It was before I was living at the ranch. Everything was set up: trailer, barn, water, gas, electricity; no phone yet but that's a different story.
One rainy day, in June, I realized that my day job (the one that isn't "rancher") put me as close to the Pikes Peak Humane Society shelter as I was ever likely to be accidentally. So, after work one day, I dropped in to see if there was a border collie-type dog in need of a job. Well, there wasn't. But, as I had found when I got Mandy, I was absolutely incapable of leaving without a dog! I think it has something to do with my mindset when I go in that I'm open to getting a dog. Then, regardless of whether "just the right" dog (whatever that means) is there, there are so many that need a home. They're like in jail just for being alive. Anyway, I guess what I don't understand is why I don't take them all. For reasons I don't fully comprehend, I went home with a 9-month old, solid black, non-descript dog whose rap sheet had him listed as a "mixed Australian Shepherd". He came with a name, Java, and I saw no reason to change it. I consider him to be Mandy's dog and she seems to think so, too.
As it turns out, neither Mandy nor Java, genetics not withstanding, is worth a bucket of warm spit when it comes to goat management. Still, they're good dogs and I guess that's all that matters.
