A Family Fit For A King

It was late afternoon on a brisk day in early December 2013; I was down at the barn working through my evening chores. Natasha's second litter was six weeks old and roaming around the area with the cats and hens. 

Pyrenees instinctively protect livestock, but they do have to be trained with poultry. I would always let the puppies out at this age so they could have exposure to the chickens. This helps the new families not have to start from square one when they get their pup home.

Daily I get the dogs out of their field and walk them around the farm. This may sound silly since they are in a huge area all day guarding sheep, but that's the very reason. Working dogs need a break too. I've found my girls do a better job guarding and working their pastures if they get some bonding time. I also use these excursions to praise them and brush their thick undercoats.

It was Nicky's turn to walk. Nicky is Natasha's litter mate, and the two of them together are an incredible guarding team. Nicky is aggressive like Natasha - not to people, just animal intruders, but she is not high on the activity meter. Nic is comfortable sitting on her rump all day overseeing the sheep, and leaving the patrolling work to Natasha. But God help a predator that enters her field. Nicky and Natasha are the reason I can raise sheep and goats.

When I got Nicky out of the gate and put her on the leash, I realized I had left the meat bucket out.  In the fall and winter, some of my friends that deer hunt drop off bones and meat scraps for the dogs. It's beyond helpful when you have large breed mouths to feed.

Before I knew it, Nic buried her nose inside of the bucket and grabbed a bone. Apparently she thought one of the puppies was too close to her food and nipped him. It happened so fast. When the older dogs are training the pups they'll do this, but also to any animals that get too close to their food. I don't feed them together for this reason - just to be on the safe side. The pup seemed to whipper a little longer than the pups usually do when they get corrected, and Nicky was a bit vicious about it.  

When I picked him up to check on him, he turned his small, furry face toward me revealing one eye hanging out of the socket. "Ayyyyyy!" I yelled. "Nicky, you hurt him!"  I somehow got her back in her field through the gate with one hand - bone still in her mouth while reaching in my pocket for my cell phone so I could call an emergency vet. 

It was Saturday evening, so I knew Dr. Watkins wouldn't be available. 

I zoomed us up to the house from the barn in the ATV. I reached in the backdoor for my keys and purse, set the injured pup on the front seat beside me and skidded out the driveway. Now securely on our way, I could start the process of beating myself up. "How could I have left that bucket out?' "Why didn't I put it back in the Ranger?" "What was I thinking?"  I continued this reprimanding mingled with puppy prayers until I turned into the vet parking lot. All the while the little pup sat perfectly still in his seat.  He never once tried to touch his eye - what a trooper, I thought.

When I walked in the clinic, the waiting room was full, the receptionist immediately jumped up and ran around her desk whisking the puppy out of my arms and into a back room. I stood by her desk and could see through a small window that she handed him to someone else who held him out and then also hurried away with him. The receptionist then came back and led me into a side room. "The vet will be right with you," she said, kindly.

I was so nervous and scared. All I wanted was for the little puppy to be okay. I had never had anything like this happen before, and I  had always prayed over the puppies that God would bring just the right family to them.

  

I didn't know what his future held, and it worried me. When the young vet entered the room, he said, "I've never seen a Great Pyrenees puppy that young - how old he is, three days?" Oh, awesome, he's joking, that's a good sign, I thought to myself. 

I explained to him what had happened, about Nicky nipping him, although nip didn't seem like the right word anymore. I told him it was totally my fault. "Please don't blame yourself," the vet said, "sometimes things just happen." In that moment, I really needed to hear that. 

He proceeded to inform me of the game plan. He said that on initial examination the eye didn't seem to sustain any other injuries, but they would know more after surgery. They would operate and carefully place the eye back into it's socket.  He wanted to warn me that they would have to shave his head and once the eye was in place it would have to be sutured shut so the swelling wouldn't cause it to protrude back out. He would have a recovery process that they would go over with me and make sure I fully understood before I left.

When I went back out into the waiting room, it occurred to me that I didn't change out of my work clothes. I still had on my boots and dirty jeans, probably smeared with manure. I decided to head out for some dinner since it would be at least two hours he said.

Once back at the clinic, I was surprised that the waiting was still so full of people and pets. After about thirty minutes, an older vet came out carrying my puppy. Even with the explanation from the former vet, I was in no way prepared for his appearance. His little fluffy head was shaved and bruised, and his eye was indeed sown shut and swollen. He was wearing a huge cone of shame that seemed the size of a satellite dish. 

I heard gasps coming from some of the other dog moms. It seemed like from every person sitting in that waiting room was watching us. I wished they would have just gone back to reading their magazines while I spoke with the vet, all eyes were on us.  Honestly, I would have been watching and listening too. 

The vet gently handed me the puppy. He was as kind as the younger vet before him. "He did great throughout the surgery," he said, "but we won't really know the complete outcome for ten days." He went over the whole regimen with me; there would be antibiotics, pain killers, and salve to be administered. I could only take the collar off for him to eat and drink - he could never be permitted to touch his eye. In ten days, I was to take him to my vet, Dr. Watkins, and she would remove the stitches and evaluate the eye. He seemed genuinely interested in my sheep and Great Pyrenees and how they guarded livestock.

Up unto this point, I had heard numerous horror stories about emergency vet visits, but my visit that night was wonderful in light of the situation. The staff could not have been more compassionate to me and my sweet pup. And the care he received was immediate and thorough. God had made a way for us, and I would have to trust him now to bring us across the finish line with the right family. 

"You'll have to keep him, though," the vet said. "You won't be able to sell him, and besides he's special."  

My eyes filled up with tears because I already had five Pyrenees at the time. I was stretched, and besides my fields were covered. I had always prayed over the puppies for the right home. Great Pyrenees were bred to guard livestock plus they came with large breed challenges. I knew this little boy pup was no different - God would provide a home. I still cried as I left the clinic that night.

Once we got back to the farm, I pulled out my largest crate and lined it with soft blankets. I placed the little puppy inside. After such a long ordeal and still full of medication, he fell into a deep sleep for the whole night.

In the morning, we began a new routine that would continue over the next ten days. I administered his meds and salve, and supervised him constantly without his cone. Natasha had been in the process of weening the litter, so I drove him down to the barn for her to feed.

When I sat him down the first time, she rubbed her nose all over him. "I know, Natasha, I'm so sorry, my bad, my very, bad." Once he was free of the cone, she held perfectly still while he clumsily nursed her. She knew. 

In the next few days, the pup made the transition to puppy mash. He was such a delight to have inside of the house. He was a perfect little patient. I realized during this time as he finished up the pain medicine that he wasn't groggy so much from the meds, that was just his nature. A laid back, easy going boy. 

After ten days, I took him to Dr. Watkins. She removed the stitches, but said she could not evaluate the eye until the next visit. She said that she wanted the eye to just be an eye for a week, and then she would examine it. The swelling had gone down and his fur was growing back and the bruises were fading.

I wondered about a forever home.   

One week later, Dr. Watkins gave me and my sweet boy the thumbs up. His eye had healed. He would have a kind of lens over it like he was wearing sunglasses, but he could still see out of it. To celebrate we went through a fast food drive thru on the way home and had a picnic in the grass sharing a sandwich and cup of water. I was in love with this puppy.

After that I decided I would let him walk along side Natasha when I took her for her daily walk. To my surprise, this little puppy kept up with her the whole way - I never had to carry him once.  And it was the same thing every day that we walked. This little puppy could do the distance.

Something had been stirring in my mind. 

Some close friends had contacted me a couple of months prior, waning to bring their four year old daughter out to see the animals and find out if they were a good fit for a Great Pyrenees.  

They had an unusual situation. Dan the husband worked at a 500 acre wilderness camp, and he wondered if a Pyrenees could go to work with him and guard the base camp and visitors, accompanying group hikes and hanging out with campers. He and the dog would then go back home at night to his wife Ashley and daughter Izze. We talked about them being 'great' candidates for a Great Pyrenees.

I had been thinking that they had a unique situation - and he was a unique puppy! 

He had his mother's endurance and activity level, and with Dan being an avid biker and outdoorsman along with his camp job, he would need a dog that could keep up with him. And this little guy could certainly do that. But the puppy lacked his mom's aggression and instead had his dad Atlas's teddy bear nature which was perfect because he wouldn't be guarding livestock but people!  The only hitch was the family needed to wait a year they said to prepare.

Well, all I could do was message them and see what happened. Two days after Christmas, I sent both Dan and Ashley a message explaining the puppy's journey and the special qualities he possessed that I thought would be perfect for their family.  I also said that I knew they weren't ready and there was no pressure at all.  One more thing I told them, "I have to be honest with you both - I am very attached to him and the fact that I know your family so well and would get to see him grow up is a factor. Just so you know."

The pup lay sleeping at my feet. "I've got my fingers crossed for you, little man."

They messaged back right away and thanked me for considering them and asked it they could pray and think it over for a week. "Of course, after all a Pyrenees is a "big" decision." I told them both to please call me with all their questions, and they did. Pyrenees come with a boat full of love, but also a boat full of challenges. If you're not up for these, it could be more dog than a family can handle. I appreciated all the homework they put into the decision.

After one week, I received word from Dan and Ashley almost simultaneously. It was a resounding "Yes, we want him!" Once they had made the decision, I could feel the excitement through their messages. They wanted to know if they could come get him the very next day - and they were surprising their daughter, Izze. She didn't know. 

I received a second message from Dan, and in it he said, "We have been discussing a name. We want something strong, but friendly, so we are calling him, 'King'." Words couldn't describe how happy I was.

The next day we spent some time in my living room hashing through some more questions and catching up on things while Izze played with her new bodyguard and best friend. I really did have to fight back the tears of joy when I thought about my little, hurt puppy at the animal hospital, not knowing his fate, wanting only the best for him. 

When we walked outside, I snapped a picture of them with King, then Dan set him down and said, "Come on, King, we're going home." King started following his new family, but all of a sudden he stopped and looked back at me. My heart ached for just a second. "That's right King - you're going with them now. You're going to have a great life."

The beautiful thing about King's story is that not only did he find the family he needed, but he found the family that needed him.

He found a family fit for a King. 

💜🐾

 
King has brought amazing delight to his new family and countless campers, bikers, hikers, and even homesick kids. Recently when Dan was being interviewed for a new mountain adventure job he told his prospective boss there was a deal breaker - he had to be able to bring his dog to work with him. The boss said, "Yes."

It's hard not to say "yes" to King.

And I have indeed had the pleasure of receiving pictures and updates and watching King grow from a little, injured puppy into a majestic Great Pyrenees with his forever family.   

One day when the Lucas Family were all at home back when they lived near a busy street, Izze noticed that King was barking in a way he had never barked before. She called for her mom who promptly went to check on him in the back yard. He was barking while standing up on the fence focused at the street. Ashley noticed a small girl about the age of a toddler walking down the sidewalk toward the traffic. She ran and grabbed her before she could enter the street. King saved her life.

King passed away July 10, 2024 after spending ten and a half years guarding and loving and being loved by the Lucas family and many others. He had a full, wonderful, and adventurous life! I'm beyond grateful.

Dan, King, Ashley, & Izze
  Sometimes I don't think I have thanked your family enough for loving King.

This was taken of King and some children visiting Dan's mountain adventure shop.  He tells me people come in often just to see King.

Mama Natasha and King as a pup 

Big Red

The Farmer operates all of our farm equipment. My mother-in-law swears that her son was born with a steering wheel in his hand. I couldn't agree more. Once one of our friends rented a backhoe to install a new septic system at his home. He invited the Farmer over to have a look-see and to try it out. Three hours later our friend, who is fortunately still our friend, couldn't entice him off the thing.

To my horror when we were building our house, he zoomed the nieces and nephews up and down in the cherry picker like it was some sort of a carnival ride; I was a nervous wreck. Being a little apprehensive of heights, our contractor actually permitted him to use it to install the tippy top of our cabin's metal roof.  The Farmer didn't mind.  He had a blast. In the army, he operated a tank, and everyday he's behind the wheel for his sales job. 

But I get to drive Big Red.

Big Red is our 2007 Ford F150. If you know anything about me, you know that's a big deal because I wasn't born with a steering wheel in my hand. But when you have a farm, about the most important piece of machinery you'll need is a reliable pick-up truck.

Before Big Red, we depended on Old Faithful. Old Faithful was our trusty, but rusty, white F150. We made the trek in him over the mountain to Healing Brook from our prior home several times a week. This was before we sold our house and started building the little cabin at the farm. 

One crisp, fall Saturday evening after spending the day hiking through the woods and sipping coffee by the fire pit, we began to load up for the trip back home. When we pulled out and onto the gravel road that lead to the mountain, the Farmer calmly informed me that the brakes had gone out in Old Faithful.  

"Oh no, I will call one of the boys to come get us." 

"You don't need to do that," he instructed me, "I can still drive it with the gear shift." 

"What?" "Wait!" "What does that even mean?" 

"Don't worry. It's fine."  

Well, since you're so kindly reading my blog - a huge thank you, by the way - you've gathered that we survived. At any rate the next morning, I enlightened the Farmer that we were buying a new truck. With a farm now, I would be driving the truck, and I would prefer one with brakes.

So off he went immediately. Of course he did, he is a red blooded American male who had just received a blessing from his wife to purchase a new truck. He came home happy.  His friend Eric was coming into town, and he was going to give him a lift down to the dealership to pick it up later.

"Here's a picture of it," he said proudly, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. 

It was definitely an F150, but it was a gray F150.  Gray????  Drabby ol' gray???? 

"No offense, but we will have this truck a long time so could you pretty please get a red one?" I begged.  "Remember I will be driving it too, so make it bright cherry red and with brakes." 

To my delight, he complied.

Once Big Red arrived on the scene, he got right to work. 

He started by moving the man children to and from their college dorms then to their first apartments and sometimes back home again. He never asked any questions.  

He helped transport kitchen tables, washers and dryers, book shelfs, couches, landscaping mulch, camping gear, and flea market finds for countless family members and friends, never complaining.  

He's been hailed a hero for rescuing many a vehicle from snow and mud by pulling them to safety - never letting it go to his head.

He whisked me away with him on multiple romantic weekends to visit the man children after they married and found jobs in the big city.

Every other Saturday while the Farmer did his bidding and "shooting the bull" with the other farmers at the Livestock Auction and Stockyard, Big Red could be found waiting patiently in the parking lot with all of the other hitched up trucks, understanding this just came with the territory.

He has never had to seek counseling after being used as a ladder, a picnic table, or a diving board.

And boy can Red keep a secret. He never breathed a word about the time I slammed both of his mirrors while attempting to pull into Sonic and place my order for a chicken wrap, or all the times the poor things actually cracked and fell out as I hit them on the narrow bridges of Bedford County. He didn't roll his headlights and mumble, "Geez, women drivers."

I'd be willing to bet he holds the record for the most trash loads to the refuse and recycling center.

He didn't kick up a fuss about the tear that occurred in his driver's seat when the Farmer forgot about the screwdriver in his back pocket, or about the scrapes and scratches all over his bed from building supplies, gravel, and grain tubs.

Over the years, Red and I have put on miles together as we traveled on our weekly shopping trips for groceries, gas, and farm supplies.  Whenever I would play my music, he never made fun of my horrendous singing voice. And he was so quick to forgive me when I waited six months to wash the dirt off of him, falling behind on his tender, loving care.

He has dutifully pulled trailers full of sheep, goats, cows, horses, hogs, and visitors - young and old. He has carried plenty of Pyrenees puppies and kitty cats safely to and from their vet appointments, enduring mounds of fur and bucketfuls of drool from the big white doggies. He has hauled countless bags of feed and bedding, and tugged his share of tractor implements, gooseneck trailers, and U-hauls. He has never failed us once during hay season.

At eighteen years old, Big Red is all broken in now, and there are numerous dings and bumps in his cherry red armor. Mature and experienced, I would put him up against any of those young bucks coming fresh off the assembly line this year.

After all this time, I still love driving Big Red, even though I continue to have trouble with parking spots and small spaces.

Recently when I took my dad out to run errands, he proceeded to point out all five times that I managed to run over curbs - the health clinic, the post office, the dry cleaners, the credit union, and Wendy's Drive Thru.

"That's okay, don't worry about it," Bid Red whispered softly in my ear. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm in this relationship for the long haul."

💔

Hay Wagon Rides are Red's specialty 

Not to mention the annual farm auction with the hubby 

 And Bedford Animal Hospital 

He's Our "Animal Control" vehicle whenever the Big White Doggies decide to roam 

He never seems to mind pulling our "Ewe Haul" 

Or me running over curbs and construction cones

Nicky and Big Red: oldies but goodies. 

Hers and His 

March Madness

Well, it's been 11 days since my last post, and just as I suspected I'm off to a slow start.  I am still working on finding the time.  At any rate, the snow has melted, and we are starting our farm spring clean up to prepare for the busy season ahead.  I've already had one set of twin lambs born and am anticipating more soon.  I also planted more asparagus - the Farmer's favorite veggie - and brushed out the guard girls' undercoats and cleaned their ears.  For some reason Atlas - my male Pyrenees - doesn't blow his fur until later.  If it's an exceptionally warm spring, I will let Atty in the house - where he has discovered something he loves as much as food and women - AIR CONDITIONING!

Speaking of Pyrenees, in my last blog I mentioned the hen house was under attack by an unknown predator. Our girls have a lot of area to guard since we have increased our fencing and flock.  The chicken area is at the top of a hill in the far corner of their domain, and it is boxed in with seven strands of wire to keep the nosy sheep out and the dogs also so every egg doesn't get devoured.  As helpful as the fencing is, it doesn't allow the dogs access to the house if a critter quietly slips in looking for a winner, winner chicken dinner.  

The easy answer is I put my girl Kia in the hens' boxed off chicken area each night after these loses.  Why Kia?  That's easy too.  She is low on the activity and aggression scale you rate Pyrenees with as puppies to see how much land, work, animals etc…  they need.   Kia is happy to guard a fourth of an acre, and she will guard it with her life.  Natasha, on the other hand, is a 10 on both the activity and aggression scale. She would be miserable locked in the chicken area, and besides I need her out with the flock.  Natasha is at the top of the dog pecking order - and the other girls AND Atlas - never question it.  Capable is an adjective I would use to describe Natasha. 

Okay long story short, the hens were safe at night with Ms. Kia, but one day after I let her out a raccoon darted right in.  Natasha was with me waiting for her "egg treat" - she sprang into the coop and grabbed the coon by the throat and flung the body out into the snow like a rag doll.  I guess the other predators didn't catch the newsfeed story because a few days later a possum was after one of the chickens and "No Nonsense Natasha" did the same thing to him.  Except the snow was melted, and this body got flung out into the mud.  I'm actually going to credit her with three wins this week - I didn't find a third victim, but she has skunk oder all over her.   

Who's ready for spring? 

Nicky

This is Shasta - Natasha's granddaughter

My First Blog

I've had my blog ten years now. My man children set it up for me to share my rookie farming experiences, but what emerged was more of a faith journey than farming mishaps. And anyway since life began in a garden, it's been hard to understand sometimes where one ended and the other began. 

I've reverted a great deal of my blogs back to drafts so I can read over and edit them. This is not because I've grown as a writer, which I'm not so sure I have, but as a Christian. I don't want to mislead anyone with bad theology. Of course until heaven, we will be growing in our faith, so more than anything I pray I write truth. I pray that continually the dross is burned off through the daily means of grace as the gold becomes purer. I can see why Saint Augustine wrote Retractations to clarify, correct, and revise his earlier writings - we are always learning in this sanctification path to glory. ( December 2025 ) 

My First Blog ( March 2, 2015 ) 

Today is my very first post. I've been thinking how to start - what to start with, what to say, and then I thought I will just start with today.  

Don't over think it, Rebecca.  

Today the Farmer I share my life with arrived in Singapore on his way to Indonesia for a 23 day visit. In 2011 he and our oldest man child and our pastor visited that country. 

We had dairy goats at our farm, and we thought how cool would it be to start goat farming in other countries and teach people all about them. They provide cheese, meat, milk, and an income.  We had a contact through our church, so off they went. Long story short, after arriving they did visit potential goat farm land and discuss the venture; however they also made a stop they didn't know was on the agenda - an orphanage.  

When they returned home, my farmer informed me that he was starting an orphanage.  And he did. It is named after the scripture in Psalms that states that children are a heritage from the Lord.  To say I'm proud of him would be an understatement.  There are currently 10 beautiful souls living there with donations from some amazing people to pay their medical, educational, food, and living expenses.  It's pretty awesome, and I'm sure I will write more about this from time to time.  

It does mean I hold down the fort here.  I love this place though, and I run the day to day operations anyway. My oldest man child is here with me nonetheless and other family members always drop by - especially if I have puppies.  I mean, I could never do it without my Farmer - he's my encourager, my shearer, my farrier, my builder, my mechanic.…  but I'm okay while he's gone.  I feel it's a small thing I can do for the Kingdom of God.   

A predator got one of my chickens the night before last.  My dogs have a very huge territory to guard, and even though the coop is in their fenced in area, it is a ways from them and the sheep. So, last night I shut the chickens up. This morning there was a dead chicken in the coop!!!! Something got in there somehow!  Well tonight when I shut them up, I'm putting Kia, one of my Great Pyrenees, in their boxed off area with them.  Yeah, that's right you little predator!  To be continued…...

Kia and her chickens - Although we've lost a couple of them to predators, we've never lost a livestock since our dogs rescued the farm. This is the late Kia Covert.
Update: Her daughter, Kisha took her place after Kia passed away in July 2020. Kisha left us in 2025. We now operate courtesy of three gentle giant grand pups: Skipper, Shasta, and Aslan.