There are dogs, and then, there is thee dog. I’d be willing to bet that as you read this, your mind’s eye is picturing a beloved canine that proves this statement to be true. It may be the first dog you remember as a child, or perhaps it’s the first dog you bought when you struck out on your own. Regardless, we all know that there are indeed four legged friends that stand as dogs amongst pups.

I am no exception to this rule. Once I was finally out on my own, I needed the very thing that makes a house into a home, a dog. She was a small red heeler named Beth but often affectionately referred to as dee-ohgee. A 40-pound basketball killer filled with spit and fire, who was by my side when even my shadow didn’t want any part of the action. That was until that spring day.

It was calving time, and I was making the rounds checking cows and tagging calves. As it was a rather wet spring, I was riding my most trusted mount, a steed I had named four-wheeler. Beth was with me, and we came across a calf tucked deep in the rye. Quietly I approached the calf, checked the gender to be noted later in the calving book, and planned to put the tag in his ear. As soon as the tagger clicked, this once calm and docile calf sprang to life with all the energy of a thousand electric fencers. He shot straight up in the air, and with all of his might screamed, “STRANGER DANGER.”

Have you ever been in a situation when your blood ran cold, that moment of instant panic? The panic was so thick in the middle of that rye field I could taste it. My eyes immediately started scanning for mama cow. It didn’t take long for her to reveal herself; she was the one covering football fields in a single bound. The biggest problem was that there was only about a football field between the two of us. The second problem was the four-wheeler was parked halfway between her and I. This operation would require me to run directly at mama cow to use the atv as an escape. While I briefly pondered that conundrum, this rather motherly bovine closed the gap in real estate, gave the machine a passing headbutt, and continued at speed in my direction.

What happened next is a bit of a blur, but that tends to happen when your body goes into motion while your head is wondering what normal people are currently doing. It was clear that my feet and legs weren’t sticking around to see what happened next, and if my upper body wished to remain attached to my lower extremities, it had better get with the program as well. Beth dog, being well trained but mostly adverse to dangerous situations, had been perched on the back rack of the four-wheeler. She hit the ejection seat about a second before the cow assaulted the innocent Kawasaki. At that point, I am ashamed to admit, I lost track of her whereabouts. She would not be missing for long, however. It is true that I did run track in high school, and it is also true that I wasn’t all that great at it. But in this moment, I was a wrangler clad Usain Bolt setting a new 100 meter record. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I had found high gear in those Justin boots. And was running the heels right off them trying to keep all my parts and pieces arranged in their factory locations.

It was only then that I caught a red blur from the corner of my eye. It was that little red heeler coming to save the day! Scratch that, it was a little red heeler with self-preservation on the mind. She apparently adhered to the philosophy of not needing to outrun the enraged cow, but only needing to outrun the slowest kid in the group. That happened to be me, and she was doing a remarkable job at that. Beth had her tail betwixt her legs, ears locked back in the hammer down position, neck stretched out providing optimal air intake, and she was officially in get gone gear. A few things were starting to become clear to me, for starters “man’s best friend’ was becoming a questionable slogan for my furry companion. Second, I was very aware of the fact that there was now 1500 pounds of Angus blowing snot in my back pocket, and if I wished to live to tag another calf, a plan needed to be hatched pronto.

Running faster was not an option, as I assure you, I was already giving it all I had. Dog-o saving the day was starting to look like a fleeing idea, in fact, she had already fled. Just as my time was set to expire, a thought flickered in my mind. It wasn’t a good thought, but it might work, and honestly, I was out of time to plan anything else. A sharp right-hand turn. That was it! Surely, I was more agile than this freight train pursuing me. Surely, I could execute a 90 degree right hand turn. She’d steam on by, and I would double back to the safety of my getaway rig. One last deep breath, and it was time.

I planted my left Justin boot to make the cut, but alas, friction was not in my favor. No, the ol left foot went into a slide that can only be described as terribly unfortunate. Suddenly the right foot was tasked with maintaining forward momentum, and the arms were put to work trying to regain balance. Then came the big step, you know the one so big you can’t recover? Left foot suddenly found all the traction it needed, and without further instruction planted itself solid in the muddy field. The arms windmilled wildly trying to regain balance, as the head being vaguely aware of what was going on, was overcome by forward momentum. Right leg took one more big step, trying in vain to save the whole mess, but collapsed under the tremendous force. At this point, arms had given up entirely and now hung useless at my side, and hind quarters were under attack from the business end of mama cow. My chest hit the mud and served as a phenomenal parking brake, as the legs still trying to get away, churned wildly in the air. I am most certain, this is the only time in my life, I have managed to kick myself in the back of the head.

Luckily the cow was satisfied with planting me in the mud, and had returned to her calf. I was grateful indeed to see them both headed North, and away from my location. As I laid there a minute, I collected my thoughts, and did a mental check of my faculties. Other than wet and muddy clothes, I seemed to be no worse for wear. Then I felt that little cold nose, followed by a warm tongue licking my cheek. I struggled up to my knees to be greeted by Beth dog. Her warm friendly eyes asking the question, “did you notice how mad that cow was?!” Yeah Beth, I noticed.

We made our way back to the still idling four-wheeler. And as we started our journey home, I was just happy to be alive, even if my pride was a little wet and muddy.