Easy and Yikes

Easy and Yikes

My daughter trained Easy, took him to her small apartment and he became her protector.  Whatever you asked of him, he did.  It was as if he understood what you needed before you ever knew.  His mother, Yikes, on the other hand continued to run away.  Neighbors from miles away would call and say she was chasing goats on their ranches or chasing deer away from a feeder.  Twice I drove over 30 miles to retrieve her.  As the crow flies, it was only about 5 miles but to arrive by road was 30 miles.  The second time I drove to pick up Yikes, the grizzled old rancher said that next time she chased his goats he would shoot her.  I told him, “I wouldn’t blame you one bit.”  I patched holes in the fence.  It didn’t matter.  She was born to run.  My daughter told me it was my fault, that I was not giving the dog what she needed.  The last time she ran away, she did not return.  I never asked the rancher if he had shot her.  I didn’t want to know.   In the meantime, Easy grew to be a big dog, over 100 pounds.  There were times when I kept him for my daughter.  He was just as protective of me.  When he died, we were all there with him.  His grave is in the yard of the guest lodge – large stones over his grave and a headstone from the ranch.  On the base of the headstone lies a plaque that says, “If tears could build a stairway to heaven, I’d be there with you,” or something close to that.  He was the best dog I ever knew.