A Story of Two Best Friends and the Family Who Loved Them. . . .

When I was a little girl and into my teens, Dad had an agreement with several sheepherders to allow them to drive their flocks through his range as they moved them from the spring and summer grazing pastures in the mountains and high country in Southern Utah and Nevada to their winter grazing and holding pastures in Arizona.

Those were exciting times for Delores, David, and I. Dad would go to one of his several range camps where there was water and fence. Usually, The Well, Sheep, or Uvada, to meet with the sheepherders who had become his good friends. Often, he would come home with one, or more, newborn lambs who would not be able to make the drive. We would bottle feed them and love them. They would sleep in a box, fixed snug and warm by Mom near the wood burning stove, until they were old enough to move to the barn.

One time when I was about 14, instead of a lamb, Dad brought home a puppy. He was a Border Collie, Shepherd mix. He was black with grey and tan markings. He had been born to one of the sheepherder's dogs during a drive.

My brother Leo, was home on leave from the Air Force and he named him Tony after his best friend, a member of his flight crew. Tony, given name Antonio, was a big, handsome, funny, and charming, Italian boy. Leo's last instructions to us were, "The next time I come home, I am going to bring Tony. No matter what you do, do not yell "Here Tony, Come Boy, Bad Boy, or any of those dog things." Well, we didn't take his advice, and to his and Tony's horror, we began hollering at Tony, at one time even referring to him as a very 'naughty dog'. Leo had to talk like mad to assure Antonio that Tony was named after him because he was truly "Man's Best Friend", loyal, loving, and very intelligent.

Tony had no professional training as a herd dog, but his instincts told him he was one and he had the herding dog's natural instincts. He went with Dad, Leo, and David when cattle were rounded up for branding, and was a help, but he was never more happy than when he joined us on our horseback rides. I can still picture him racing along at the side of a horse with his ears laid back and his long beautiful coat flying in the wind.

When I was in high school I was often teased by my friends because Tony rode standing on the top of Dad's old car, legs braced so he wouldn't fall. He adapted to the hot metal of the car in the summer and the slippery top in the winter. Of course, Dad didn't drive fast. I never knew when one of my friends would yell, "Here comes Ina's dad crawling down the middle of the road with that dog on top of the car! " Embarrassing, to say the least!

One winter morning when we were having our first significant snowfall of the season, I woke up early and went outside to watch it float down. On the porch, laying beside Tony was a beautiful sable and white Rough Coated Collie. He looked at me and wagged his tail. One of his legs had been chewed up and he had wounds on his head and ears with lots of dried blood. Mom and Dad cleaned him up and treated his wounds. Dad said he probably belonged to one of the sheepherders and had suffered the injuries and became separated from the flock during an attack by a wild animal, probably a Cougar, during an altercation to save a lamb or bring in a stray.

We always thought it more than happenstance that he came to the home of the man who probably knew his master and would be the most apt to reunite them. Dad knew, though, that with the coming of winter and the snow, they would have passed through with their flocks.

Not knowing his name, we called him Bruno. He and Tony became the best of friends. Bruno was a true working dog. He was beautifully trained and was the happiest when he was herding. He herded anything he could. He would go into the lot between the house and the corral and herd the chickens and ducks. He herded the pigs and the milk cows. It was not unusual for us to look out and see him with some chickens and two or three cows, bunched up into a group, with him circling around and around them. Tony would go with him and Bruno taught him some of the tricks of his trade. They herded us and our friends, nipping at our heels, all in fun, of course. Bruno joined Tony on our horseback rides and they were beautiful to watch in their enthusiasm and joy.

As winter faded into spring, Bruno became agitated and antsy, pacing back and forth on the porch, and sniffing the air. One day an old beat up truck stopped at our front gate and an old man got out, He called "Shep" and Bruno ran to meet him, almost bowling him over in his wild joy and elation. It was a joyous reunion and brought tears to our eyes. It was as Dad thought, Shep had been sent by his master to get a ewe who had just given birth. It was snowing, an early storm that was not expected. Bruno didn't come back. They decided he had been attacked, possibly even killed, by a cougar. They couldn't find him and had to move on.

The old sheepherder continued to make inquiries and had heard of a dog who showed up at "Jim's" home and had spent the winter and early spring months there.

Even though their reunion was wonderful, it was a heartbreaking moment for us, and Tony, when Shep was put in the back of that old beat up truck and they started to drive away. They hadn't gone far when Shep, our Bruno, jumped out of the truck and raced back, tail wagging a mile a minute, to lick each one of us and have a quick romp with Tony, before running back and jumping into the truck once again. I cried as they drove away. For several days, Tony was lethargic and sad, but soon he was back to his happy, carefree ways, racing beside us as we rode our horses through the country around Panaca. It was a fun, happy moment the first time we looked out and saw Tony attempting to herd some chickens and a couple of milk cows into a tight little group. The cows looked at him like he was crazy and the chickens "crow hopped" and fluttered away, making quite a racket. And somewhere out in the hills, Shep, our Bruno, was joyfully herding his flock of sheep and looking out for the tiny, newborn lambs.