I took Red out to herd the sheep this afternoon, and as I watched him move so happily and energetically around the sheep, I thought of Rose and I had a sense of how different he was than Rose, and of how different I was when Rose came into my life. I have often written that I believe we get the dogs we need, and I see that I needed Rose and I need Red. I needed Orson and Lenore also, in much the same way Maria needed Frieda.

Rose was a very different kind of dog than Red. She was also a high-strung border collie but she was a farm dog rather than a herding dog. I trained her but our commands were rough, instinctive, reactive.  She handled the sheep well, was brave and resourceful, but she was not as well trained as Red, nor did I know as much about border collies and work. When I got Rose, I had embarked on the great adventure of Bedlam Farm, and I was a mess in many ways. Bedlam Farm was a continuing crisis and drama, as well as a beautiful and miraculous and creative place. Rose and I arrived at the beginning of one of the worst winters in history – a winter in which I foolishly lambed in February and I was up to neck and in trouble from the minute we arrived. Rose’s life was shaped by that crisis, and those that followed. She never failed to get it done, never.

We were always rushing out to the pasture to contain one disaster or another – broken fences, unexpected lambs, sheep and donkey breakouts, illnesses, coyotes and a string of farm disasters – water trouble, snow avalanches off of roofs, broken pipes and blizzards and ice storms. Rose’s work was much more diffuse than Red’s, and Rose seems to grow and rise to the challenge of living with me, as I deteriorated in many ways right before her very sensitive eyes.  The farm saved my life and nearly destroyed it, both at the same time. Rose gave me strength. She always rose to the challenge, was always by my side, always gave me strength. I wrote about this part of her in The Story Of Rose, my first e-book.

Dogs reflect where their humans are, and my relationship with Rose was so unique. Red arrives at a different point in my life. I am with Maria, changed, more settled, calmer, wiser, more open, more patient, less frustrated. Still growing, still changing. Red does not have to put up with the things Rose had to put up with in terms of the farm and my own psyche and life. I do not need a crisis partner, but a different kind of dog. He is much more able than Rose to fit into my life and into larger parts of it. Rose hated cars and did not like most people. She had no use for children or other dogs. I couldn’t bring her into bookstores or hardware stores or chiropractor’s offices or to massage. She had great pride and was incorruptible, could not be bribed with cute words or treats, would not ever sleep in the same room with me, but in her own lair down the hall.

Red is always a few feet from me. He handles the sheep easily, he is so well trained and I am so much better equipped to handle him. And as much as he loves working with sheep, I think he loves being with people even more. He is easy with other dogs, loves children, loves to be talked to and touched. Loves treats and praise.  So he is able to enter my life in a different, less dramatic and more rounded way. Red is with me all of the time, he goes almost everywhere with me. Red was only with me on the farm, out in the pastures and barns.

If Red can’t come inside all of the places I go, he will sit quietly in the car. He just wants to be with me. He is much more eager to please than Rose, and in some ways, less intuitive. If the sheep run me over, he doesn’t mind. Rose would never allow it. Red does not know me as a person in trouble, so that has not shaped our relationship.  Rose was always covering me, watching my back, because I always needed that. She was the greatest dog I will ever have, I believe. But Red is a great dog also.  Red is a wonderful companion, and that is what I need now. How lucky to have had Rose, now Red. Few people are so blessed.

When I began gaining control of my life, Rose almost immediately began to decline, and if you believe in spirit dogs as I do, you have to believe this is not a coincidence. Red and I are just beginning our relationship. I can only imagine where it will go.

Many people have trouble with my ideas of grieving, and I have to be honest and say I do not grieve for Rose, I do not shed tears for her or mark on my calendar the date of her death. It is not important to me. Grieving would almost trivialize Rose for me, neither of us needs it. There is nothing sad about her life and work, or her life with me.

I cannot say that I really miss her much either. How could I, with such a full life? With Red, Frieda, Lenore. With Maria, the donkeys, the cats the sheep. I have no desire to have her wait for me on any bridge, or dote on me for all eternity. I want more for her than that.  Perhaps you can understand what I mean when I say we crossed paths at the right time, and my wish for her remains what it was when she died – that she run in golden fields, boundaries without end in green meadows, a cool stream, sheep to the horizon and a cool afternoon sun.