The story of Kat, the Dog
Kat was a 2-year-old Australian Shepherd cow dog. He came to our family as a gift from our kids to my husband as a Father's Day gift.
He had long hair that was multicolored and had what some label as a glass eye, even though he had vision in both eyes. Natural instinct for him was to protect and serve. He protected our home by barking at various things he thought we needed to know about, he would sing to the train as it passed by and he would bark as we conversed together.
He was learning how to work cattle. This was not an easy process, even though this was his genetic predisposition breeding. It takes exact timing to nip at cattle hocks to get them to move one way or another or to rove back and forth behind the herd to sway them into the pen.
One good dog is worth two men. Our dogs travel from our home in Parks to our feedlot about a mile south on a regular basis. Kat usually travels with our son's dog, Bo, a black Weimaraner and our other Aussie, Snide.
This is the country, we have open range dogs, there are no fences, they roam, they run, and they hunt. They don't hurt anyone.
Deer season is upon us in Nebraska. For some, not all, this is when you put on your yearly bright-orange clothing and go shoot something.
Again, for most, not all, this is a deer, pheasant or dove. Sometime Sunday, someone took it upon themselves to shoot our dog, on our land and leave him to die. He was not a deer, coyote or mountain lion. He did not deserve to be shot in the stomach just because you didn't get your deer as you trespassed on our land without permission.
He made it back to the feedlot, his home and lay there all afternoon as he slowly bled to death, wondering what he did wrong, hurting with no one to help or love him.
What gave you the right to play God with our dog just to satisfy your urge to just shoot something? Not only is Kat dead, Bo is missing as this is written. We used to give permission for others, especially those from out of state, to hunt on our land. Those who ask, respect, those who don't, abuse. We have found gates left open, baby calves shot, found liquor bottles in fields, saw strangers chase away deer others had been hunting.
Now our dog is dead. This is why we no longer give permission. So to the coward who shot our dog, you will have to live with the memory of our beautiful dog lying there with a hole in his side. We have the memories of our faithful family friend. We are still looking for Bo.
Tom and Julie Roundtree,