Shasta The Livestock Guardian Girl

A True Story:  The earliest memory I can recall to mind is that of a cool, cleansing bath administered by a firm, but affectionate object followed by the most satisfying taste of thick, rich nourishment. These life giving nutrients were consumed in a soft, furry utopian environment full of other warm, wiggling bodies. With full tummies we peacefully fell into a delightful sleep in this plush and protected embrace continually breathing in the tranquil and familiar smell of the gentle being that lovingly nudged us towards all of this goodness. At this stage, sight was of no importance.

And then one day through a blurry haze at first that slowly grew clearer, my tiny eyelids parted giving way to our life sustaining source and selfless caregiver - my mama, Angel Rose.

Snow white with silky curls that encompassed her long, sleek body, Mama truly was a vision of heaven and the most wonderful sight for my little eyes to first behold. Three sisters and eight brothers who especially kept Mama quite busy, were my snuggling companions. The scrubbings continued over the next few weeks, but we no longer needed her prodding at meal time. No, that event had become an all out wrestling brawl as our ever growing litter contended for the food supply under Mama's large breed frame, and I was introduced to the art of survival.

Not long after this, we were each given our own bowls of warm puppy mash - I could tell this made Mama very happy.  These yummy morsels were provided by our human parents, Mr. & Mrs Rose. When we weren't napping in a colossal pile inside of the Rose's garage or munching down our chow, we tussled in the soft grass beside the chicken coop, sometimes with the Rose Grandchildren while Mama stretched out in the summer sunshine. It seemed like the perfect life.

Other humans began to visit us.  They possessed all kinds of assorted smells and asked the Rose's many questions about Mama and our Father whom I had never met, but only heard was "good stock, laid back, and from a working line." We were observed like specimens under a microscope and handled and tossed about like dough in a pizzeria as we passed through a myriad of hugs, kisses, cuddles, and an occasional squeal.

Then one day as we slept in the hospitality of a friendly sunbeam extending its warmth through the Roses front window, I was gently lifted from the top of our heap by a strong set of hands. They seemed similar to Mr. Rose's, but also familiar somehow. After watching me crawl around with my sleepy siblings for awhile and examining my small body, the human man belonging to the kind hands held me up in front of his tan and handsome face and smiled. "This is the one, Babe." "This is our girl."

He then carefully placed me into a set of small, soft hands that belonged to a human woman who immediately pulled me so close to her smooth denim shirt I could feel her heart beat. She was sitting on the wood floor in the Rose's living room caressing Mama's head as she slept. I didn't understand at the time, but it seemed like she and Mama already knew each other. For the first time, I began to sense painful emotions. Mama must have sensed them too because she kept extending her paw to the human woman like she was offering some sort of comfort to her.

In the days that followed Mama began to speak to each one of us alone. Some of my brothers said that they would be leaving soon to live at other farms - some were far away.  I didn't know what to make of all of this. I didn't want to leave Mama and Rose Farm.

Then one morning after breakfast as we were chewing and tugging on our braided pieces of rope, Mama called me, "Butterfly, can you come here please?"

Shortly after I was born, Mrs. Rose gently scooped me up and looked under my tail. "Another girl, and how cute, the badger markings on her side are in the shape of a butterfly."

"Butterfly, do you remember the day the handsome human man and sad human woman visited with us in the Rose's living room?" "Yes, Mama."  "They have a farm too - Healing Brook."

"I want to stay here with you, Mama." "I know, my love, but you were ordained for a greater purpose and a unique calling long ago by our Great Creator. You were born a Great Pyrenees Mountain Dog, a livestock guardian, carefully bred with protective internal instincts and a keen sense of discernment to help you in the work you were destined to perform."

I had been wondering what all those feelings and emotions were churning around inside of me.

"Healing Brook is my birth farm, Butterfly.  I was born to the sad human woman's lead guardian and instructor - your grandmother, Natasha. She commanded their sheep fields. Not long after your birth this summer, my Mama Natasha passed away prematurely, and you have been chosen to take her place." "Mama, is that why the woman is so sad?" "Yes, baby."

"Your family is there, your three aunts, and your cousin Kisha, and your grandfather Atlas. They will all have a part in your training and will see to it that you grow into the strong guard girl you were meant to be. The road will not always be an easy one to travel, so remember who you are and never let go of my words. Hide them in your heart, do you understand?" "Yes, Mama."

"You will call your new human woman, Maman. This is the name our ancestors in the Pyrenees Mountains of France respectfully used when referring to the human woman that they loved and served, and the tradition was continued when our descendants were brought from that country to America. Her handsome husband, your new man human, will be Papa."

"And you will no longer be called Butterfly. Maman has given you a new name, the name Shasta. It means natural beauty, majestic, and teacher - all qualities your grandmother Natasha possessed and displayed in her stewardship of Healing Brook."          

I never forgot Mama's words, but they didn't alleviate the sadness that I felt at leaving Rose Farm.

A few days later as I tumbled around with my siblings that had not gone to their new farms yet, my nose began to detect a familiar smell in the air, and then suddenly the garage door flung open and Mrs. Rose came in with Maman, she had come to take me to Healing Brook with her two young farm helpers, Katie and Opal.

Katie immediately swept me up in her arms and cooed and cuddled and rocked me like a human baby dripping her pop cycle on top of my head while Opal engaged in the same activities with my brothers. Maman bent down and softly kissed my cheek, and then sat beside Mr. Rose talking and looking through papers.

"Okay girls, are you ready to take Shasta to her new home?"  "Yes!!" Katie carried me out of the garage and sat me down on the ground, snapped something purple around my neck and then pulled me along with her.  Maman came behind us and lifted me up into her arms and buried her face deep into my fur.

I was so caught up in the excitement that I didn't see Mama standing in the tall grass beside Mrs. Rose. A gentle breeze was swirling the long stalks of hay and wild flowers all around them, and it was as if Mama was saying, "Go now, Shasta, be strong and stand beside your Maman and her farm as your French ancestors did before you."

 Mr. Rose snapped a photo of us as was his custom with all new puppy families. Katie held me tight on her lap in the passenger seat, and Maman smiled at me through teary eyes as she drove along the back country roads.

"Wow! I think Shasta is doing so well, we should grab some lunch and take her on a picnic. What do you think, girls?" Katie and Opal erupted into loud affirmative shouts at Maman's inquiry.

After a full day, we at last reached our destination, Healing Brook. It all felt so uncannily like home.

"Okay, Puppy Girl, time to meet your family," Maman carried me inside her small cabin; a big white dog like Mama was sleeping on the rug in her living room. "Shasta, meet your Aunt Misha." Aunt Misha slowly rose from her napping and began smelling me all over. She was bigger than Mama and her face was more of a rectangular shape with longer jowls. Oh, but she had Mama's same sweet spirit.

Aunt Misha was Maman's companion Pyrenees. She rode in the ATV with Maman and went everywhere with her. During the day, Aunt Misha guarded Maman's cabin and the hay fields that surrounded it, and at night when she was "off duty", she stretched her big body across a zebra print comforter near the coffee table while Grand Paw worked the territory.

For my first two weeks when Maman said I was too little to stay in the barn at night, I curled up beside Aunt Misha at bedtime and sometimes I wrapped myself in her furry, plush tail. I loved Aunt Misha immediately.

Next Maman carried me out onto the porch and said that it was time to meet my grandfather, Atlas. "Jeepers, Creepers!" Grand Paw was huge!  He was sleeping in a dug out under one of the hydrangea bushes that surrounded Maman's covered porch. He lazily lifted up and sniffed me awhile before collapsing back into the dirt and mulch. Papa never allowed visitors to bring their pet dogs to the farm on account of Great Pyrenees being so protective, but they usually accept one of their own he would always say.

Whenever I crawled up on Grand Paw's enormous body it was like I was climbing a big fluffy mountain, and his head was so wide I could sit on top of it. He was kind and gentle, but didn't like for me to mess with him while he was sleeping or to be anywhere near his food bowl. He would let out a grouchy roar that could be heard two counties over. As long as I obeyed those two rules, Grand Paw and I were good. When Grand Paw was near, I felt incredibly safe.

Maman jumped into her ATV and then reached down and swung me across her lap. When she started the engine, Aunt Misha pushed her way through the passenger area, and Maman leaned over me to pull Misha's long tail inside before closing the door.  I loved Maman's smell.

"We're headed to the barn, Baby Girl, to meet the rest of the gang." The gravel road was bumpy as we made our way through the hay fields and then along side of a creek that sparkled like diamonds when the sun rays bounced off of it. The muddy bank was filled with rocks and sticks and looked like a great place for a little white puppy to play.

From a distance as we approached the barn, I saw another Great Pyrenees barking and running towards us.  Maman informed me it was Aunt Kia; she seemed to hop more than she ran resembling a monstrous bunny rabbit. She had big round eyes, beautiful feathering that swooped down the back of her legs, and hair that stood straight up in the trendiest style. I thought Aunt Kia looked great for her age.

Aunt Kia was an "Unsocialized Pyrenees" meaning she only let Maman and Papa and all the critters near her, distancing herself and barking at all others. Papa said that Maman needed at least one Pyrenees like her. Kia's territory was the barn and surrounding fields where Maman's barn kitties and goats lived and also any new calves.  Like her sister Misha, Kia took her responsibility seriously.

When I was old enough to stay in the barn at night, I could hear Aunt Kia encircling my stall. Coyotes would howl through the darkness, but Aunt Kia stood her ground at the opening of the woods issuing them a stern warning. Sometimes I felt lonely as I fell into my slumber, but I never felt afraid. Aunt Kia made sure of that.

"Come on Shasta, let's walk down to the sheep field." I followed Maman and Kia along strands of fencing that encompassed the strangest creatures. Four legged and wooly haired with curvy, sharp hard things growing out of their heads, some were small but others were as big as Grand Paw. I sensed Maman loved them, and this feeling seemed to make me love them too.

 At the entrance, Maman reached down and lifted me up into her arms before she unlatched the gate. She took a deep breath, and slowly walked through into the green, grassy field where the creatures she loved called home, but I felt a new emotion coming from Maman, not a good one either. I learned later it was fear, and it caused my little body to shiver. I didn't like Maman being afraid.

"Time to meet your Aunt Nicky, Shasta."  At the far end of the meadow I could see another Pyrenees slowly prowling around by a trickling brook that meandered its way through the field. Aunt Nicky was wide and stocky with a thick mane encircling her neck; her appearance resembled the King of the Jungle more than a Great Pyrenees.  Maman cupped one of her hands by her mouth while struggling to hold me with the other, "Come here, Nic!"

Aunt Nicky took her good ol' time. When she finally approached us, Maman held me out to her with trembling hands. "This is your niece, Nicky." Aunt Nicky smelled all over my body several times with her big box nose; I could feel Maman's fear grow to an intense level. After what seemed like forever and a day, I must have passed her specifications because Aunt Nicky slunk off towards a nearby locust tree and plopped down under its shade.

Maman released her breath. She turned me around in her arms and looked squarely into my eyes. "Shasta, you mind your manners around Aunt Nicky. This is her field now, and believe me when I say she runs a tight ship."

 Maman, way more relaxed now, placed me down into the underbrush and began climbing a steep hill graced in daisies and dense iron weed. It was everything I could do to keep up with her, lush stems and leaves soaking my face as I lunged ahead through the thick foliage before plunging into a sunlit ridge filled with more of the creatures Maman called "sheep" and what seemed like hundreds of chickens similar to the ones at Rose Farm scattered throughout the hillside and surrounded by breathtaking, misty blue mountains. It seemed like the most peaceful and healing place in the world, and perched in the middle of all of this harmonious activity was my cousin Kisha.

Oh wow, Kisha was young and so pretty. She had brown ears like me with long flowing hair and dark smokey liner around her beautiful eyes.  She was so cool; I remember thinking that when I grew up I wanted to be just like her. "Kisha, here's the surprise I've been promising. Meet Shasta your new partner."

Kisha sniffed me all over, but not like Aunt Nicky. It was more like a friendship greeting than an interrogation. Maman stood over us watching me and Kisha get acquainted. I could see tears spilling over onto her face. I later learned that Grandma Natasha had trained Kisha - her niece, Aunt Kia's daughter - and since Grandma's death Kisha had been heartbroken and lonely without her.

Maman walked towards her chicken sanctuary and unlatched the gate, "You're on training duty, Kisha, while I collect eggs."  Kisha bent down towards me with her rear end up in the air and tapped her paws on the ground encouraging me to play with her.  She was so good natured and sweet tempered.

I noticed a gash across Kisha's slender snout. "What happened to your nose?"  "Aunt Nicky happened."  "Oh Kisha, ouch, I'm so sorry."  "It's okay, Maman always says that scars are badges of bravery; they mean you were stronger than what tried to hurt you. She says that I survived Aunt Nicky's tutoring, and should wear my guard girl stripe with pride."

We continued to tumble and roll, and when I was almost to the point of exhaustion, I flipped over landing on a level, dirt surface with some type of marker embedded in it. A sense of calm came over my whole body. "We can't walk on that, Shasta." "What is it?"

"That's where Papa dug the great and deep hole containing Natasha's body. Sometimes when Aunt Nicky and I miss her and feel lonely, we come here to visit."

I was just happy to know Aunt Nicky had a soft side. Since, I've heard Maman say that we should never judge until we slip on the boots, lace them up and trudge around in the mud and manure for awhile. Especially because we are all put together different bringing numerous life experiences to the field. And anyway Papa says that everyone has some sort of issue to deal with.

Once when I was old enough to stay in the sheep meadow during the day,  I smelled something very unusual. Before I had a chance to follow my nose, a set of sharp teeth came out of nowhere ferociously snapping in front of my face. In a flash, the feisty beast was hurled through the air releasing a high pitch scream, as I was body slammed so hard it sent me skimming across the cow patties. The creature was a possum, and Aunt Nicky had saved my life. After this, I never looked at her the same. I knew Aunt Nicky really loved me, she just had a unique love language.

In the days and months that followed Mama word's rang true.  Somedays at Healing Brook were Shangri-La, and I felt as if I had been here my whole life. I so loved Maman, and every passing day, I felt more and more protective of her and of the things she cherished. But sometimes I felt lonely still and missed Mama like one particular night when Aunt Nicky was bathing after a warm day, and Kisha was too busy chewing on her deer antlers to notice me. Maman seemed to be late picking me up from the sheep meadow in her ATV and returning me to my bed in the barn with Aunt Kia. She was having a party.

Maman had lots of parties at her cabin and always brought her guests down to visit us which we enjoyed to the fullest. All of the people called Maman Rebecca except for Papa. He called her Babe unless he was angry or couldn't find something that he was looking for.

But tonight Maman seemed especially late. I decided to wander over to the sacred dirt spot where Kisha said she went when she felt sad.  I stretched out across the soft earth under a brilliant September sky dazzled with stars and bright planets and accompanied by the crescent moon. Kisha was right; It was peaceful.

Then my fur began to prickle and stand on end, I thought I heard Maman call to me, but I didn't see her or hear the roar of her engine pull up to the gate. Aunt Nicky was still soaking in the brook, and Kisha was engrossed in her gnawing.

"Shasta," the voice seemed to flow out of the breeze and swirl along side of the fireflies dancing around me.  It sounded similar to Mama's but wiser and more mature.  At once I knew. "Grandma, is that you?"

"Yes, Shasta. You're growing into such a strong guard girl and have done so much for your young age. You've brought healing back into Maman's life." "I have?" "The hardest day I ever experienced on earth was the day I had to leave her, but that was not my decision or hers. We belong to our Great Creator, and He alone holds our time in his capable hands. We must trust him as the author of our existence and with all of life's questions and pain as we continually serve His purposes. You have taken up residence in Maman's heart and replenished her joy; I'm proud of you, Shasta. You must instruct others to do the same."

"I will, Grandma Natasha, I promise."

Suddenly, the bright headlights of Maman's ATV shot across the field illuminating the foggy air. I heard Aunt Kia sloshing through the mud puddles to meet her and the familiar sound of the chain clanking against the fence as Maman swung open the gate. I inhaled Maman's tender scent. I could see her smiling at me through the darkness as she approached with my leash slung over her shoulder since I had become too big for her to carry.

But I've gotten ahead of myself in the story. Back to my first night at Healing Brook:

After I had met my family and all the critters that evening, Maman drove me and Aunt Misha back to the house where I was blessed with a warm bowl of puppy mash covered in bone broth and a farm egg.  Grand Paw slowly rose from the living room rug and yawned and stretched before sleepily heading out the back door to work the night shift. Maman led me outside to "do my business" and then tucked me into bed on the corner of Aunt Misha's comforter.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened suddenly; it didn't seem to be Grand Paw's distant barking or Aunt Misha's snoring that startled me. It was something else, a feeling. I scampered into Maman's room and sat by her bed. "Come here, Shasta," Maman reached over the side with both hands and strained to lift me up with her. "This totally goes against the rules in my Livestock Guardian Manual, but just this once won't hurt. And besides it's your first night away from Rose Farm."  She wrapped me inside of her warm covers snuggling so close I could feel her heart beat again. Only this time joy had replaced her pain.



This is probably not THE END of Shasta's story..........

The dogs' names have not been changed to protect their identities. They can do that themselves.


Update August 2018: It has been one year since Maman brought me to Healing Brook. Aunt Nicky found her footing after Grandma Natasha's death and she took control as Captain of the sheep meadow. Even though Kisha and I are cousins, we have also grown into the best friends ever. We work under Aunt Nicky as her skippers spending our days lazily snoozing under the great cedars, sloshing in the cool creek, and play fighting together. At night, we work our shift as guarding partners protecting the sheep and chicken from coyote and other predators. Recently Papa has added to our responsibilities by moving his young steers into our field once they are weaned from the barnyard and until they are ready for the big cow field.

In addition to all of these activities, I have been introduced to small humans who visit the farm regularly. Maman calls them children.  They hug me and pet me and bury their small faces in my fur and kiss me. Some of them even ride me like a miniature pony. Maman laughs and says that she's going to get a saddle for me. I love children.

My favorite part of the day is in the morning and evening when Maman comes in our field and walks with us through our cozy patch of woods and back to the watering hole. Sometimes the sheep walk with us and a few cats and chickens. Sometimes Maman carries her grooming rake and brushes us along the way. She always has treats in her pockets. Always before Maman leaves the field and after she's dished up our yummy meal bowls, she bends down to each of us and praises our work. "I could never do this without you beautiful girls, you're the absolute best."

I still think about Mama and Rose Farm sometimes, but it isn't a sad thought. I never did forget Mama's words - I hid them in my heart just like she said to. And Mama was right - Our Great Creator did have a special purpose for me, just like He does for all of his beautiful creatures.

This is Shasta on the right May 2025 - almost 8 years old. Kisha is in the lower left - now over 10 years old. That's Shasta's younger cousin Aslan under the Farmer's nose. Shasta and Atlas trained Skipper another cousin in late 2018 and then Aslan when I brought him home in 2022 as a young pup. Atlas passed away a year and a half later in 2023. Misha and Kia both died in 2020 and Nicky in 2022. I retired Shasta from the sheep field a couple of years ago and turned them over to Skipper. I brought Shasta to the house to protect the surrounding fields containing all of the poultry and water fowl. She continues to guard Healing Brook like nobody's business. 

Shasta and her Maman 

Grandma Natasha, "Queen of the Meadow"

Angel Rose and Maman 

Shasta - three weeks old

Angel Rose with one of her boys and Shasta - six weeks old

Kisha 

Shasta and Aunt Misha 

Grand Paw Atlas and Shasta 

Aunt Nicky 

Aunt Nicky 

Shasta familiarizes herself with their smell during her first lambing season

She loves her treats 

Shasta and Papa

Shasta and Maman 

Shasta goes to school with Katie and Opal 

Shasta and Parker and Delaney 

Shasta and Katie in the Rose's garage 

Rose Farm - Shasta's birth home 

Such a beauty 

As a pup, she rode on my lap in the ATV, now she rides shotgun.

Aunt Kia 

Shasta and Kisha - cousins, partners, and BFFs 

Shasta, Nicky, and Misha working the field 

She loves children and protects them like her lambs

Shasta today 

This is Shasta on the right May 2025 - almost 8 years old. Kisha is in the lower left - now over 10 years old. That's Shasta's younger cousin Aslan under the Farmer's nose. Shasta and Atlas trained Skipper another cousin in late 2018 and then Aslan when I brought him home in 2022 as a young pup. Atlas passed away a year and a half later in 2023. Misha and Kia both died in 2020 and Nicky in 2022. Shasta continues to guard Healing Brook like nobody's business. 

Melissa Weighs In: A City Girl Talks Farm Life!

Hi – it's Melissa, one of two daughter-in-laws of the Healing Brook Farm Coverts. I'm the wife of six weeks to Rebecca's older man-child, Johnny. I'm on a farm visit and I got permission to take on the privilege of weighing in about Healing Brook Farm as a guest-blogger. Here goes nothing! :)

I am a city girl. There are no two ways around it. I grew up in a suburb of a quiet little village called Atlanta, GA. When the weather report would come on, I got in the habit of thinking, “Okay, that's what's going on in Georgia. Now what's going on in Atlanta?” The combination of the heat and light and pollution was often enough to create its own weather-bubble. I was skeptical in science class when they taught us that there were billions of stars, because I could only ever see eight or ten on the very clearest of nights. Let me be very clear that I'm not out to tear down my upbringing. I loved life in metro Atlanta and had a wealth of opportunites come my way specifically because of my position in the outskirts of an urban jungle, and I happily embraced them all. I saw lots of different cultures firsthand, bargain-shopped at places like midtown Buckhead, and learned to drive capably in some of the worst traffic in America. I still giggle at my husband when he complains about how bad Raleigh traffic is.

But there were also so many beautiful things that I missed out on... and I'm making up for lost time.

Quick sidenote about me: I was almost an Art History and French double-major in college. I was one credit away from that art degree, but when I was told about the 40-page dissertation involved, I happily kept my minor and enjoyed senior year outside of the library.

Despite my laziness in that final stretch, I did retain a lot of knowledge about the history of fine art and the way it interwines itself with my beloved French culture. Enough to know that one recurring theme in the seventeenth and eighteenth century was the beauty of farm life.

They painted it a lot, too.  This one's by Fragonard.

As cities became a staple of modern living in Europe, people quickly began to see their shorcomings. Filth and crime and syphillis began to run rampant, and even the wealthy grew wide-eyed and wondered if they had made the right choice by shoving the masses together into stacked-up buildings and paving over daffodils. The obvious solution, for those who could manage it, was a retreat back to their roots: farmland. Arcadia. Wide-open pastures. Even Marie Antoinette, emotionally taxed and exhausted by her trying life at Versailles palace (ha-ha) retreated to the Petit Trianon, a farmhouse she'd had built for that very purpose.

Now, in the last month, I have seen some of the worst of city life in my current home of Raleigh. I have endured two colds, gotten my new car totaled by a drunk driver on a Friday night, and fought the hoardes at Walmart for bread and milk before a snowstorm hit.

To put it simply, this weekend (much like Flock of Seagulls, if you are an 80s music fan) I ran.

I ran far, far away from the traffic and pollution and threat of running into one of my high school students at Target... and I ended up on my mother-in-law's farm in Thaxton. When we were still an hour away, winding up and down mountain backroads, I was already hanging my head out the window of the Honda Civic and gasping at the hundreds of stars dotting the sky above us.

I'd been on the farm before, but this time around, it was like I dove in headfirst. I did admittedly sleep in (a big farm no-no, but something I desperately needed) but when my feet hit the ground, I didn't stop. I bundled up and poured a big cup of coffee, then walked with my husband the half mile down to the fenced-in pasture. Once we got there and slid past the electric fence, I was greeted by and snuggled with muddy Pyrenees working girls, got mobbed by three pregnant goats greedy for grain, and got some precious, sloppy cow-kisses from four curious calves... who knew that was even a thing?

The highlight of my morning was meeting two new baby lambs, only four days into their time on this planet. They are still getting used to being picked up, but it's important that they get socialized and used to getting snuggled. As Rebecca pointed out, “It's a hard job, but somebody's got to do it.” ;) I was wearing one of her coats, and I think the familiar smell made them more comfortable being held by unfamiliar arms. Once I reluctantly put them down, they resumed hopping around like happy Muppets and bleated their excitement and nursed while their mother ate her handfuls of grain – a special treat for the nursing mother sheep to keep their milk rich and flowing.

Welcome to the world, baby lambs!

We visited the chickens and I crawled through the coops, coaxing eggs out from around fat hens who clucked disapprovingly – but never pecked my hands. I held a few eggs that were still warm from the hens who laid them. I asked Johnny if he was proud of his germaphobic, city-girl wife, and he said he definitely was.

The bottom line is, since the seventeenth century, people have been paying to go back to what they considered the most pure, moral life. I have the rare fortune of getting to experience it for free. I know that after a family birthday dinner and a good night's sleep, we will head back tomorrow, but we'll take some of this with us in the form of fresh eggs, free range meat, and a general sense of well-being.

And I'll also have this blog-entry – a disseration I ended up writing after all. ;)

Update August 2025: Melissa ended up moving back to her childhood home of Atlanta when she and Johnny took teaching positions in their school system. I look forward to my visits with them and enjoy the richness of city life especially the in-door farmer's markets and all they have to offer which is something I would never get in Thaxton. In fact I spent my 60th birthday in Atlanta at the Georgia Aquarium, afterward eating a burger and fried peach pie at a favorite diner, The Varsity. ( : 

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 led 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 reading my blog I'm assuming you've gathered we survived the ordeal. 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 shelves, 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 hummed 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