The Fat Ewe Farm has had quite a lot of dogs since its inception. In 2010, the year of my retirement and my plan to move to Thorhild, build a monolithic dome home, live off grid and build an organic permaculture farm, there were Josie, my trusty, then 13 year old border collie, Sofi, my daughter's border collie, Mikey, a rescue border collie that I was rehabilitating for rehoming and Anna, my brand new baby Scotch collie puppy (think Lassie). All of these dogs were female and all except Anna were spayed. 

The farm where the plan was to be executed was pristine and lovely, but Waste Management bought 17 quarter sections around it to create a class 1 landfilll, so an organic permaculture farm could not be located next to a dump! I put it up for sale and went home to White Rock after a short sojourn hanging out in a large shop living in my 32 foot motorhome. I boarded my horses and sheep, sold my Canadienne dairy cows, and had to rethink my plans. Josie, Mikey, Sofi and Anna came with me. Mikey was ready to find a new home and I got the best situation any dog could ever want. She went to live with a millionairess in Langley, a widow with no children who hired a dog walker for her and brought her fresh liver when she picked her up. Mikey, after her initial life of being tied on a 6 foot chain with no reprieve, must have thought she went to Heaven. She did! only on Earth. 

We found the Fat Ewe Farm then, in Elk Point and moved in March of 2011. Soon thereafter, a little fellow named Petey joined the posse, followed by Joseph, a rough collie for Anna to marry when they grew up, even though she was a little older. Petey disappeared one day, never to be seen again. Anna was hit on the highway and the next week, I lost Joseph. I was beside myself and cried all the time. I got a fence built as soon as I could, but it was too late for my friends. This is not the place for rough collies. 

Josie was not doing well, losing control of her bladder more and more until she basically had none. It was time to say so long to my much loved companion. I swore I would not get another border collie. None could ever come close to Josie. But I missed her so very much, that I started to look at border collie litters of pups. One day, this little fellow came up to me, looked me in the eye, put his tiny paw on my leg, ran to play and came back and sat beside me, looking into my eyes. Of course, that was Robbie and he came home with me and is now my constant companion. He is not Josie, but he is my dog. 
I had been reading a lot about livestock guardian dogs and living in harmony with the predators. i did not want to get a gun. I needed a pack of dogs that would keep the predators at bay, who were born and bred for that work and who bonded to the livestock they guarded. I found Harley. 

Harley was no longer wanted and if he did not get a home, he was going to be shot. So I rescued him and brought him to the farm. I was told by his previous owner to tie him up and leave him and to be careful around him until he got to know me. He is a big dog, possibly only 2 then, but the vet said possibly 5 years old...hard to tell. Harley fought the coyotes but he needed back up. One dog is not enough for a pack of bad guys. So Charka came.
 
Charka was the only black pup out of a litter of 11, all others including the parents being white. No one could explain him. He was bigger than the other puppies and was off by himself. I really liked him and chose him. Charka was difficult as a teenager, killing ducklings as he played and Robbie and he chewing up a lamb they were playing with too. Bad Charka. He also jumped the fence to go across the highway to visit the dogs there, so I tied a pallet to him. He could jump the fence and not get hung because the pallet was 10 feet behind him, but that stopped that. He still jumps the fence and goes to the end of the driveway, but as far as I know, he does not cross that deadly highway, thank goodness. 

Then I heard of two tiny Maremma puppies, which is what Harley was. They were sisters living with sheep in Saskatchewan and 'not working out' so were going to be terminated. I met the owner after driving 2 hours in a blizzard and loaded the little girls into the truck . They were scrawny and terrified. One limped. They would pull wool from the sheep and run and hide and eat it and scarf down any grain they could find. That is how they survived. The wool had bulk to make them feel full and the grain gave them some substance, but they were starved. The one who limped, Jade, had been kicked and suffered a hip fracture which was healed incorrectly. There were not 8 weeks old as I was told, but closer to 3 months, just emaciated.  

Jade and Jenna would never be large enough to fight predators, but they are the sentinels, the watchers and first alerts. So, two more Maremmas with Pyrenees, just a quarter, were selected to join the pack. 

Mike and Joe were only 5 weeks old when they came to the farm. Their mother was hit by a car and killed and the owners wanted those who bought puppies to take them. I called the vet to see what had to be done. Fortunately they were eating and drinking on their own and though they would have greatly benefitted from being with their mother for longer, they would survive with care. They were two rolly polly little balls of white fluff with black eyes and noses. Soooo cute! Mike and Joe lived with the sheep until they were teenagers, then they were removed to keep the lambs safe from rough play. Mike stays with the sheep most of the time, though Joe is very social and is often found meandering around the farm. 

Since the dogs have been adults, with Harley to teach them the ropes and ways of the guardian dog, the pack is formidable and works together like magic. Robbie is not permitted to join the pack because he is not made to fight predators. His job is to help me gather and move the sheep and he does. He also chases the foxes. 

These livestock guardian dogs have kept the farm predator safe for years now. Harley no longer works. He retired himself this year and spends most of this days sleeping on the porch or in the winter, in the porch. Jade, Jenna, Joe, Mike and Charka do the work. Harley does stand up and bark and sometimes will join the pack, but mostly he knows his fighting days are over. He has many scars to prove it. Mike is the most fierce and if I was a coyote I would run if I saw him coming at me. He is huge, likely over 6 feet tall on his hind legs and he weighs 145 pounds. He is clever and fearless. Joe follows him and together with Charka, the three big males are enough to keep the bad things away. Jade and Jenna will join in a chase but seldom a fight. Good thing. They are just too small. But they are also pretty fierce when they have needed to be. 
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I love my dogs. I cannot imagine life without them. I do not need a gun to feel safe, even walking at midnight in the bush, which I have done on numerous occasions. Dogs are a blessing. I am grateful for those fuzzy friends, over and over and over again. Bless them, my dogs. 

It is with a sad and very heavy heart that I am offering my beloved border collie for adoption. Robbie came home with me when he was just 8 weeks old, a pure bred border collie from the Redwater area. I had been shopping for a border collie for some time, since my trusty companion of 14 years, Josie, was put down months before. She was a good dog, my Josie, with her border collie quirky ways and I missed her so much. 

I had been to see many litters and none of the puppies seemed quite the right one, that is, until I met Robbie. He was from a large litter. The man had sheep and the puppies were from working stock, so he told me. They were the most delightful little gaffers, medium fur, classic border collie markings, flop ears - just what I was looking for. One little fellow came up to me and put his paw on my leg and then looked into my eyes, scampered away and played a bit, then came back and put that little paw up again. That, I knew, was the sign of a dominant dog, and I was not overly concerned, since if I took him home with me, he would be my 11th border collie. They were simply my breed. 

The little puppy came back and sat beside me and looked up into my eyes. Yup! He was the one. So, I paid the man $450 and loaded Robbie into the little kennel I had brought in case and we were off to a great friendship. Robbie, not once messed in the house. He did not prefer to sleep in his kennel, and I did not force him since there was no issue with house training. Inside the house he was calm and sweet, listening all the time. It took him one or two lessons to grasp what he was to learn, as he is incredibly smart. In no time at all, he learned, sit, stay, down, find, fetch, this way and that way as indicated by my outstretched arms which showed him the direction I wanted him to run. He loved to play fetch with a ball or stick and was a delight, but for one thing. As soon as I was not paying attention to him, he was gone to find something interesting to do. Lots of that involved chasing animals, particularly sheep and cows. 

For a while he got very much better and came to a whistle or call. He was even becoming adept at herding the sheep, bringing them in from the pature for the night. He could be trusted with the poultry and waterfowl on the farm, and the rabbits, but never with the sheep. For some reason, he would run them in one direction and then run in front of them and run them back to where he started. That was great fun for him. Outside, reprimanding him seemed to have llittle effect. He simply could not be left to run free without supervision. 

Robbie is 5 and  a half years old. I am not sure what spurred him to have a bad change of behaviour, but this summer, he started to corner a ram and then rip wool from it and bite. When he was caught, he would wag his tail as though he believed he was doing something right. No matter how much I yelled at him, threw him on the ground and held him down, he would get up all happy. He was not getting the message. 

The real problem began when he was outside with me, and I was busy, usually on the phone or talking to some one in person. He would take off and corner a sheep. Usually it was a ram, I think , because they tended to fight a little, which gave him more interest in what he deemed his 'job'. But then, just last month, he cornered my Babydoll ram and bit him pretty hard. The ram was fine, or so it seemed, then all of a sudden went down, a week later. I gave him some antibiotics, but I was too late. He likely died from a wound that had become septic. 

Then, this morning, I let him out to do his business and forgot him for about 15 minutes. 15 minutes too long. He got Bob, the Cotswold ram, down and chewed him up very badly. Bob has neck wounds, leg wounds and his ear is nearly torn off on the side that he has a blind eye. I am pretty sure that Joe, and possibly Mike, joined in because there was some blood on their faces. Now, after the Babydoll died, I planned to never let Robbie out of my sight. He no longer can be trusted around sheep at all, though he is a wonderful dog, loves family and would be super as a pet, away from sheep. 

He can be tied and is fairy quiet, only barking when he really feels there is a reason. He cannot be fenced in or kenneled, unless the kennel has a roof, or he will climb out. He will jump pretty much any fence. I do not want him to spend his life tied up though. He needs to be with people who will play with him, throw a ball so he can fetch, and love him. He is very lovable and extremely well behaved in the house. Just NO SHEEP. 

I am sick with sorrow though. My heart is broken. Robbie and I , well, there is a special bond there. I love him with all my soul. It is like giving your own child away. I, of course, want the best home for him, where he will be loved and happy. I do not want him to go, but I cannot keep him here. It is too dangerous for my sheep and they deserve to be safe. Oh oh oh dear, my sweet puppy. I will miss you so so much. 

​PS. Robbie loves car rides and is a wonderful babysitter for newborn lambs and sheep, and for chicks, ducklings, and bunnies. He tends to them with tender loving care. 

I am sure you could not help but notice the interest in vintage relics lately. There is a trend going on. Old barn wood, once useless and forgotten, now has meaning and importance and earns a place in people's homes. Old tea cups, table linens, rusty buckets - well, almost anything old (except me) seems to be sought and bought and displayed with affection. New items are antiqued, painted with paint that cracks to give a worn through time look and sanded to appear well worn and used. 

This is a huge contrast to the 60's era, where modern, sleek and shiny was 'in' and anything antique or old was discarded with the trash. Why the resurgence? What is it the young people are missing that is bringing back what held no esteem whatsoever? 

I think people long for some connection to the past. The future is uncertain. It never has been certain, but during the developing years through the industrial age, there was the promise of a brighter tomorrow. People are longing for some meaning to their lives now, some semblance of belonging to the tribe, something that does not come from a factory and is mass produced. They want a piece of the past that provides some direction to their futures. 

Why is this not extended to farming, or is it? Perhaps there is also a slight resurgence of folks who want a simpler life, want to escape the bustle of the city, the consumerism and dictatorship of what to wear, what to decorate with, why, even what colours are 'in' because the masses do not have the ability any more to choose colours they actually like without being told. Gads, what has happened? 

I returned to a simpler life. Always a 'green' person, then an organic person, I am now just a natural farmer person. I donated the majority of my fashion clothing and opted to keep the furniture that meant something to me. For me it is the pieces from the 1940's era, when furniture was made of real wood through and through by skilled craftsmen who took pride in their work. The 40's was the last era to do so, for by the time the 1950's came along, modern was pushing out craftsmanship and by the 1970's, particle board disposable pieces were the norm. 

I think the return to a piece of the past has a lot to do with the future. Still, there is the 'fashion' of making items appear old and worn, and collections of 'stuff' that is old are just as apt to be seen as sleek, shiny disposable plastics. But on the farm, none of that matters much. We do with what we have and like it just fine. We do not rely on stylists to tell us how to present our farm suppers. We do not rely on fashion designers to tell us what to wear or colour stylists to tell us what colours are hot for the upcoming year. I remember being critical of my parent's home, how mismatched and hodpodge it was and why they did not update and modernize it. I finally understand. Their home and what was in it had meaning to them. My home and what is in it does too. So does my farm. It took 62 years and a lot of tears and laughter to get this far. I am glad I did. 

For all those who are 'finding' themselves in the past, truly enjoying rusty old hinges because ironically speaking, they are beautiful as they are, they are finding meaning too. What do you think?

I love Robbie, but he is a very poor sheep dog. Instead of herding the sheep from behind, he runs them and then runs ahead of them and hold them from the other direction, just moving them back and forth. He has the skills to move the sheep and understand my commands, though they are not the correct sheep dog sayings. It seems that I will never break him from heading the sheep off and forcing them back from where I want them. 

Robbie will go in the bush, find the sheep, chase them out and then run ahead of them and not let them out of the bush. I am not sure what goes on in his head. He thinks he is working. Sometimes I get so frustrated and mad at him though. 

One thing for sure, is he loves to herd the sheep. He practically lives to go and fetch them from the pasture every evening. I tell him, "let's go get the sheep" and he completely lights up and is off like a flash. He can move cows too and is quite aggressive having come from cow herding dog stock. 

But Robbie has so many other good qualities that it almost makes up for his frustrating herding. He is very loving and will put his head on my lap and stare into my eyes to show me he loves me. He is not allowed in my room, though if he was, he would sleep right beside my bed, I am quite sure. He loves to fetch a stick or a ball and knows quite a few commands very well. Although he is already 5, he also loves to learn and please me by doing what I ask (except with the sheep, drat). 

Robbie is the 11th border collie I have owned and he is a pleasure to have. Going for car rides are one of his favourite things, though I have no idea why really, since he has to sit and wait for me, sometimes for several hours. But when he hears the keys, he is off like a flash and I would be hard pressed to leave him behind. When I am not home and have to tie him up, I have to use a harness, because he has learned to slip his collar if he really wants to go somewhere. I am quite sure Robbie will be my last border collie. Josie, his predecessor, lived until 14, so I should have him another nine or ten years and then I may be just too old for the high energy of a border collie. I guess we will have to see when that time comes. In the meantime, Robbie is my dog! 

Little Sofi came home with my daughter, Brianna, a tiny puppy cuddled and loved in her arms. I was not thrilled. Brianna lived with me and was a young adult, but I had a border collie and we were in a city where dogs are very regulated. Brianna assured me that she would love and care for Sofi and I would not have to worry. Hmmmm. 

Brianna was a young woman, full of life, going to college, working and partying as young people do. Sofi was home with me a whole lot and although I made sure I only babysat her, she was quite often alone with Josie, my dog, and me. 

She had her quirky little ways, bouncing a tennis ball over my head incessantly day or night. She would run away and I would have to chase her all over White Rock, until she was about 5 years old, and then she started to come back when called. How she managed to get to 5 years old is a miracle in itself, running around busy streets of a city and me not killing her for doing so, or for bouncing the tennis ball while I was trying to sleep. For some reason, Sofi love playing fetch - sort of. It was fetch on her own terms. I would throw the ball and she would fetch it, but not give it to me. It was the same with a stick. She had to be tracked down to get the stick away from her and then she would happily go and get it and keep it at bay once more. She was good company for my elderly mother, whom I lived with and cared for. She would throw the ball for Sofi, just a few yards and Sofi would eventually bring it back and drop it near my mother's feet. They both enjoyed that. 

Sofi like to howl and whine when she did not get what she wanted. It drove most normal people nuts. She also had a bad habit of sleeping on the sofa and going on my bed and rubbing her face all over it. Grrr. If Sofi wanted a drink, it was now, not later or she would howl. 

When I retired in 2010, Sofi accompanied me on my first journey in the motorhome with a rehab rescue, Mikey, and Anna, my beautiful, now deceased rough collie. Anna was fatally hit by a vehicle on the highway here after we moved to the farm. Mikey went to a new home and Sofi was with me for a year or so until Brianna finished her degree. Sofi went home for a while and when Brianna decided to follow her passion to become a midwife by moving to Australia to attend university, Sofi came back to the farm. She has been with me again for a year and a half. 

Despite her quirky and sometimes very annoying ways, she was part of my family and she was my dog. Despite her highly annoying behaviour, she is still part of my heart and always will be. I will always see those soft brown eyes when I gave her to the veterinarian technician, imploring me not to leave her. But I just could not stay. I said goodbye. I thanked her for her life and her love. May she cross the rainbow bridge and remain forever in joy. Good bye Sofi. 

After a bad scare a month or so ago with the little border collie, Sofi, I am most pleased to report that she is doing remarkably well given her state of affairs. Sofi has cancer. It started with a cancerous lump in her throat, which has now grown to the size of a baseball and is pushing her esophagus to the side causing her to vomit frequently. Because she can only eat small amounts of soft food at best, and even then it has trouble going down, I have resorted to feeding her canned food to supplement her diet. She likes that, but still likes to chew on bones and scarf down some raw meat when she can, only it mostly comes back up. Fortunately for Sofi, she did gain some weight after that last scare when she went down down down to skin and bones. I thought she might be done then and was watching her very closely, but she was still playing with the stick and the ball and doing her crazy things she does, like bopping. 

Bopping started when the tag she wears reflected the sunlight onto a corner of the wall and she tried to catch it. She would go down and "bite" the shadow and whatever was there that was soft. This is a good activity for her and keeps her busy but not overly active so it does not use her reserves of energy, which she needs to fight the slow growing cancer. The x rays showed that the cancer has spread and is in most of her major organs. She has had it for several years and it is not advancing at a rapid rate, so she may have a few years left still. As long as her quality of life remains  good and she has both the desire and the energy to play, she will be fine to continue. 

Sofi actually belongs to my daughter, who is studying midwifery in Australia. Sofi has been on the farm before when I first came out here almost 5 years ago. She loves the farm, but I am sure she misses my daughter, who spoils her rotten and loves her to bits. I do not spoil her other than ensure she is under good care and is happy. She is one of the dogs on the Fat Ewe Farm and is expected to be good. 

Sofi could not find a small stick to play with today so she got what she could and carried it around until she got cold and went to her doghouse while I finished the chores. Silly pup. I am rooting for her to make it until my daughter returns and then some, 2 years longer. Send her some love now and again if you think of it to help her along. Thank ewe so much. 

It was a brillig afternoon on the Fat Ewe Farm. Downtown Elk Point was not bustling as usual and since the doom in the economy, the highway that passes the farm was bare, except for the occasional lone pick up truck being reclaimed by the wife after the divorce, though driven by the husband. The neighbour was complaining about the barking dogs in the middle of the afternoon on a farm and all was well in Kansas. The Fat Ewe Farmer was wearing her ruby slippers. 

But, then, a letter came in the post and immediately, it was a case for The Fat Ewe Farmer! 

It read like this:

Two dogs missing! Last seen this morning at the Fat Ewe Farm. The small little shit was whining and stealing Robbie's sticks as usual, then howling when she lost her stick and his. The big white dog, Harley, was chilling on the hay he pulled down from the large bale, basking in the sunshine and -9 degree balmy weather, balmy if you are a thick coated livestock guardian dog. Sofi, whining because she got cold when the temperature started to drop, was put in the house, her expensive new garments hung over her house in the porch. Harley, well, where he was, was anyone's guess. He was definitely nowhere in sight. Please, The Fat Ewe Farmer! We have to find the missing dogs. Our joy depends on it! And it is only a few days before Christmas! 

So, I donned my cap and pipe, no wait, I had a toque on and don't smoke. Let's try that again. 
So, I scratched my head through the three layers of toque, hoodie and insulated coverall hood and pondered the situation. Sofi had to be in the house somewhere, but where. I looked in the bedroom and down the trap door to the dungeon. No Sofi. This was a case for sure. And Harley, here today, gone this afternoon! Cannot be. 

So, I gave up, got the firewood and went inside. But lo! What is this I see in Robbie's dog house? A grizzled white muzzle?? Could it be? Could it be? Why yes, his highness, Harley, somehow had crawled in that igloo house and was snoozing away. He accepted the invitation to come inside the porch and rest his old bones on Robbie's bed, which he finds quite to his approval. Now, on to finding Sofi! Could she has snuk out when I was bringing in the firewood? Highly unlikely. 

Sofi, I heard my voice call. No answer. While I was thinking, I needed to add some logs to the wood stove. And there, hiding amongst the heat, there she was! Sofi! 

And another case was solved by none other than The Fat Ewe Farmer! Stay tuned for more adventures on the funny farm! Come along Watson, er, I mean Robbie!

Anyone who has a beloved pet will eventually have to face the inevitable. They simply do not live very long in comparison with their human guardians, and when they die, a little bit of the human dies too. Today, at the veterinarian's office, I witnessed a sad event. An older woman was looking miserable with a cat that was obviously uncomfortable and wanting out of the kennel. The woman spoke softly to the cat, but the cat continued its high pitched pleas. Finally, the woman and the cat were called in to the little white room. The woman came out, but the cat was carried out in the arms of the assistant, quiet and limp. The woman was in hysterical tears, though she had brought a friend and the friend came immediately to her side and put her arms around her to comfort her. Obviously, the cat was put down and the woman was grieving.I understand this. 

Two years ago, I put down my best friend too, my 14 year old border collie, who was my constant companion and friend. I sobbed miserably as did this woman and was depressed for weeks, looking to see my friend where she should have been and was no longer. I was terribly sad and did not want a new pet, only to have to go through the loss again in a dozen or so years. The grief seems unbearable at the time. We do heal and if we can give thanks for the moments we shared with the pet and remember the love we once had, then it finally seems doable again. 

Little Sofi, my daughter's dog, is ill. She has a cancerous growth on her throat, which is now interfering with her swallowing and eating. She has lost over ten pounds and she is a tiny dog to begin with. The vet has no real hope for her, since the growth cannot be safely removed and treatment may not be effective at all. There are medications for pain and to make her more comfortable, but she did not and has not appeared to be in pain or uncomfortable, except recently while eating. She is still robust, loves to fetch a stick and barks at the snow falling from the sky as she catches the flakes. The vet and I had a long, long, over two hours long, discussion about her symptoms and treatment and the course for the next stages. Basically, as she is in my care, I need to ensure she eats frequently, and that the food is soft and palatable, so she can at least maintain her weight if not gain back a few pounds. The esophagus is being pushed into a convoluted arch which suspends her food and makes it difficult for the peristalsis to move it down to the stomach. 

She also has some cancer beginning on her lungs, now. Of course, no one knows how long she has to still have a quality life. So far, she is happy, wags her tail, barks at stupid things and is generally as annoying as she has always been, so she seems just fine. But a day will come, perhaps soon, perhaps in a year or two, when she is no longer enjoying that quality of life and it will be time to say goodbye to her. I know my daughter's heart will be broken and the tears will come. She is her first dog of her own, bought with hard earned money when she was just young and she has been her only child for the past 9 years. I hope when the time comes, Brianna has a friend who can put his or her arms around her and just hold her and allow the grief to flow. It won't be easy. It never is. 

But, for now, Sofi and I and the other 7 dogs of the Fat Ewe Farm will just go on going on as usual. That is the best we can do, isn't it?

Sofi lived here for a year when I first moved here. At that time my daugher was in transition and going to university and keeping a dog was an albatross for her, that is, renting with a dog in tow was ten times as hard than without. Becuase my daughter, who owns Sofi, lived with me quite a few years too, Sofi also did. But the last three years , she has lived with Brianna and has been spoiled as an only chlld often is. My dogs are not spoiled, just well loved and cared for. 

Sofi asked to go outside this morning and I did not go with her. Brianna said that I should always go and encourage her to do her business, otherwise she will simply hold it. But this morning Sofi asked to go out, came in and asked to go out again on her own. She was exploring and she was fine. It is also snowing lightly, so she was chasing snow flakes. This is a huge improvement from just the last few days, when she whined after a minute outside. Yesterday she played with a stick for the entire time I was doing chores. She has no understanding of not being ableo to spend every minute with her. She will learn. 

Then when Sofi was ready to come in this morning, she howled at the door, as she always does. Finally, Sofi feels at home enough to not need me by her side for every moment and that is freeing for both of us. It is 22C on the Gold Coast in Australia this morning. Taking a dog along, once again, would complicate finding rental units and working hours too, so Sofi is back with me for her next 3 years, when she will be 11 and ready to retire from the farm. 

Sofi is home in her heart now and that is a great thing. 

Sofi has come to live at the Fat Ewe farm again. She and Robbie are the privileged dogs that are allowed in the house. Both are good house pets, but Sofi has been spoiled by her owner, so she whines if she does not get attention. She is going to get better eventually, but it will take a while for her to get the idea that whining is not permitted here. 

Robbie is good with Sofi for the most part, which is surprising, because he is agressive with most of the other dogs (not Harley, though). He allows Sofi to get the stick once in while, which makes her happy, and he even played tug with her today. Robbie found his tug toy on the snow and brought it to me. He is extremely strong and it takes all my energy to keep from falling over when I tug with Robbie. Not fair, it isn't, because he has four legs and I have only two and am tall while he is close to the ground. So, Robbie allowed Sofi to play instead. 

She is only half of Robbie's size and definitely not nearly as agile, nor fit, having been a city dog for a long time. Within a few seconds Robbie pulled the tug away from Sofi and she would not grasp it again. It was cute to watch them play for a bit. The other dogs are livestock guardian dogs and they do not play ball, stick or tug, so Robbie is enjoying having some one to play with. Now, if he could only teach Sofi to pay attention when the stick is thrown, so I don't have to go show her, that would be great. I am not sure what the chances of that happening at her age, which is 8 years old, but I can always hope. Want to come and play with them?