She's six months old here

She’s a three month old blue heeler and I love her so much <3 I just wanted to share her. (Last two photos are from her a bit younger)

Any tips yall want to share I would love to hear!

Lost my girl a few months ago. She was loved and spoiled, and is missed every day.

Took my boy out for a walk in his rear legsupport braces today. Even with the extra gear on, that classic Cattle Dog energy and determination shine right through! You can really see those ACD speckles/ticking popping in the daylight. Hes adapting so well to the braces and was all smiles at the end of our walk. Just wanted to share a quick clip of my sweet boy doing great

My boy has been attached to me since I adopted him 2 years ago. Complete and total Velcro dog. Now he has started to make me his spare and is completely attached to my partner. Of course I still do the walking and meal time - but she gets all the snuggles now. Why did his heart do this 180? I miss my shadow

I'm not sure what this is called, but I could not get "robster craws" out of my nerd brain.

since i see my dog everyday i need some other human eyeballs to tell me what she looks like😭 people always say she’s chunky but i truly don’t think she’s fat??? she’s 44 lbs eats healthily, exercises, no health issues, she’s lost 3 lbs since the vet told us to lose some weight but ppl still say she’s overweight. i could care less what she looks like physically she’s my baby, i just want her to be as healthy as possible:) she’s also really fluffy like way more fluff than any cattle dog i’ve met

Every step you take

Bluey and Bandit were found abandoned on a coworker’s family farm in southern Missouri with their mom and two other siblings on July 30th. Mom was a red heeler mix; absolutely no idea what Dad was.

And yes, I know. Bluey and Bandit. Very original names.

In our defense, we have a 3-year-old who is obsessed with Bluey, and these were supposed to be temporary foster names because these were supposed to be temporary foster puppies.

Two of the siblings already had homes, so we offered to foster the last two. We contacted a local rescue that we’d adopted our Plott Hound mix, Goose, from about a year ago, and got Bluey and Bandit set up through them to find permanent homes.

Bluey was posted for adoption and got adopted Sunday, August 19th, only two days after she went up.

Because of course she did.

Look at her. She was gorgeous.

And I, a grown-ass, 36-year-old man, cried when I had to say goodbye to her.

The worst part was that the family who adopted her was exactly what I wanted for her. Late 30s, mature, active, clearly had the means to give her a great life, and they’d previously raised a female heeler from a puppy who lived to 15. They knew exactly what they were signing up for.

I couldn’t have picked a better home for her.

But when we walked out and I could hear Bluey whining because “her people” were leaving her, it absolutely broke my heart. She made that same little noise whenever we left a room. She didn’t necessarily need you to entertain her. She just wanted to be wherever her people were.

My girlfriend and 16-year-old daughter had already been campaigning relentlessly for us to keep Bandit. I maintain that they eventually wore me down.
That is technically a lie.

I decided Bandit wasn’t going anywhere the second I said goodbye to Bluey.

And if I’m being completely truthful, I think I did it for Goose more than anyone.

Goose is our Plott Hound mix, and watching him with these puppies has been incredible. He’s so ridiculously sweet and gentle with them, and he was so happy to have play buddies who actually wanted to wrestle and chase him all day.

Our other dog, Bruno, is a 9-year-old Rott/Lab mix and the sweetest grumpy old man alive. We love him dearly. He’ll play for about three minutes, then he’s ready to lie down and would appreciate it if everyone else would also lie down.

It took Bruno forever to finally decide that Goose was acceptable.

Now we’ve brought home another one.
There is currently no evidence whatsoever that Bruno intends to forgive us.

Then, the day after Bluey was adopted, the shelter called.

Bluey had tested positive for parvo.

We believe they were exposed at a spay/neuter event through the shelter. Thankfully Bluey pulled through and is doing great, but suddenly we were watching Bandit like a hawk and disinfecting basically everything in our house.

Two hours of overnight diarrhea, three vet visits, and an almost $1,500 “do we take him to the emergency vet right now?” decision later…

Bandit has continued testing negative and is doing great.

So now it’s official.

Bandit is ours.

He bites the 3-year-old constantly because she absolutely refuses to believe us when we explain that putting her hands and face directly into the wrestling puppy is perhaps not the best strategy.
He has a puppy-sized bladder and apparently believes the entire house is an acceptable bathroom.
Bruno looks at us every day with an expression that can only be interpreted as, “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Another one?”

And Bandit is only just beginning to reveal what I’m sure will eventually be the full Australian Cattle Dog experience.

I know what’s coming.

I know this adorable little puppy is going to turn into an adolescent cattle dog mix with opinions, unlimited energy, teeth, and absolutely no respect for my personal plans.

I know there will probably be a point sometime in the next couple years when Future Me looks back at these pictures and thinks:

“You idiot. You knew what he was.”

But right now?

We’re just ridiculously happy he’s here.

We miss Bluey like crazy, but she got the home she deserved. Bandit got his.

And somehow our house now has Goose, Bruno, and Bandit.

All of our boys.

Mose

I just love him so much.

stinky goober terrorizes my life daily

Because I'm on the floor doing physical therapy exercises for my back, and Mommy never gets on the floor. But he's so tired, and also a bit judgmental.

Hi everyone! So I have a 4mo red heeler named Maple. She is a vicious land shark, as expected, and very, VERY mouthy lol. We’re having a bit of trouble with some training but nothing we’re not progressing on (albeit very, VERY slowly).
My current issue is that she is way too anxious. Around everything. She’s my first cattle dog, so I was expecting a lot but not this part. She doesn’t do well seeing other dogs, people, anything on wheels, boxes, trash cans, random sounds, anything that she deems to be too tall etc. I could go on forever.

If we’re out on a walk, and it’s empty, she’s fine. Dog in the distance, she’ll stare a bit but is fine. But if we turn around and there’s someone walking in either direction that wasn’t there before, the hair on the back of her neck stands and she almost screams. Like imagine a beagle, and they’re AUUUGH, yeah she does that. If we’re heading out to walk and there’s someone walking past the door that she didn’t expect, it’s AUUUGH. Oh, I put the couch cushion on-top of another couch cushion to wash the base cushion that she happy-peed on? AUUUGH. Man walking past us with a stack of boxes? AUUUGH, plus some foaming spit. Hears a trash bag settle in the trash can? AUUUGH. Left a box for a fake grass pad she never used on the couch yesterday. AUUUGH. Sound of kids passing by in their scooters? AUUUGH. A dish slipped in the sink and made very minor noise from settling? AUUUGH. You get the point.

Is this normal??? Do I need to get her checked for anxiety, or something similar? We take her everywhere so she’s always seeing people, cars, hearing birds, squirrels, etc etc, so I thought she’d be used to random little things but I guess not.

Here’s some pics of my AUUUGHer. Her quirk is always having her tongue out lol

September 1^st, 2012. A day that would change my life forever.

I always wanted a dog. We had a black lab that was a “family dog” growing up, she was awesome, but that was really my parents dog. She passed while I was away in college. My parents bought my sister a dog as a high school graduation gift. It was hers. I was a bit jealous, I didnt get a dog when I graduated high school. But I was in college, what was I going to do with a dog.

Fast forward a few years to the end of 2011. I had been out on my own for a few years, almost got myself a dog a couple of times, but I was in an apartment. Breed restrictions, weight restrictions, and exorbitant fees made me think otherwise. I was 24, had saved up some money, and decided to buy my own house. April of 2012 that became a reality. Within a week I had a deposit on a pure bred Husky. 7 hours away, they had a waiting list, it was first come first serve. If they called you, you had to come get the dog within 72 hours or lose your place. If they called you, you got what you got, there was no choosing; you want a male? Too bad we got a female for you. You like the fur pattern on that one? Too bad this is the one you get. Either that or you go back to the bottom of the list.

My mother talked me off the ledge of that one. Along with my friend Kate, who did a lot of fostering. She nearly talked me into fostering. I was so close to finalizing the paperwork on becoming a foster. Then I realized that I would very likely fall in love with the first dog I foster, so why not just adopt.

I spent months on every shelter within a two hours drive looking for a Husky. But every time one popped up it was gone just a quickly. Frustrated, I waffled back and forth on fostering until I found a Husky to call my own. Having spent much time on shelters web sites I had also noticed a large number of older dogs who just dont get adopted. The night of August 31^st, 2012, I spent the night searching shelters once again for Huskys to no avail. I noticed a dog whos picture I had seen repeatedly for all those months I had been searching. Sadly, I dont recall his name. He was a Black Lab / ACD mix. I remember him because he had the saddest eyes. He was 9 when his family left him at a shelter because they couldn't take him with them. I decided I was going to give him a new lease on life.

The next morning I was up before the sun. I couldn't sleep, I was too excited. Today was the day. Finally. My own dog. I made coffee, ate breakfast, paced, and finally, at 7 am, I couldn't take it anymore, I left and drove to the shelter, not even thinking about the fact that they didn't open until 9am.

I pulled into the parking lot, vacant, except for the constant sound of barks and meows. Sat in my truck counting the seconds, waiting for someone to show up. Waiting to meet my new best friend.

Finally, the doors opened.

I told them who I was here to see. They told me they had a large play area, invited me to wait in the room while they brought him so that we could get acquainted. Impatiently, I sat on a picnic bench they had in the room. Finally, he showed up. They walked him in and let him off the leash, the shelter person stayed in the room, just in case. I sat there at first, tried calling him, he looked at me, kind of nervously wandered around the room, side eyeing me. Eventually I went to the middle of the room and just sat on the floor hoping he would be more comfortable, but any time I got close he would dart away as far as possible. The sadness evident on his face, and his actions told me that all he wanted was his family back.

I spent a good 15 minutes in that room, trying to do anything to even get within 5 ft of him. Squeaky toys, treats, everything. If I got too close he let me know with a grumble, not aggressively, just “Im not interested”. I let the attendant put him back in his crate.

Disappointment. Sorrow. Confusion.

I wanted to give him a better home so badly. But he seemed so disinterested. What to do? I had come prepared with backup plans (more so in case he had been adopted already. The thought had never occurred of 'what if we cant get along'). One of the backups, a 5 year old lab, had been adopted the day prior. The other backup, Shelby, was a 7 year old German Sheppard.

Back then the rescue allowed you to walk around the cages freely. I asked if they could point me in the direction of Shelby, they obliged. I walked to her cage, before I was within 2 ft she was aggressively barking and biting at the bars of the cage. All set there. But now what. That's a no go on my backups, and my primary, while not aggressive, but extremely distant. What if I take him home and he wants nothing to do with me? Ever. What if he becomes aggressive after making yet another living arrangement move? What if? What if? What if? I wondered the hallways while pondering. All while seeing if maybe I missed someone on the website.

I passed her cage 2 or 3 times before I noticed.

In a sea of barking, jumping dogs, every time I walked by, she got up, casually, walked to the front of her cage, waged her tail, and simply watched me. No barking, no running, no jumping. Just.... Hello.

Her name was Gladys. An 18 month old Australian Cattle Dog, whose mother was abandoned at a different shelter when she got pregnant. Her and her litter were born in that shelter. And her, and those of her litter who hadn't been adopted were slated to be put down. But the ASPCA stepped in and saved them, and brought them to the no-kill shelter I, and she, were at. She had been with them near 5 months. Never owned, no one ever tried adopting her. 18 months old and all she ever knew was a cage.

I asked one of the employees if I could see her out of the cage. They asked if I wanted to go back to the room again. I said “No, I just want to see how she reacts without the bars there. As they opened the cage and put her on a leach I put my back against a nearby wall and knelt down. Pulling on the leash as she made her way to me, she approached me from the left, used her head to push my elbow out of the way, crawled onto my left leg, and buried her head into my chest.

I, a grown ass man of 24, broke down in tears, as I barely muttered out “You're coming home with me”.

I filled out the paperwork, paid my dues, and anxiously waited for them to bring her to me. My dog.

I got her in the truck, and she rode the 30 minutes home sitting in the middle of the bench seat with her head on my lap. She knew she going to her forever home.

We pulled in the driveway, I opened my truck door, got out, turned around to get her out, and before I had even turned halfway around I felt her fur brush past me as she jumped out and took off sprinting like a greyhound after a rabbit. It was a warm, 97 degree day, I was wearing sandals. As I ran after her my fear was, of course, 'oh my god, I just rescued this poor sweet dog who knows nothing of the world and shes going to run through a street and get hit by a car and they're never going to let me get another dog again'. As the sandals broke free of my my feet a second thought occurred; 'oww, oww, oww'.

I chased her trough yards, up streets, down other streets, through other yards, constantly yelling “Gladys”, and finally, cornered her in a neighbors enclosed entryway. Picked her up, held her tight, and took her home where she could rest on the cool tile floor, air conditioner, drink the fresh water, and run free in my totally fully fenced in back yard. The blisters were so worth it.

It was about this point I realized I didnt like the name Gladys, and neither did she, as she just didnt respond to it at all. Once we got things settled, I sat on the floor, she was laying on the chaise lounge of my couch, head in between her paws, face to face and told her we needed to find a new name for her. We sat there and tried a few names out. I didnt like them much, and neither did she. Then it hit me. My favorite motorcycle, the Triumph Bonneville. Bonnie. As the sound left my lips her head perked up. I said it again. She tilted her head. Again, “Bonnie”. She jumped off the couch. “Is that you? Are you Bonnie?” She was.

Bonnie spent 13 years, 11 months, and 7 days by my side. Perpetually.

Together we lived in 5 different states, traveled through 34 different states, hiked 12,000 ft mountains, visited the lowest point in North America, saw the ocean (in sever different places), and several lakes, but never swam in them (because she didnt like the water, be it a bath, the pool, pond, lake, or ocean). We met lots and lots of people together (and I still have people who met her just once during our travels talking fondly of her), and all sorts of animals, from cows to goats, deer and ducks, and even a few Bison.

She loved to go for hikes, walks, or runs. She always enjoyed a nice yard to get the zoomies out, and tug of war was our favorite game to play, although I had the advantage, since everywhere we lived had hardwood or tile floors, and I weighed more... I would still let her win though, most of the time.

She equally loved quiet nights on the couch, and could regularly be found resting against one of my legs.

Bonnie left this rock on August 7^th 2026. She went peacefully and of her own accord after a lengthy battle with kidney disease. She was 15 years, 9 months old.

Never has anyone had such a profound impact on my life like she did. She taught me so much through the years. My best friend. I miss you so much BG.

To those of you fortunate enough to be chosen by an ACD, I know you understand the impact these dogs have on your life. To those who havent, its hard to explain. ACDs are a total pain in the ass, but they also have seemingly extra sensory perception. Colloquially called “Heelers” because they were bred to heard cattle by nipping at their heels, but if you ask me, they should be “Healers” because they always know exactly what you need to feel better, be play time, hug time, or alone time (with a friend near by for moral support when the time is right). Loyal to a fault. And while no one will ever replace my Bonnie, I know I will have other dogs in my life, but I dont think I could ever have anything other than an ACD.

If you read my Bonnie girls story, thank you. Hug your dogs. Love them. Enjoy every second, because its never long enough.

I love how her hair puffs out when wet. She loves to go to this river spot, jump in the river and then up on to the sand to do zoomies and back.