Victor Davis Hanson
As one nears 70 years old, already arrived at Solon’s ebb tide and last age of man, all the old, ingrained habits begin to become burdensome. What once was pleasurable Hesiodic “work upon work upon work” becomes a swollen knee for a week, a sore shoulder for three days, a burning muscle each night. Is not the alternative of a Lazy-Boy with a remote tempting rather than washing 47 windows every six months, or keeping seven faucets from dripping, or saying each week to a stranger, “Oh, no, no, no—You can’t park in the orchard”?
Or so the poet reminds me of ridiculousness, “I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.”
Queensland Healers/Australian Cattle Dogs
I confess the more I tire of Queensland Heelers, the more I seem to have acquired them. Bred out of Australia as a mix originally of wild Dingoes and a variety of collies and other domestic herding dogs, they sometimes treat you as if you were a cow, their ostensible master, to be herded in their direction rather than a master to be worshiped.
They are loyal and protective—and volatile and neurotic. They feign nipping the ankles of their masters but do nip the lower legs of those they distrust, which can include almost any stranger who seems unknown to their masters. Over the last 30 years I have a ring of scars on my ankles from dozens of pseudo-nips that on occasion got real.
They have to be walked a least a mile or so twice a day, as well as have an acre or so on which to roam; otherwise, they seem to get antsy and irascible. Some days their dingo DNA dominates as they search out corners and nooks to burrow into where only their sharp teeth protrude, as if they were back in their Australian holes, seeking protection from a variety of enemies.
Their eye/paw coordination is stunning. They can catch food thrown high into the air with ease or find a crumb dropped in a sea of leaves. In packs, their yelping can grow eerie, as if they are reverting to their wild sides, especially when coyote mobs get too close to their yard or the local SWAT caravan, sirens blaring, raids yet another drug den.
They are creatures of habit. Forget to close the gate to the yard and they bark to bother you. Forget to turn off the night light above their igloos and they bark to reprimand you. Forget to park the car in the garage and they bark to warn you. Do they bark to ensure you too are habit bound—and thus remember to feed them precisely at 6 AM and again at 4 PM, and to keep their water bowls full and their crap picked up by 7 AM?
Until they age to 10 years or more, they see or hear almost anything and are afraid of nothing. Their strange, dappled coats—ποικιλός the Greeks would have called the spotted fur—alligator-like mouth, pointed ears, and yelping seem to deter intruders. I know strangers who have come to the house claiming they fear Queenslands as much as traditional German Shepherds or Dobermann guard dogs. I have seen them fight as if they were wolves. And once they get going, they are difficult to separate. Pound for pound they are ferocious but not as dangerous or unpredictable as pit bills or some of the more Germanic guard breeds.
Endurance is their forte. For over a decade I would hike up to Kaiser Peak, and at 10,000 feet they trotted as if at sea-level. After a seven-hour hike they were rarely winded. They can snore and sleep for hours, but if you walk toward the orchard, they leap up, not to be left behind on the bi-daily prowl.
All our four mutts are rescue dogs. Two seem more “purebred” and two more mongrel Queenslands. As I age, their quirks and nuttiness seem not so adorable anymore, and so wear more so than they did in my thirties. Perhaps the rub is obtaining them from pounds where no doubt they were maltreated, although the ones I have bought from breeders seemed little different. Idiosyncratic is a euphemism for them. Weird an understatement. Human-like more like it. Neurotic and paranoid perfect.
Still, I think in the next round of dogs, I’ll regress to and relax with a Lab or Golden Retriever or some such mellow hounds that don’t bark in unison at the moon, become frenzied at the sign of an Amazon truck, or tax the memory whether they have met and remembered a visitor and thus give him a pass, or believe him a novel intruder with canine fireworks to follow.
Last night “Spike” barked at 2 AM. You see “Sporty” took his igloo, identical to his own and wouldn’t budge. No matter—but if you don’t put the rightful owners in the rightful houses, then you will be up all night.
Discussion (24)
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Log In to CommentLovely column with a brilliant finish - "if you don’t put the rightful owners in the rightful houses, then you will be up all night". That says it all about most of our country's problems.
I would love to have one! My favorite bloodhound—portrayed in “Best in Show”.🥰
I have a question. Are they “heelers” because they go after heels or because they stay “at heel”. Your description of your ankles makes me inclined to think the former. My little Cuban chicken herder, aka Havanese, passed away but she was a true “heeler” and I have the scars to prove it. I miss the abuse! This was a wonderful read-thank you!
When VDH fully retires, he ought get a bloodhound or two. A true "pal" dog with true heart. As a matter of fact, when he does fully retire, he ought name his first hound "PAL." All his rural and academic efforts will be highly rewarded by soulful eyes by the fireplace.
If more humans exhibited the character traits of the Heeler we would all be better off. Great essay Victor. PS They are still widely used as working dogs in rural Australia, and feared by leftists intent on door knocking at election time.
How you write of nipped ankles and alligator mouths in a such a soothing voice I'll never know, but I like it!
Labs are awesome, we are on our 4th. Our rescue male Rottweiler however is the most loyal “Velcro” dog I’ve ever had, sweet and a teddy bear at home but on full patrol when we walk our neighborhood. He never leaves my side if he can help it. Thank you for this story:)
You so accurately describe the ACD. I've had two females over the course of 29 years. My first ACD was Angel. I got her as a pup from a back yard breeder. She was present during the years my two sons were growing up. Angel was devastated, as was the whole family, when my husband died. Angel lived to be 15, and passed away at home with me holding her during a seizure. I held off on getting another ACD for a few years. About 6 years later I got a second female ACD pup, Mitzie. She is now 8. Always a companion, and wanting to be with me at all times when I'm at home. Pre-covid we did agility, mainly for fun and to keep her active. Yes, ACDs can try one's patience. However, I feel a deep connection with these dogs and likely will have at least one as long as I'm able. Thank you for sharing your experience.
Very nice and engaging essay. Thank you.
A tired cattle dog is a good cattle dog. Once you own one, you will always have another.
Oddly, I feel as if you describe my cadre of Scottish Terriers. I have always maintained 3 of them, hence #wethreescotties, but indeed they do match the description of your Queenies. Though smaller in stature, they are perhaps equal or greater in attitude. Beware to the fox or rabbit within their surprising reach. Thanks as always for the excellent content.
I always liked Labs, but ended up with an Aussie. Best and smartest I've ever owned. He looks into your eyes and can read your mind, which scares some people...
I’ve had many dogs and cats throughout my life. All great companions in their own way. Happily, I’ve outlived all of them. No ebb tide of death for this 73 year old. Until the time comes, of course. However, whenever the subject of dingos comes up, I can’t help but recall Elaine’s iconic words from Seinfeld: “The dingo ate your baby!” Must be proclaimed in a barely passable fake Australian accent. https://youtu.be/sYTIGXvc88Y
Once again you paint a brilliant picture Dr. Hanson. Thank you for many years of brilliant pictures, salient insights and observations.
Bravo
There is a reason my husband and I keep cats. Thank you for the lovely and loving essay.
We have two golden doodles.... fantastic companions and great watchdogs. They tend to match our energy levels. They're excited and playful when we are, and they also "chill out" when things are quiet...
I concur with Jill Clark's comment. And being a lover of all dogs, I especially like this essay.
As a senior, your article resonated with me. I loved your description of the dingo dogs. What interesting companions they make. And as a bonus, I think they would eat anyone who threatened you.
Amen and thank you again Dr. Hansen.
One of our favorite sayings is, “Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.” Sounds like even Victor’s dogs have staff! lol That golden retriever is a good idea, you won’t be disappointed.
This is my favorite type of essay from Victor. Charming, humorous, nostalgic.
My wife acquired a 130 pound American Bulldog while I was away to give her a better sense of protection. (This followed a late night encounter she had with the sheriff and a faulty alarm, but that is another story) Rocky was a rescue dog, a couple years old. First time I saw him he was guarding our back gate and I actually called the house for safe passage. Who was to know that this dog had no fear, and not a single cell of aggression He loved everyone. He hated hot weather, and we lived in Central Cal. The pool was his best friend, even though he could not swim, just stand in the shallows and pant. He must have overheard our plan to flee California for the happier environs of hot Arizona. He must have overheard this plan because one morning, after our long walk through the almond orchards, he just lay down and a few hours later had peacefully passed away. I loved that dog, he was my best friend!! But he sure wasn't worth much on guard duty.
I noticed the picture initially because I have 3 majestic dobies. The relationship you have with these marvelous animals , no matter the breed, is one that is difficult to describe. I think only a dog lover really gets a for me , I can visualize every detail of your companions nipping, running and forever claiming their territory as you most surely are.