This is a true tale of barking, and barking, and barking.

Betsy was a little bi-blue daughter of Ch. Banchory Thunder Blue born at Clan Duncan many years ago. She was just under 14 inches and was built like a miniature battle tank, with sturdy bone, excellent structure, abundant coat, and not a bad little head. However, Betsy was extremely self-determined and took a good, hard look at anything that might come close to her. Consequently, she did not have a gentle expression! Soon, her ears went straight up and it also became abundantly apparent that show attitude would not be her “thing,” so Betsy was sold as a companion to a local family.

Just over a year later, I received a call from the family. Would I please honor my promise to take Betsy back? They were moving, and did not want to take her with them. Supressing a strong desire to say, “Grrrr” over the phone, I told them to bring her by. I assumed they would wait until I got home from work, but when I drove up that evening, there was Betsy, who had simply been dropped over the fence into the yard. Under a flowerpot on the deck were her signed-over papers. With a sigh, I called her. She ran in the opposite direction.

"Nope, I am not coming if you want me to come," Betsy had decided. "I will only come when you are NOT calling me!" Yes, Betsy had her own strong ideas about how she was going to behave. It was obvious that no one had spent much time with her during her puppy year. Her coat was tangled and her toenails like talons. She was self-oriented, not people-oriented. I could see that I had some work cut out for me in the re-socialization department. As a matter of fact, it took me about four months to turn Betsy's attitude around enough so I could find a good forever home for her, but that is another story.

Every night, the dogs were let out into in the big yard right after feeding for an hour of play before bedtime. Then I would call them in and they would be put to bed, all but Betsy. She wouldn’t come. I would have to go out with a flashlight, corner her, and take her inside on leash.

One July night, I was much more tired than usual, and when Betsy pulled her usual avoidance trick, I gave up. I thought, “It’s warm tonight. There aren't any mosquitoes. Betsy can just stay out there all night.” I went to bed.

At three in the morning, Betsy started barking, and I mean BARKING. “Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo!” I shouted “Betsy, shut up!” through the open bedroom window. Just after I got back into bed, she started up again. “Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo!” I went to the window and shouted again. And got back into bed. And went to the window and shouted again. And again. And again. "Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo! Boo woo woo!" This was maddening, and I was desperate for sleep.

Finally I hauled the sliding glass doors open and stepped out onto the deck where I could look down and see Betsy. Making my voice huge and gravelly like a monster’s, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “You stop that r-r-r-r-r-r-r-right now or I’ll r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rip your guts out!” Betsy had never heard me shout like this before, and she stopped barking at once. She kept her little muzzle shut for the rest of the night and I finally got some sleep.

The next morning when I went outside, I noticed that our old half-ton pickup had been moved during the night. It had been backed up partway down the driveway, and the driver’s side door was hanging open. This was strange. I investigated, and the keys were still in the ignition. (Ah, the vanished days when we kept cars unlocked and the keys in the ignition!) I started next door to ask my neighbor Bonnie if she had heard anything odd during the night, but her car was not in her driveway, so I assumed that she and her family had gone camping in the mountains, as they often did over a summer weekend. It was a puzzle, but the truck was fine. I drove it back up the driveway.

Two hours later Bonnie called. Had I heard anything during the night? Someone had stolen her car!

No, I had not heard anything unusual during the night – but Betsy had.

Now, picture this. Betsy hears someone sneaking around in the dark and begins barking. Thief finds that old pickup has keys in ignition, starts truck up, begins to back it out. A loud gravelly voice bellows, “You stop that r-r-r-r-r-r-r-right now or I’ll r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rip your guts out!” Thief abandons truck, jumps a fence, and steals station wagon belonging to family next door.

Moral of the story? Well, I guess there isn’t one, unless it is NOT to leave your keys in the ignition! Or perhaps the moral is: if your Betsy is barking, there’s a reason! I stopped leaving the keys in the old truck after that, and so we still have that 1948 Ford truck with its rocket-shaped turn lights sitting atop its front fenders like insect eye-stalks and its wooden stake-bed weathered into silvery gray. The thing still runs, though it never leaves our gulch. Betsy went to live with a ranch family in Owyhee County, where she found her mission in life -- keeping the chickens out from under their house. I was told by her family that they loved Betsy, but she always did everything HER way.

The End

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