the doberman and the cowboy 
By Russ Barnes
A month had passed since the devastating earthquake, a rating of 7.4 had occurred in this area of Costa Rica. The area was referred to as the Atlantic Zone. The tiny village of Cuartro Milla was nestled at the junction of the Rio Matina and the Tortuguero waterway and this is where Sandy and I were making our home. The beginning of the jungle and the rain forest was on one side and range lands with many groves of bananas were located on the other. The banana plantations were situated in the midst of thousands of acres of cattle range land.
The earthquake had destroyed the home we had built, not five hundred feet from the river’s edge. We rented a small bodega or storage building until we could make new plans for our future. The building was about 20’ X 20’ and though it lacked luxury we managed all right as we had some of our furnishings salvaged from our destroyed cottage. To close the windows there were wood shutters that would close when pulled inward.
There was a knock on our door. Opening it I faced a huge man, a typical Vaquero, but better known as a cowboy. He was dressed in the usual garb of one who handles cattle. In Spanish he asked me if I would move my truck to a safer location. I told him of course, but for what reason. He said he was moving a herd of about one hundred head or more of Brahma cattle through the area and on to another range about a mile away. He also told me the cattle could easily destroy my vehicle as they passed. His horse was standing behind him. I darted out through the doorway, moved my truck into the brush and wasted no time about it.
About an hour later I could feel the earth tremble and knew the herd was approaching. Sandra and I went to the window to view the mass of cattle coming closer. Our Doberman Dude was at our side watching as we were. We brought Dude with us from Miami. He was five; a huge Doberman and close to one hundred pounds. He was advanced obedience trained and knew his commands well. Rarely did I ever have to correct his unwillingness to obey a command. We saw the herd approaching and we glanced at the roadway. The road was actually an unimproved, one lane and hardly wide enough for a vehicle to travel on, let alone a herd of over a hundred, mean, troublesome and most cantankerous Brahmas. They are known to sometimes be dangerous. These cattle are raised in Costa Rica almost exclusively. The sound was like a herd of elephants, except for the loud snorting and the sound from their hooves. They were huge beasts, not to be reckoned with. There was a seasoned horseback rider in the front and though we couldn’t see the end of the herd, I assumed the rear rider would be the same man that spoke to us.
In moments the herd was just outside our window. The noise was deafening. The odor was not too pleasant either. Dude at our side was fascinated with the view. Our window was about six feet above the ground. When the rear rider came into view, at about the same time the herd was opposite our window, the unexplained happened. Dude suddenly reared up, hesitated for a moment and literally dove through the open window. I shouted the command ‘no’ to no avail and he headed for the cattle. His goal was to position himself between the last rider and the tail end of the herd. And that’s just what he did. The rear rider appeared to pay no heed to Dude. He continued to ride very intently watching the herd. Both riders were armed.
Sandra and I were petrified over Dude’s actions. I thought the cattle would turn on him causing him to be disoriented, lose his footing and be trampled. That wasn’t the case at all. The cattle were moving at a steady trot and that was the purpose of the two riders, to keep them moving steadily along the narrow road.
I quickly found my keys and sped through the doorway. At the same time I was able to take a final look at Dude, then a considerable distance down the road. To my amazement I could see him traveling back and forth at the rear keeping the cattle in line and together. I could see him nipping at the legs of the Brahmas in the back as they had a tendency to straggle. The rider was just riding along, making no attempt at disturbing Dude.
Running to my truck with trembling fingers I unlocked the door, threw myself in and drove out to the road. And then I glimpsed the herd and saw Dude, doing I guess what we’d call his duty…driving those cattle like a professional. I slowed down. The new range was in sight now. Closer, I stopped driving and waited. I thought I’d hear the sound of a gun shot by the rider disposing Dude.
By the time the cattle were in their new grazing land; they joined another herd that numbered in the thousands. And then I saw Dude, very proudly trotting back toward his domain. When he came to me he was covered with manure. He was gasping, tongue lolling out and almost breathless, but obviously very happy and pleased with himself. I offered him the front seat, stinky poo and all, but he refused and trotted along with me until we reached our temporary home again. Once there I washed him off with pails of fresh water from the well and then he flopped down under a palm and slept.
The following morning the cowboy appeared at our door. I asked him in as I could tell something was on his mind. I suppose I should not refer to him as a cowboy as I think that should apply to a younger man. This man was middle age, the usual black hair, longish and combed back. He was grayish at his temples. He was wearing an expensive Stetson and was attired in clothing appropriate of a horse rider.
The first words he spoke were to ask if we’d sell Dude. He said he must have that dog and would want him at any price. When he spoke of money, he spoke, of course of the Costa Rican colónes. I quickly figured the exchange rate in my head for the amount he mentioned and it came to a about less than $800 US. He told me that Dude was one of a kind in his country and herding by dog is almost unknown, especially for cattle. And being a Doberman he wanted him all the more. I told him I could not part with him for any amount of money. I also told him that my dog was part of my life; he understood completely. He shook my hand, wished us luck with our venture of building cottages along the river’s edge and then he departed.
Later when we knew we were seriously ill, due to the aftermath of the earthquake, we decided to return to Miami for hospitalization and recovery.
We now reside in Lake Placid, Florida and are owners of the nicest little boarding kennel imaginable. And best of all we regained our health completely and doing just fine.
Country’s Dude CGC
1996 – 2006
You can click on any of the titles below to read the essay:
The Doberman and Cowboy ·
September 11 ·
Max the Rescue
· Paws Claws Scales and Tails
· Winter of 2006
· Mesu
· The Eggnog Doberman
· Dolphie