2008 January | Rough & Smooth Collie Info by Collie Dog Owners

THE COLLIE: Rough & Smooth

The Collie. Rough or smooth, he's got it all - poise, confidence, intelligence, and beauty. No other breed is more recognized than he. As he stands erect, ears cocked, and his deep chocolate eyes shining in anticipation, nothing screams magnificence more than this gorgeous dog.
Everywhere he goes, this gorgeous canine is greeted with the awe-struck stares of everyone who passes by. For all who own a collie (or two.. or five..), you know firsthand of the pride that swells every time someone gazes in amazement at your pet.

So who is this fabulous dog? Where did the he come from? As a concerned collie dog owner, you have come to the right place for all rough and smooth collie information. Explore through our pages and learn all about the wonderful collie dog. To begin, head on over to Intro to Collies where you will find fast facts and general information about the collie breed.

Bit of Collie History

This famous breed, made popular by the most famous TV collie Lassie in the early 1900's, has not always been around. The magnificent show ring beauty that you notice on today's collies did not begin to take form until the 1800's.
Do you know why collies were first bred? Although their true history remains somewhat unknown, it is believed that they were first used over in Europe to help their master herd flocks of sheep on the grassy hills. (Continue reading about Collie Origins...)

LATEST ARTICLES:

The Littlest Puppy

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He wasn’t the biggest collie pup in the litter. Two others were bigger than him, and both had drifted into a sleep from which there would be no awakening. As gentle hands lifted him out of the whelping box and offered a bottle, he nuzzled into the tips of each finger, searching for his mother. But, his mother was gone now. She had breathed her last, and he was alone.

“Come on, Little Fella,” the voice said to him … “Give it a try.” But, the milk offered to him from a bottle tasted nothing like the milk of his mother.

“He’s refusing the bottle,” someone said. “If he doesn’t nurse soon, he isn’t going to make it.”

Gentle hands held him close to a chest beating with a heart of gold.

“You can do it, Little Fella. It’s OK. You can do it.”

But it wasn’t OK.

The mother collie, dam of champions and herself a champion as well, had not counted on the raccoon that found its way into her kennel run.

Scrounging for food, the coon rejoiced upon finding left-over kibble from that night, and the night before, as the mother lay with her newborn puppies in her nest box. This was great. This was easy.

But, that night, the mother collie woke from her spell. Was that a sound?
Was something shaking the chain-link fencing of her kennel? Lifting her head, she caught sight of the raccoon just as it dropped to the ground and headed straight for her food dish.

With a deep, throaty growl, she warned the intruder to leave, but he didn’t stop. Ignoring her, the raccoon, secure in being the survivor of many seasons, and larger than average besides, rolled on.

NO! the collie barked. Get out! Get away from here!

Or, what? the creature seemed to ask, turning to face her. Do you really think you can hurt me? Look at you. Such a funny creature. Look at your ears. I could rip those ears to shreds with my claws. Your neck? I could jump on your back and sink my teeth into it. Your belly? Look at that soft flesh. I could tear it open and laugh. Leave me alone, he seemed to say, I’m hungry.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the champion, after being coddled and favored by her proud and doting owners, had become soft. After winning many ribbons, and retiring to a life of ease, maybe she had lost her edge. With food every day, whether she wanted it or not; with a warm, dry place to sleep and people attending to her every need, maybe she had forgotten the nature of her wild ancestors who carved their way in the wild.

The raccoon finished every last morsel of feed that the nursing collie had been too preoccupied to care about. And then he heard it: The whisper-squeal of a collie puppy as his mother shifted her position to better watch the intruder and guard her treasure.

What’s this? The raccoon seemed to wonder. Dessert? What luck! Making his way toward the nest box, he paid no heed to the warning growls coming from within.

From somewhere inside, deep within her mind, a flood of courage washed through the mother dog. Roaring with all her strength, she alerted the household and the other sheepdogs kenneled around her. No! You cannot — you cannot — have my babies!

Lights from the house! Shouting! Running! Only to see a swirling mass of fur and muscle, teeth and glaring eyes, as the worlds of wild and domestic clashed. “Stay back!” someone called out. “We can’t get one without hurting the other!”

Bravely, the beautiful tricolor collie fought. Furiously, the raccoon bristled with anger.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” somebody cried, as dogs leaped and lunged in their kennel runs.

“I can’t! I can’t shoot into the fencing and the other dogs!”

Blood-curdling screams! A raccoon mortally wounded … a magnificent mother collie dead.

“The puppies! Oh, no . . .”

Scattered about the kennel yard, trampled and still, lay their tiny, lifeless bodies. “She must have jumped up and attacked while they were nursing,” a young woman said, picking them up and cradling them in her arms as she counted them, shining her flashlight into the nest box.
“Mom! Dad! Look what I found!”

He wasn’t the biggest collie pup in the litter. Two others were bigger than him, and both had drifted into a sleep from which there would be no awakening . . . .

_______________________

The rest of the story:
By Ron H.

Years ago, I had purchased a prized dog in Texas and she was in whelp.
It was during the summer and the airlines wouldn’t fly a dog anywhere until the temperatures cooled off. As a result, she was boarded there at a large kennel in the country and the puppies were born in Texas.

One night, I received a call. I was stunned. A cougar had made its way into the kennel compound during the night and only one puppy survived.

I never did fly that puppy out of Texas. He was bottle-raised by the kennel manager’s daughter and he stayed with their family. Like his dam, he became a winner, and he is still with them to this day.

Sometimes, the littlest puppy can be the greatest treasure of them all.

“On With The Show!” - RH.

============================

Author/Artist RON HEVENER specializes in animals and the romantic, adventurous people who love them. Mr. Hevener’s collectible figurines and the prints from his novels (”Fate of the Stallion!” … “The Blue Ribbon” … “High Stakes”) are now bought and traded throughout the world. Today, Ron Hevener’s illustrated animal stories are published regularly in magazines, newsletters, newspapers and on websites around the globe.

“Your life is a movie,” he says. “On With The Show!”

www.ronHevener.com

Rough Collie YouTube Video

His Master’s Smile

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He had won.

He had done his master proud and he had won.

It wasn’t that he understood exactly “what” he had done to make everyone so happy. It wasn’t as if he had fought off a raging bear, or saved a lost child like Lassie would have. He hadn’t run for help or chased a thief away from those he loved. He hadn’t done any of those things you see on TV. He hadn’t done anything but be himself, standing before a crowd of strangers, beside the one he loved. And, there it was: His master’s hand upon his shoulder; his master’s voice at his ear; his master’s smile upon him.

It wasn’t always like this. In the long-ago mists of Before, when he nudged his sable mother’s breast and scrapped with his brothers and sisters, he was blind to the life that lay ahead of him, blind to anything but himself. Listening into the night, his mother’s breath comforted him in a world of what he could feel, hear, or sense around them. But, from his earliest awakening, he was aware of a presence around him; an intelligence. From as far back as he could think, there seemed to be a mysterious something watching over them, providing an order to things; a mysterious someone who seemed to care.

Day after day it was like this. Day after day, as he dozed in the manner of the newborn, he felt himself touched by something greater than he, himself, seemed to be. It wasn’t that he knew himself. It wasn’t as if he knew he was any different from a rock or a tree or the flowers decorating his life. He only knew that his life was protected by someone that could change anything around him.

It was a power that could change the bedding on which he lay. It could bring him food. It could bring water. It could take away his mother, making him wonder if she would ever return. It could fill the air with music all night long and calm him with a reassuring voice.

From the moment he first saw it, he knew he was important to this powerful someone. He knew it from the moment he felt his master’s smile upon him.

As it is with all young colliesthere were ups and there were downs.

There was the time he escaped and followed a yellow butterfly. Yes, it was true he could hear his name being called. It sounded nice, hearing his master shout his name to the Heavens and fade into the distance.
But, a yellow butterfly! Now that was something he had to know about.

He had to know about all kinds of things in the Early Days. He had to know about powdery wings that fluttered and lifted a butterfly into the air. Did he have wings, too, he wondered? Where were his own wings? … Where, he suddenly wondered with a sinking feeling in his belly, was his master’s voice? Yellow butterflies melted into darkness and shivers as he learned the meaning of loneliness … and longing.

A light! The rustling, crunching sound of dry leaves and familiar footsteps! Was it possible? “There you are!” came the words that showed him all things are possible even when all is lost. “I’ve been looking for you,” came the caress of love as they turned for home and he felt his master’s smile upon him ….

There were other times, many of them, when he tried new things.

Some were praised and others were not. But through it all, through the good times and the bad, his spirit flourished and he grew. As his spirit grew, so did the body in which it dwelled. He grew taller, stronger, and wiser with his master never far away; feeding him, watering him, turning on the radio and filling the night with music ….

With his master’s help, he grew to understand that collars, leashes and manners were important things to know about. He grew accustomed to riding in a car, accustomed to the slippery floor of a veterinarian’s office and the bitter taste of medicine … He grew accustomed to many things, to please the one he loved.

There were others like his master. As time went by, he saw many of these gods, for that’s what they were to him. He heard them speak and did not understand their words, he saw their eyebrows raise and fall, he saw the gesture of their hands and felt their laughter. “Is that thing worth showing?” they asked.

“We’ll see,” came the answer from the one who mattered to him most.
“His mother is the best one I have and his sire is a winner.”

As spring burned into summer and summer leaves began to fall, they worked. They worked together, side by side, early in the morning. They roamed the pasture and fields, just the two of them, a master and his collie dog; a master and his collie dog sharing a secret. “You can do it,” he was told. “I know you can.”

After what seemed like endless mornings and endless nights, when it felt as if this would be his lot in life forever, something changed.

“We’ve done enough now, my friend. It’s time to show them.”

Show them? Show them what? What are we going to show them?

“We’re going to show them what you were born to be,” came the answer, as he felt his master’s smile upon him.

He was frightened that day. Was he good enough? Would he do the right thing or would he let his master down? What was ahead for him, he wondered, as he hopped into the car. Were they going to the vet’s office? Please say they weren’t going to the vet’s office for shots or medicine. But, they weren’t going to the vet. This time, they drove past the vet. He breathed a sigh of relief and fell asleep.

It was the sounds that woke him: sounds of barking, air compressors and excited chatter. The smell of sausage, French fries and dogs — hundreds of them; more dogs than he had ever seen in his life — lured him to full attention. Where are we, he wondered, pressing his nose against the window. What’s happening?

“Come on, fella,” his master said, opening the door and snapping on a leash after they came to a stop. “Good boy!”
“Good” is what he always tried to be. Was it his imagination, or was his master standing extra tall today? Was his master brushing him with extra-careful attention? Were people looking at them in a different way than they used to?
“Where’d you get that one?” somebody with a poodle asked.
“Bred him myself,” came the answer.
“Yeah? Who’s he out of?”
“The best one I have and his sire’s a winner.”
“Wait a minute -” came a voice of disbelief. “That can’t be the one I saw at your place. That pup was just about the scrawniest thing I ever saw!”

Nobody had ever told him he was scrawny. Nobody had ever told him he was any different from a flower or a cloud or a beautiful butterfly. Nobody had ever told him anything … except that he was important; except that he was loved.

The class was called, the entries filed into the ring … proudly, he stood as the judge ran her hands through his hair, over his back and down his legs. Down and back they trotted; around the ring they went. As still as a living statue he stood, though every fiber of his being wished to jump into his master’s arms.

One by one the entries went through their paces. One by one, they went to the end of the line. One by one, they waited the judge’s brave decision.

“Around again, please,” she directed … and, sure of herself, she
pointed: “One! … Two! … Three! … Four!” as the crowd clapped their approval.

No, it wasn’t as if he understood exactly “what” he had done to make everyone so happy. It wasn’t as if he had fought off a raging bear, or saved a lost child. He hadn’t run for help or chased away a thief. He hadn’t done any of those things. He hadn’t done anything but be himself, standing bravely before a crowd of strangers; standing beside the one he loved. There it was: His master’s hand upon his shoulder; his master’s voice at his ear; his master’s smile upon him.

——————————————————-
Figurines, paintings, and stories by author/artist RON HEVENER are collected by collie and animal lovers everywhere. Visitors to Hevener’s studio can see the collies, horses and wildlife that inspire novels like Fate of the Stallion, The Blue Ribbon and High Stakes.

“Your life is a movie, and you write the script,” he says. “On With The Show!”
www.RonHevener.com

The Lochranza Kennel Story

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THE MAKING OF A NOVEL … or … “How I Wrote The Blue Ribbon”

Changing your life is easy. All you have to do is write a novel. Of course, you have to live a little before you’ve got anything interesting to say. Which means, you could end up with a house full of heartache and lots of gray hair by the time you’ve got enough to tell a story. In my case, it took 443 pages and every one of them felt like a year.

“The Blue Ribbon” isn’t a novel that happened overnight. Much of it was lived by the characters before anyone knew a novel was being hatched. If I remember right, an imaginative dress designer and the richest girl in town getting to know each other wasn’t the start of the story at all. The story behind the making of the paperback novel that’s creating such a buzz right now goes way back to a hot afternoon on July 8, 1945. That’s when a plump, dark-haired young bookkeeper named Jackie Kauffman got off a bus and walked along a dirt road to a farm house in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and got herself a Collie puppy. Me? Forget about me. I wasn’t even born yet. Jackie and I wouldn’t meet for another twenty years and that’s getting ahead of our story.

Jacqueline M. Kauffman grew up in a big Victorian house on the edge of a town called Manheim. There were two Kauffman girls: A glamorous one who looked like a movie star and a plain one who would spend her life working at a dull job in a big company and never marry. The plain one was Jackie, later to become the wealthy Esmeralda in “The Blue Ribbon.”

She was quite a romantic, this unmarried woman. Her rambling house was filled with paperback novels and there were lists of sensual names for the many puppies she registered over the years. The name “Lochranza”
was selected from such a novel. She said it was the name of a retreat for the Scottish monarchy.

The Kauffman girls didn’t have a father at home and I know Jackie grew up missing her Dad. But, Mother, a bitter, scowling woman, had chased him off and never liked men much after that. She ruined a love affair for Jackie by sending the police after the man and catching them. If I tell you Jackie was in her Thirties at the time, it might give you an idea of the power exerted by Mother Kauffman. Maybe that’s why Jackie’s heart went out to Collies: They’re always cheerful. Maybe that’s why she took off for dog shows almost every weekend: To get away.

Lochranza Kennels was a perfectly maintained enterprise advertising in all the right magazines and winning top honors when it was my turn to look for a puppy. I remember the clean, beautiful dogs; the flowers everywhere; the carefully mowed lawn and the freshly painted house. I remember Mother Kauffman, much like the character Dorothy Jacobus in the story none of us knew I would one day write, busying herself as she swept the porch - listening to every word.

Buying my first purebred puppy that day, I didn’t know I was meeting the one who would take me into the world of purebred animals where I would “make my name.” I didn’t know I would be trusted to handle the Lochranza Collies in the show ring for Jackie, help to develop the bloodline and that, one day, Lochranza Collies would be known throughout the world. I just knew I had found a friend.

Jackie liked to read to me. She read every one of the Albert Payson Terhune books to me as I brushed and fed the dogs. And she liked to cook good, old-fashioned Pennsylvania Dutch pot pie. Oh, I miss that!
Mmmm!

As the years went by, she would call me to the kennel every time a new Collie magazine arrived. These were my lessons. And she was tough! We would sit at her kitchen table and go through those magazines page by page, studying every picture and reading every article.

“What do you think about this dog?” she’d ask.

“I like him,” I’d say.

“What! Can’t you see how long he is in the hock? You’d better take another look!” she’d scold, real stern. And then she’d laugh.

I think she liked me.

As the years went by, I married and moved away. I had daughters of my own and lost touch with Jackie. One day, on an impulse, I thought I must go to a dog show again. It was Mother’s Day and I remember seeing a familiar woman walking across the field. Beside her was a Sable Collie with a huge coat; obviously her treasure. “Jackie! Jackie!”

She stopped, turned around, and smiled so big I could feel it all the way through me. I introduced my young daughter and we talked about Collies. She told me she hadn’t bred any litters for several years and I asked why. She had no answer for me, but I knew: Jackie was losing interest in life.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Not if I had anything to do with it. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how dreams keep us alive. It didn’t matter to me that the big Victorian house in Manheim was now crumbling; that the flowers shared their beds with weeds; that the classy sign in front of the property had long since fallen down. These things could be fixed up. And over the next ten or fifteen years, Jackie and I planned a new life for Lochranza Kennels.

By this time, Jackie was retired and could spend all her time on the Kennel. She did, in fact, become an heiress at this point and delighted in carrying $20,000 certificates of deposit in her purse, knowing she could buy anything she really wanted to. What she wanted was the best Collies in the Breed and she knew she would have to create them. Collies were losing type, she decided. They didn’t move like they used to. Their muzzles were becoming too pointed; necks were short. There were a few scattered around the country that still pleased her. And there was one in particular. If we could only send our best females to him for breeding, Lochranza would have the kind of puppies she wanted. But, Jackie didn’t trust sending her dogs away to be bred.

News that she had bought one of most valuable show dogs in the Breed at the height of his career made headlines in the international Collie community. The arrival of Ch. Amberlyn’s Bright Tribute (A noble Mahogany Sable known simply as “Kane”) from Alaska sent shivers through her competing kennels in the Eastern United States. She didn’t stop there. Driven by a bigger picture, she searched the whole country and bought mates for Kane as well. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was selecting the dogs for me, and they were the final foundation stock on which to build the Lochranza breeding program.

One afternoon, I received a call from the “Glamorous sister.” Could I hurry to Jackie’s house and see if she was all right? She had been taken ill the day before and refused to stay at the hospital. “The dogs need me.” The ambulance crew drove her home, sat her in her favorite chair, and left. I found Jackie in that same chair the next afternoon, still alive, and begged her to let me call the ambulance again. Only when I promised I would take care of the Collies did she allow me to make that call. She never returned home again.

Before she died, Jackie left the kennel to me and told me how to manage the breeding program. It isn’t often that a kennel lives on into a second generation in this way, but the American Kennel Club worked with me to transfer ownership and continue Jackie’s labor of love. I took Kane to her funeral and his image is carved on her grave stone. The marker says, “Famed Collie Breeder.”

Today, all the Lochranza Collies are related to Kane. Some trace to him as many as ten and twelve times within a six or seven generation pedigree. What are we finding? First of all, you must realize that all of our original breeding stock was tested for health before we started the line breeding program. So, the health of the Lochranza Collies has been maintained. Yet, I can say that our pups today are better in some respects than the original stock. They are among the heaviest-boned Collies you will ever see. And huge coats! They move free and easy.
Recently, a judge, a woman in her sixties, said she hasn’t seen Collies like this in many years.

“Did you hear that, Jackie?” I want to ask. The chills running up and down my arms tell me she did.

================================================

Ron Hevener
Lochranza Kennels
1338 Mountain Road
Manheim, Pennsylvania 17545

Phone: 717.664.5089
Fax: 717.665.4651
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.ronhevener.com

Mr. Hevener is the author of “The Blue Ribbon” (Pennywood Press).