Our Cowboy

Cowboy The Ultimate Doggy Boy

Cowboy, Our Cowboy, the Ultimate Doggy Boy

Of all our Pets, all our Doggies, Cowboy is - was - the only one I truly worried about in that everywhere he went, he attracted a crowd of adoring fans, and I knew that, although we  would have had to pay a fortune for someone to 
take care of any of our other rescued Darlings, Cowboy alone was the ideal Pet that everyone dreams of, and I feared all his life that someone might try to take him from us.

The fact that Cowboy was the major scamp in their runaway schemes, and would too often dig a fast route under a fence when my back was turned and lead the whole pack on a will run to wherever
didn't help the situation, but his intense psychic ability would always hone into my brain and alert me to the exact location where he could be found, as soon, that is, as he felt he was bored and ready to come home.
Sometimes it was maddening, the half-hour or so until Cowboy would stop and realize he didn't know where we were., then, his signals would be loud and clear.

The little rascal was hyper and wise all at the same time, imperious in a subtle way, watchful, knowing, and deeply intelligent.
He was joyous, with boundless energy, and the heart to uphold his own status in a household filled with much larger Doggy siblings.

Cowboy Intense and Adorable

Cowboy, Intense and Adorable, Intelligent and Amazing

He had been by the shelter where he had been when he came into our lives assumed to be a St. Bernard mix, and they assured us he was going to be a giant Boy.
To get along in a house with a Big Bro Rottweillor and a Puppy Bro his own age, almost, but who would grow to be a huge Boy, a Newfie, we wanted this Guy to be able to hold his own.

Our Biggest Boy, our firstborn, Sunny, had just gone to Heaven, and Thor had been disconsolate, as was I, and we'd first applied to adopt Cowboy, who was in a shelter in Montana, having been rescued while running along a snowy and desolate highway and was then around four months old, but had lost out to someone whose application had gone through first, and who was local. We were in Los Angeles.
Then, we'd rescued a little, tiny, newborn Newfoundland Boy whose whole family of siblings had been dumped on a shelter, due to not having had enough pre-sales by a breeder. He was only three weeks old when 
he came to be our Baby. And then, Cowboy became available too, having been brought back to the shelter, due to his nervous habit of fearful piddling on the floor.
But we knew that Cowboy, in his deep, psychic soul, knew that we all belonged together, and so he made himself a little nuisance until things were just as he wanted and he was on his way
to L.A. on an plane.

Cowboy Leaping

Cowboy, the Wild Athlete

Always a star, attracting a crowd of fans even at our first meeting at LAX, while waiting for my hubby to drive around for us, Cowboy still in his crate at the curb, I turned to see 
numerous tourists surrounding him and gushing with adulation, all sure he had flown into Hollywood to star in a film!

I even considered starring him in the film I had written for him, but his background had made him fearful and very determined to keep anyone away from touching his 
feet, legs, or really anywhere, and so when going to the vet, even the first time, I admonished them about his preferences and always made sure that his own set boundaries
would be respected. He directed us, and we allowed him to have his way all his life.
This was the greatest gift we gave to him, and we let him call the shots as much as possible, never ever let anyone groom him or cut his nails, even to comb him, and 
he felt so safe, that after a couple of years, really five, he stopped urinating when he felt nervous.

This had been why, obviously, he'd had such a time staying adopted while at the shelter in Montana.
On first seeing him, we thought instantly of the classic cowboy movie star, Gabby Hayes, and so that is his real name, Gabby Hayes, Jr., but we called him Cowboy, since 
he was from Montana and also, he was of the rare herding breed (of sheep, not cows!) from the high Pyrenees between France and Spain, from the Basque region, called a
Catalan Sheepdog. Since many Basques had settled in the far northwest, we assume he had been traumatized and had run away from abuse there.
The people at the shelter in that small town adored him and I used to write to them about his progress. They were SO happy that Cowboy had found a home
in California, was above to swim at the beach and be utterly spoiled!