Meeting Cow Dog

An older homeless man and his black and white border collie have been calling a street corner near my home their home for the past few months.

Today I decided I wanted to give away a doggie bed that was too big for my small dog, and the thought occurred to offer it to them. I walked over and said hi. The dog licked my hand, barked, wagged. Border collies are super smart dogs, full of energy and purpose. This one, bigtime. He knew his job, and part of his job was to protect his owner. Part of his job was apparently to lick anyone's hand who seemed chill.

The man said he wasn't sure if he could store the dog bed when he needed to move around, but said yes, and thanks, and took it. The dog sniffed it, wagged, probably recognized my pup's smell from it, and seemed super stoked. He sat right down on it.

Another neighbor nearby lets the man store some belongings in part of a shed. They allow to him use their address for disability checks, so he can receive his benefits from the government. No address, no benefits.

They're even gonna bring me a Thanksgiving plate,said the man, whose name I asked. I'll call him Robert, for this blog post.

His dog is Cow Dog. Big shaggy elegant muscular black and white dog. The dog looks so stately, even though he lives on the street with his human and hasn't had a bath in a while. Cow Dog is obviously loved.

I don't go anywhere without him, Robert said.

We got to talking. Robert's from Wyoming. So's Cow Dog. Once, they had a trailer. Both worked the ranches. Itinerant cowboy and his Cow Dog, working cattle throughout Wyoming.

The town they lived in was not far from Jackson Hole, 9,000 feet altitude or so.

Robert developed problems breathing over the years. Advanced COPD. Couldn't live at altitude.

Definitely couldn't work at altitude. Maybe couldn't work anywhere anymore. It's bad.

So now they're here, in Los Angeles. Pretty hard for a man like this to work, even if he could find work.

Harder still: find a room to rent that would allow Cow Dog.

Robert's had a few opportunities to get paid housing with his disability benefits, he explains. None of them would take dogs.

Nothing is going to separate me from Cow Dog. Nothing.

I told him I could relate. Living on the street as a teen. Cancer. The loneliness of that disease, and others. I ended up with a dog, during recovery. My dog helps me get through whatever life brings, now.

Asking you to separate from Cow Dog is like asking someone to give up their child, I said to Robert.

Yes!, and his eyes widened. You understand.

We understand.

I cannot solve Robert's problems. But I will bring him food, and food for Cow Dog, when I can.