Rosie and Calamity are working dogs.

We don’t have sheep or cattle for them to herd, but instead they patrol the property for vermin and always make us aware when people come by - Calamity in particular. They say that dog owners learn to distinguish between the types of barks and calls that their dogs make, and this is absolutely true for Calamity. Her “someone is here” bark-howl crescendo is unmistakable and can be heard from pretty much anywhere in the house.

They also say that Australian Cattledogs are “silent workers”. They are full of crap on that one. There is virtually no activity for Calamity, with the possible exception of sleeping, that doesn’t require some type of canine vocal soundtrack.

Rosie, our Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix, on the other hand, has taken the forefront on a different job. And it’s one that, until recently, I honestly did not fully understand.

The dogs have worn patrol pathways into the grass around the yard and, in the winter months they recapitulate these into the snowpack as well. Along these pathways, in particular spots, one could frequently see her standing at various spots near the property line barking at... something? in the distance.

And it’s a full-body bark, let me tell you. She has a deep bark that belies her slim frame, a real “woof”. And when she is employing it in these moments, each bark begins with a slight bounce up from the front legs - paws off the ground, mind you - with the “woof” being emitted as the paws hit the surface, and her shoulders hunch up.

She’ll do this repeatedly, sometimes for several minutes. It’s exhausting just watching it.

Most of the time I would just hear her barking and look out the window or walk around the house if I was outside, and I would see her there, fully engaged in that master-barking technique.

In more recent months, however, I’ve seen how it starts. At times, she will sit on our back steps, staring out intently across the landscape. This seems regal - a queen, surveying her realm - until she suddenly bolts off the steps, streaks across the yard, and gets to the end of the property, coming up to an immediate full-stop. And then the barking.

I have tried, many, many times, to see what she is barking at. Because there has to be something there, right? But I can never see a thing, no matter how intently I watch, nothing is there. And you might think, well, whatever it was she scared it off already. But I’ve seen her at the beginning of this now, and I’ve still seen nothing where she runs.

It’s honestly gotten to the point where I started to think she might be just a little... off.

But this winter, with the extended snow coverage, I had an opportunity to take a look at the area in the field just beyond one of her more common barking stations.

She’s clearly not crazy. There’s a lot of activity there, as you can see. Based upon a couple of track identification websites, I can see that there’s fox and mouse tracks at minimum (one naturally attracted to the other, I’d imagine). Maybe coyote or stray dogs as well (we have both in the area, and I’ve seen the latter fairly recently). And there’s a bit that I am not sure how to account for as well.

I don’t know if that odd pattern is from animal activity, or maybe something being blown across the surface (we are in a wind farm, after all).

So now I know that she’s been warding off actual critters this whole time. I’ve also long suspected that she and Calamity supplement their diet with caught critters, and the volume of mouse tracks I see in the snow would suggest there’s plenty to catch. Plus - LB and I watched her dive face-first into the snow a few days just like a coyote or fox. She’s got some skills.

And - of course - now that I know what she’s warding off, when I see her start to bolt across the yard I look at where she’s pointed and...

...still can’t see a damn thing.