Dead Dogs and Horses

I shot an innocent, helpless newborn lamb this week.

Its hind leg was broken up high, where it could not be stabilized. It could not stand to nurse and cried in pain.

I believe there are worse things than death.

Searing pain and starvation count as two of those things.

Then I thought of the governor of South Dakota, Kristi Noem.

In her new book, Noem discussed shooting her young dog 20 years ago because it killed the neighbor’s chickens.

About that same time, my son, Will, and I brought a young dog home from the dog pound. The second day after we brought her home, she killed a yard full of chickens.

Once a dog kills chickens, it’s very difficult to teach it to quit killing.

As I surveyed the blood and feathers, I suspected I would need to shoot Will’s dog eventually, but I had to try to avoid that scenario.

I dragged the dog to every dead chicken and whacked her with it.

Maybe that was too harsh, but she never killed chickens again.

However, no pheasant or Hun was safe within her sight.

Will’s dog died a few years later, but not from a bullet.

I shot my own dog after he learned to kill sheep by watching the neighbor’s dog.

The neighbor’s dog snuck into the sheep corral at night several times.

After I found maimed ewes bleeding and carcasses scattered around the corral, I called all of the neighbors, asking if they had a dog that roamed.

They all denied owning any such dog.

Then I spotted the dog heading to the sheep corral and shot at it.

Bullets flew, but it outran the limited range of my 30-30.

After more sheep were killed, we caught the dog on a wildlife camera set up in the sheep corral. By then, my dog was helping.

I couldn’t find a good home for him.

Only a few experiences are worse than shooting your own dog.

After that, I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a roaming dog --- it’s better than shooting my own.

I warn visitors that I have a zero-tolerance policy for misbehaving dogs.

Noem said she killed three horses recently, too.

I shot my horse a couple of years ago, on my birthday.

She had been born the day we buried my brother and I loved her.

Together, we moved a lot of cattle and tagged a lot of calves for more than 20 years.

She fell a few times but fell so slowly that I could step off her back, coffee cup still upright and full.

She had grown skinny. I had supplemented her feed, wormed her and filed her teeth in an effort to fatten her up.

One day, she was lying in the corral and couldn’t get up.

Life was not going to get easier for her.

I shut down my feelings and found my rifle, knowing a properly placed bullet is more humane than the stress of a stranger and a needle.

Afterward, tears streamed as I thought of our adventures together.

I’d like to think Noem wrote awkwardly, clumsily and ineptly about killing her dog and horses.

I hope she loves and respects animals as I do and that she understands that some things are worse than death.

I’d like to think she just didn’t know how to express those ideas.

I wouldn’t bet the ranch on my hopes, but a girl can dream.

Meanwhile, I hug my dog and try to anticipate trouble so we both can avoid it.

And I know how to end searing pain and starvation in an instant.

Painlessly.

Even on my birthday.

Because that’s what animal lovers do when they must.