and white dog. I wanted something with a little more color.
In the spring, my dad piled us all in the car for a ride, nothing unusual since he liked his Sunday drives to see what was going on elsewhere. We ended up in another small town, on another small dairy farm. Coming out of the barn was a female Border Collie…. And trailing behind her a litter of pups.
It was true love at first sight. I picked out a male puppy who wiggled in my arms and licked my face. My wish for a sable and white dog evaporated in an instant. On the ride home, I name him Tippy, because he had a very small “shepherds’ lantern” at the end of his tail. Nearly all collies, of any breed or color, have a white tip on the tail, the so-called shepherds’ lantern, because a shepherd could see the white flag on the end of the tail when they followed their dog home in the dark. Anyway, the name Tippy stuck.
No two ways about it, Tippy was my dog. Oh, he belonged to the farm and had a job to do, but he followed me anywhere. In the barn, around the farm, playing in the creek, it didn’t matter to Tip as long as he was with me. All I had to do was whistle, and he’d come running. Tippy gave me love and devotion unconditionally. Once I went back to school in the fall, Tippy would faithfully wait on a corner of the lawn for the school bus to pull up; when the doors opened and I got off, he’d be right there to greet me. He did this all the way through high school.
Mom had never let a dog in the house. I pleaded the first evening we had him that a tiny puppy couldn’t stay in the barn alone only a few hours after we’d picked him up. So he was allowed to come into the kitchen and dining room while we ate supper. Of course, it happened again the next night, and the night after that, and before long he got to come in the kitchen at breakfast time too. Turns out he loved buttered toast. He did sleep in the barn with the cows at night. They were, after all, his charges for safe keeping.
I left for college when he was about 8. Whenever I made it home to the farm, Tippy was ecstatic to see me. With much whining and tail wagging he’d greet me. I like to think he was sad when I left again. A couple years later I graduated college as a veterinary technician and moved out of state for a job. 3 years after that I got married, and fortunately my husband got to meet Tippy a time or two. He was quite old by then, slow to move around, and had, ironically, turned into a house pet. The cows were long gone by then, and Tip spent his last days sleeping on the porch or in the kitchen. Even though I had not been living with him for some time, I missed him greatly when my mom let me know his heart had finally given out.
A year later it seemed the right time for me to get a puppy, and I took my husband back to that same farm where Tippy was born and picked out a new male puppy, Trekkor. A year later we went back for a female. Over the years I’ve had a rescue Border (let’s face it, not the breed for everyone) and several other dogs – all black and white Border Collies. Some maybe sweeter than Tippy, and at least one much smarter, but none more loyal than that farm dog who stole a teenager’s heart.