“Well, aren’t you the pretty young lady,” said the judge, stooping down in front of Bounce. With regal dignity, Bounce stepped forward to put one pristine paw on the judge’s knee and leaned in to give him a quick dainty kiss on the cheek before stepping back into The Pose. Guess who went WB that day?
She knew what she was doing. Like most Beardies I’ve known, she had the ability to figure things out, to reason and to perceive cause and effect. Bounce was the spoiled Boss Bitch of the household and was in a snit when she got relegated to an outdoor run one day. It wasn’t long before a mournful sound emanated from the run and there was Bounce, holding up a bloody paw, having ripped a nail on the chain link of the run. Of course, she was quickly brought back into the house to have her paw bathed and bandaged. Her limp was positively pitiful, designed to wring every drop of sympathy from onlookers. In time, the paw healed nicely, but still she limped. And limped. And then one day, I opened the back door and let her out to run with the rest of the crew. As I happened to glance out the window, I saw her tearing around the yard in flat-out pursuit of one of her buddies. No trace of a limp. As I opened the door, she stopped in her tracks, lifted a paw and limped slowly toward me. “You fraud, you’re limping on the wrong paw.” At least she had the decency to look embarrassed as she switched paws to limp on the previously injured appendage.
In a book on canine lore, the author opined that show dogs didn’t know whether they won or lost and didn’t care in either case. Brit not only knew when he lost, but he also made it quite clear how he felt about defeat. It was downright humiliating. We’d barely exit the ring when Brit would throw himself down in the aisle and cringe. He’d hunch himself into a mahogany mass of misery. His sad eyes begged me not to beat him. Like I ever lifted a hand to him. No way! People would stare at me as though I took the disappointment of loss out on my poor dog. Trying to drag him away from the scene of disgrace looked even worse. It took some pleading, not to mention several chunks of garlic-tinged liver, to get him back on his feet and on his way.
Are you beginning to get the picture? Beardies not only know how to outthink us and play to our emotions, they also can display some rather amazing talents. I never figured out how Brit knew when we were a mile from home. But when we returned from a trip — no matter how short or how long — he’d wake up, stretch, and wag his tail when we were a mile from home. It didn’t matter that he was in a crate, in the back of my van with no way to see out and the windows closed to local aromas; he still knew the journey was just about over.
Cocoa, my parents’ Beardie, would park herself by the front door about ten minutes before my Dad came home. He thought perhaps she knew the sound of his car and tried to trick her by shutting off the engine and coasting silently down the block. He tried coming in from a different direction. And he didn’t always come home at the same time. But she was always there. He even rode home with a friend. It didn’t matter. Mom noted Cocoa would be in place ten minutes prior to Dad’s arrival regardless of how or when he arrived. When my father died, I’m sure Cocoa was waiting by Heaven’s Gate ten minutes before he arrived.
Then there’s the canine’s incredible sense of smell. The increased interest in scent work has introduced more owners to the wonders of this ability. Many years ago, I got a phone call from a young lady in Buffalo, N.Y., who had bought a Beardie pup from me. Her mail was delivered through a slot in the front door and her dog had picked out a letter I had written her (obviously before the days of email) and was stretched out on the sofa with the letter tucked under his paw. She thought it was quite a coincidence. It wasn’t. He did it again the next time I wrote. And the time after that. Despite its travels through the Canadian and U.S. postal services, the letters apparently retained enough of my scent for her Beardie to detect it.
I never cease to find it amazing that pups I’ve sent off to their new homes at eight weeks of age will remember me months or even years later. The record belongs to a Beardie that an OES breeder bought for his parents, who liked the shaggy looks but didn’t feel up to contending with the OES coat. I’d see the gentleman at shows and he’d keep me up to date on how Skipper, the Beardie, was doing. Eventually, he moved closer to where I lived and one day he called to tell me his folks were visiting and wondered if I’d like to see Skipper, now 12 years old. Sure! I drove over and when I arrived, Skipper came ambling over to say hi. Then he sniffed. And sniffed again. And suddenly he was all over me, jumping into my arms, licking my face and making happy noises all the while. It was humbling to think a Beardie who only knew me for a few weeks as a pup would remember me with such affection a dozen years later with only scant sniffs to remind him.
Whether it’s the ability to reason, to deduce, to work out solutions, to employ some sixth sense or use the astonishing sense of smell, you can bet your Beardie knows more than you think.
—alice bixler, Summerfield, Florida, Bearded Collie Club of America, bcca.us
