Quote:
Originally Posted by FiveLoaves
Along those lines, we used to use the word "frizzing" when it was so cold it made your hair go frizzy.
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My family used that word in a totally different way.
I come from a long line of ranchers. We have all depended on good cow dogs to make our living, as one good dog can take the place of 2 worthless men.
The dogs are bred to be intelligent, but that intelligence can lead to problems, because smart dogs are still dogs, and they'll do what they think is the smartest first.
That is often a problem. When an over-eager dog does something wrong, it's a problem. But when a really intelligent over-eager dog does something wrong, that can be a life-threatening danger when someone is trying to manage animals that are really big, quite fast, and tend to be irritable and easily angered.
We call those dogs 'frizzers' in my family. They volunteer too quickly to do work we don't ask of them, and when they do, it's big trouble.
Smart dogs are usually the most correctible dogs, so sometimes, a frizzer is the best dog a person can have once he consistently does the right thing. But dogs are dogs; some frizzers just can't stay corrected.
So we give them away. They often make most excellent house pets, because the frizzers are always the dogs who want to please their humans the most.
In my family, it's bad luck to sell a good dog. If we give the good dogs away carefully, we'll always get a good dog in return when we need one.
A frizzer might not be a good working dog, but they can produce puppies that are.
Selling a good dog is a business deal. Giving a good dog away is a friendship. When you give the best to the best, the best always comes back around to you again.
A working dog's job is to care about what the cattle think. That's a harder thing for them to learn, and some never do. But when a frizzer learns that, they can be a marvel.
The very best cow dog I ever saw belonged to a cattle buyer. She was a miniature poodle who came to work in the boss's coat pocket. He would pick out the cow he wanted, pull her out, and she would go load the cow in the truck every time, with no words spoken. It was like watching a ghost terrorizing the cow into submission.
She was a white poodle, and was supposed to be a gift for his wife, but wasn't ever very white; more like a guacamole green if she had been working, making cattle nervous enough to go find safety in the truck.
She was so tiny, a cow who kicked at her would always miss. She would flatten out on the ground and the kick would sail over her with room to spare, every time.
Before the cow even knew she missed, the little stinking green dog would be up and nipping the cow's heels again. The cattle couldn't even see her most of the time, but she was a tiny little thunderbolt.
Back home, she was Mommy's dog again, so she always got a bath at the back door before she could come in the house.
There wasn't a rancher in this neck of the woods who wouldn't have eagerly coughed up $1000 for that little dog. She was too tiny to do anything but corral work, but on the job, she took the place of 4-5 men every day.
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