(in honor of Tru, who died last week at the age of sixteen)
She named you Tru. You are a member of the smartest dog breed on the planet, one that performs in sheep-herding trials, one that needs to work every day because you are so intelligent. You are happy to get into a golf cart and ride around the Crow Canyon County Club golf course, looking for geese to scare away. Geese love to build their nests on the golf course, but if you come by every day, they won’t.
Marijke is your chauffeur to the golf-course gig. She takes you every day around lunchtime or before. After that, the golfers might imbibe a bit, and their shots can get a little crazy. It is safer to do it in the morning.
Otherwise, you are mostly retired now, and your younger partner, Eve, who just turned eight, does the lion’s share of the running.
Eve’s birthday was a good one. You each got a burger from Sideboard, the hippest restaurant in town. You get attention everywhere you go because you are still a beautiful dog, even though you are a senior.
You are deaf, but what do you expect from a fifteen year old? You are almost blind, as well. Marijke takes good care of you and makes you feel needed, even though you can barely get into the golf cart.
You still do sheep-herding demos for the kids who come to Forest Hill Farms, the local historic park and farmhouse. You’re not as fast as Eve, but when you were eight, you could’ve outrun her.
You are a great companion for Marijke. She will miss you when you are gone. She will go to the breeders for another border collie to keep Eve company. You know this because when Sweet was her senior dog and you were the junior, Marijke got the younger dog to keep you company when Sweet would be gone.
Retirement is good, except for your stiff back legs. You are lucky to have your person, Marijke. She makes you feel needed and gives you jobs to do.
And that is what a border collie lives for.