To be accurate, I suppose it would not be correct to call Peppy a Heart O' Gold Shetland Sheepdog. But no story about our kennel, or program would be complete without him. In fact, were it not for Peppy, Heart O' Gold Shetland Sheepdogs might not exist today.
Sometime during the late 1960's, when I was a teenager I encountered information regarding a miniature breed of Collie like dogs. As an animal lover even back then, I determined that our next dog should be a Sheltie. During the summer of 1970, when I was 17 years old, and between my junior and senior year in high school, I traveled on my own, to select and purchase a Sheltie puppy from a breeder in Tom's River, NJ, named Agnes Gordon. Agnes was mainly a Collie breeder, but had a Sheltie bitch named Gordon's Smokey Wee Bairn, that was bred to a Dog named Starlass Jamie of Astolat owned by Connie Hubbard of Astolat Kennels. Connie was one of the early Sheltie breeders who brought the breed to prominence in this country. She started her Sheltie program in 1929.
That summer day in 1970, I brought home a 6-1/2 week old mahogany sable, male, Sheltie puppy. We named him Peppy and this was the first Sheltie I ever owned. From the time I left Agnes' house early in the afternoon until about 9:00PM that night, Peppy never once barked. As new and inexperienced puppy buyers my family and I were worried that something was wrong with him, specifically we thought maybe he couldn't bark. So, I called Agnes that night and asked her. She chuckled; assured me that he could bark and told me to let him settle in. She also made a comment to the effect of 'enjoy it now while you can'. Sure enough the next morning he started to bark and play. And that was the beginning of our love affair with Shelties. The main remembrance that we carry from that first Sheltie summer is a picture of 6-1/2 week old Peppy sitting next to a miniature rose bush near our back door. In all our years of Sheltie ownership, this is probably one of the cutest pictures we have.
At the time we lived in, what I'll call a split ranch house. At the center of the main level was a 3 or 4 step change between living areas. As a puppy and young adult, Peppy would come tearing through the house and as he flew up these uncarpeted hardwood steps, he would bang the knuckle of his front paw joints against the bull nose of these steps. At the time we didn't realize the damage this would cause, but at about 3 to 4 years of age the vet told us he would be lucky to be walking by the time he was 8 or 10 years old. But true to Sheltie form, he never let this slow him down and he proved the vet wrong getting along in style until his death.
Peppy loved to play. This was one of those dogs that you see on TV chasing down a Frisbee and jumping 3 or 4 feet off the ground to snatch it from mid air. He was a terrific athlete and his judgement and coordination was second to none. We could throw in front, behind, double back, low, high, fast, floaters, it didn't matter. He would catch them on the run, over his shoulder, waiting for them to float down to him, or jumping high to snatch them. It didn't seem to matter where or how you threw them he always managed to get them. The same was true of fielding balls. I often thought that he could have been an all-star outfielder for any major league baseball team if they were allowed to have him.
Probably one of the most endearing things I remember was his fondness for a rear end scratch near the base of his tail. Every evening, and for that matter any other time he could manage it, when someone was laying on the couch, he would walk up, turn around, and back his butt right up to you. So, we would scratch him a little and then stop. He would stand there for a second and then with his feet planted he would turn his head back over his shoulder and give one little 'woof'. So, we would scratch a little more and stop. And he would look back and 'woof'. And we would scratch a little more. And he would look back and 'woof'. And on and on… He never tired of this. It was continual until he finally wore us out and we had to tell him to go lay down.
Now we've heard a lot of Sheltie owners talk about their singing dogs and we have certainly had our share, but Peppy's version had a unique twist. First, he had a very melodic voice and loved to sing. All we had to do to get him started was to go laaaaaa……laaaaaa……laaaaaa and pretty soon you would be joined by OOOOOO……OOOOOO……OOOOOO. Now here is the neat part. We found that we could not only get him to sing on demand, but we could control the volume by command. Imagine an orchestral conductor using his thumb and forefinger close together (maybe ˝" apart) to indicate 'softer' and maybe 3" apart to indicate 'louder'. We used these hand signals with the words 'softer' and 'louder' to control his volume. Once we had him singing we would go (small hand signal) 'softer' - oooooo……oooooo……oooooo, then (big hand signal) 'louder' - OOOOOO……OOOOOO……OOOOOO, then (small hand signal) 'softer' - oooooo……oooooo……oooooo, and so on. This added to the challenge and made him want to sing more and more. He was the Frank Sinatra of Shelties. Great voice, great tone, great control. Peppy was fun.
This was also a dog that knew what Christmas was. When the decorations came out he got excited. He new this meant company and he new this meant presents. We taught him from his first Christmas on that he could only open presents when we said it was all right. We also taught him to open them carefully. So, when the family was gathered, he waited patiently for his presents to unwrap and when we told him ok, he carefully used his front teeth to shred the paper a strip at a time from the package until the rest of the wrapping came loose. Inside was always a treat or toy of some sort. He so loved to do this that family members often saved their presents to let him unwrap for them. When we were done the living room looked like a huge pile of confetti. It was no small task with trash can in hand to pick up all the little shredded pieces of wrapping paper strewn all over the carpet. It was the highlight of our Christmases for all the years he was with us.
In the fall of 1971 I went away to college. Although it was only a 1-1/2 hour drive, I was only able to return home for holidays and about every 3rd weekend. At this point, Peppy basically became my parent's dog. From that time on the bond between Peppy and my father grew to the point that I could not consider taking him back when I graduated college and got my own home. Over the years Peppy became my father's shadow following him wherever he went. When my father moved, Peppy moved. He listened so well that we could take him for walks off lead and he would never stray more than 10 feet in front or behind us. If a car was coming, or we thought he was getting a little far away, a quick 'Peppy come' and he was right there beside us. At the time we knew nothing of obedience, agility, or flyball, but this dog would have excelled at them all.
Peppy was one of those dogs that always seemed healthy. Except for his arthritic paws, nothing ever seemed to bother him. When he was 14-1/2 years old my parents went on a trip to Florida for about 2 weeks. While they were away, Peppy stayed with my brother David at his home in Baltimore. One day during his stay with my brother, Peppy started to get sick. As bad luck would have it, it was January and before it became apparent that Peppy was in trouble, a very crippling snowstorm developed, which paralyzed Baltimore. With a very sick dog on his hands and feeling very responsible, my very frantic brother called every vet and emergency clinic in the city trying to find someone open. He finally located an emergency clinic all the way across town and started on his 2-hour ordeal in the storm. The whole way there Peppy was vomiting and in distress. With the feelings of guilt and the stress of driving in a one-foot snowstorm, it is hard to imagine the emotions that my brother, who was alone, must have dealt with. When he finally got there, David went into the bathroom to clean up and when he came out they told him that Peppy had died. So, now my poor brother had to call my parents, on vacation in Florida, and tell them that our beloved and very special Peppy had died while under his care. I have never known my father to cry, but I understand he cried off and on for days, as we all did. When he got home, he just kept saying that every time he got up he expected to trip over Peppy, or feel him tugging at his pants legs.
So, that is the story of Peppy. If he hadn't been such a personality, we might not have felt so hooked. But those Sheltie eyes and his loving ways had us hooked from the beginning. Because of Peppy's personality we went back to Connie Hubbard in 1987 to buy Woody. If you haven't read his story, you should. The similarities in personality that ran through her line 17 years after the purchase of Peppy are uncanny. In a way both Peppy's and Woody's stories are testament to the legacy that Connie Hubbard has left the Sheltie world.
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· Friends & Pets · Sheltie Tetherball · The Grapevine · Seasonal ·
· Rescue · Sheltie Links · Awards · Contact Us · Site Map ·
© 1999 - 2001 by John E. Rueckert - All Rights Reserved