Betty Birney’s Blog

My dog, Desi, has had several jobs. Her first job – and she understood this from Day 1 – was to be friend, confidante and guide to my son, Walshe. He was 11 at the time. (He’s about to turn 23.)

The other job, self-appointed but appreciated, was to provide home security. Desi is a people-friendly job, so security to her means keeping our property free of squirrels, skunks, rats, possums and any other marauding animals. Without her guidance (according to her), our yard and house would be overrun with these pests. On the other hand, I’ve looked out and seen a stranger wandering through our backyard (usually just the gas meter reader) while Desi lets out nary a peep. People are her friends.

Lately, I’ve been reminded time and time again of the work of dogs. When I was in Oklahoma City last winter and visited the bombing memorial, there was a section dedicated to the valiant rescue dogs who worked themselves until exhaustion, never giving up their search. The same went for 9/11. There are fire dogs and wonderful sheep herding dogs, too. (Think of Babe. If you haven’t seen it, do.) And don’t forget Nana in Peter Pan.

I saw another kind of working dog on our recent visit to the Rankin Ranch in Caliente, CA (see previous post). I became absolutely fascinated with Sassy. Sassy accompanies the three-times-a-day horse rides, and also the hayrides. I had a good chance to watch her carefully. Once a group of riders returns, Sassy races across the road and takes a quick nap in the shade. While she appears to be sleeping soundly as each rider is saddled up, just at the time the very last rider is ready to go, she leaps up, trots across the road and moves to the head of the line to guide them on one of several trails. She seems to know which trail they go on at any given time.

After her work, Sassy waits for a treat while Remy pets her. I’m in the cowboy hat with the red badn.

I have to admit, my riding days are over (and besides, somebody had to stay with granddaughter Remy while the others were riding) but I was gung-ho for the hayride on Sunday. As the tractor pulled the haywagon to a lovely, shady meadow, where we enjoyed the quintessential California barbecue (followed by a highly satisfying game of horseshoes), Sassy ran right along the rear of the wagon. She brought up the rear because she knew a reliable human was in front on the tractor. It was up to her to protect the rear flank. She trots along at an even pace (though I notice she takes an occasional shortcut). The work looks hard, tiring, hot …. but I could tell that Sassy could not live without her purpose in life.

I think the greatest frustration humans go through is not knowing or finding their purpose in life. Sassy doesn’t have that problem.

I know Desi would love her job and felt a little badly that she only has a large, highly-manicured yard to protect. But first thing in the morning and last thing at night, Desi checks the entire perimeter of the yard, blade of grass-by blade of grass. It’s work, all right, but she doesn’t mind.

It’s her job.

Yep. I was away for awhile. Out in the wide open spaces. Riding the range. Don’t fence me in. Back in the saddle again.

I’ve always had that cowgirl thing, because when I was growing up, the most popular TV shows and movies were Westerns. Westerns-westerns-westerns. I think we O.D.’d on Westerns but it took a long time. My heroine was Dale Evans. Sure, she was Roy Rogers girlfriend on TV (and wife in real life), but she was a great role model for girls. There weren’t many other spunky cowgirls out there. For a while, I believe I thought I was Dale Evans. Especially when my parents got my sister and me these cool cowgirl outfits. And Janet even had her own horse – Golden. The fact that Golden was made from a cardboard box did not lessen my fascination with him. Or was it a her? Anyway, my talented, artistic dad created a winner. (I definitely have to dig up a picture from the Wheel Parade where I wore that costume.)

This past weekend I finally got to live my fantasy for a little while. The whole family: children and spouses, granddaughter, Frank and I, went to the Rankin Ranch, about 2 1/2 hours from L.A., in Caliente, CA, not too far from Bakersfield. http://rankinranch.com

It’s a working cattle ranch that also is a fabulous spot for a family vacation. Through our dear friend, Carolyn Hart, we had met Helen Rankin, the matriarch of the family now sadly gone, and her son Bill and daughter-in-law Glenda. This ranch has been in the family for over 100 years and the family still runs it. So nice that the younger generation is still there!

It was my husband’s birthday. We celebrated by riding (okay, I didn’t), swimming, holding ping-pong, archery and pool tournaments. With two year-old Remy, we spent a lot of time with the baby animals. The pigs were especially entertaining. The highlight of the visit was a hayride, a barbecue in the meadow, followed by a horseshoe tournament we all loved. (But you do learn how competitive your family members are in an event like that.) It might have been the first time I’ve worn a cowboy hat since the picture above. Here I am with Walshe (that cowboy just moved to NYC) on the haywagon. We were just so sorry that his girlfriend, Ania, couldn’t leave her new job to join us …. but we’re going back.

Oh, and I got yelled at by a cow. There’s no other way to describe it. She wasn’t just yelling. She was yelling at me. I just wish I knew why!

I love the California landscape. I have more pictures I’ll share… and a special story about Sassy, the ranch dog.

Back to Dale Evans, I spoke in Victorville, CA in June. A huge, fabulous event! At lunch, I mentioned that the only time I’d been to Victorville was to visit the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum (now moved to Branson, in Missouri, my home state). My hostess said they had gone to her church and they were just as wonderful as they seemed in their movies. I don’t think I would have believed her if she’d told me otherwise – they were just too genuine. And you can still get their DVDs!

By now, I guess all schools have started. School seems to start a little earlier every year. When I was growing up, school never started before Labor Day. Even though stores were open all year long, there was always the ritual of buying your school wardrobe. It was as if once school started, there would never be a chance to buy clothes again. When I was very young, my mother took my sister and me downtown on the bus to shop. As the years went on, my mother learned to drive (at 40, bless her heart) and shopping centers in the suburbs developed.

Dark cottons. I haven’t heard those words in years, but we always shopped for dark cottons. That meant lightweight clothes in fall colors – mostly plaids as in the picture above – that would see you through the wilting heat of the midwest Indian Summer in late September. I still think longingly of dark cottons and plaids as fall approaches, though no one who grew up here in Southern California would know what I was talking about.

The above picture must have been my first day of Kindergarten (teacher: Mrs. Samuels). Don’t I look a little apprehensive? I think I was just ready to move on – the bus is waiting, get the picture over already! I still get that look if someone takes too long to take the picture. A funny note: look very carefully and you’ll see Nancy, my friend across the street, peeking out from behind me. I love the socks, the hair ribbon, the saddle shoes! This tall little girl (I am and always was tall) didn’t know she was about to fall in love with books … much less that she would write them some day!

This picture must have been the first day of First Grade (teacher: Mrs. Steinmetz). First grade was when I wore my hair in braids. I had school down by then. Don’t I look more confident? Besides, I got to go to school (usually walking except in bad weather) with my sister, Janet, who knew the ropes. What could go wrong? Nothing did.

All in all, I loved school. Sure, I loved learning but I loved the social aspects as well. And I knew that with each new year, I was growing up. I liked that. Nice to know that I’m still learning and growing up on a daily basis. Over the last two years, I’vd reconnected with a couple of people I grew up with, especially Dale Gebhardt, who lived in my neighborhood and was in school with me from K-12. He has a much better memory than I do. He probably remembers the bus driver that day. More about bus drivers (Carl, particularly, and Sam) some other time. (Hint: I always think of Carl at Easter.)