We moved to the country to give our rescued working dogs a better life

The Guardian

14-03-2025

The week we moved from Brisbane to the New South Wales New England region seven years ago, my husband, Richard, asked the bloke at a local hardware shop if he stocked dog doors. The response was, 'No, why would you need one?'
I groaned internally. Being regional returners with two rescued border collies, we were acutely aware of grazier concerns about rogue pets and didn't want to create more worries.
Rescues have been our go-to for decades, mainly working breeds. These active, intelligent animals are selected to herd livestock across vast rural landscapes, yet they routinely end up in city back yards. On-leash walks rarely satiate their physical and mental stamina, and while off-leash dog parks are starting to meet the need, they're never really enough for high-energy hounds.
On occasion, their work ethic is misinterpreted. The worst I ever witnessed was a man with a walking stick passing my tethered border collie. Her quivering crouch and wide-open eyes signalled that she thought he was about to throw his cane for her to fetch. Instead, she got clobbered by it when he assumed she was threatening.
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Richard and I are sensitive to those who don't delight in encountering dogs, but life with four-legged companions in the suburbs had gotten to the stage that it didn't matter if we had ours on-leash, off-leash or sitting obediently at our feet – someone usually had a problem.
Talk to dog owners and you'll find plenty of stories about off-leash park disasters and fears of dog-baiting.
In some ways, by taking on rescued working breeds, we were always headed back to the country. I just didn't know it until I became so frustrated at the latest round of anti-dog sentiment in the suburbs that I wailed at Richard, 'Where do working dogs belong?'
On farms, is the answer. So we went bush.
Rural Australia loves its pets, with 74% of us making space for them in our homes (higher than the national average of 69%), according to a survey by Animal Medicines Australia. We're besotted with programs like Muster Dogs and admire working dogs for their prowess at trials. The value of a working dog to a farm operation is estimated at about $40,000 in the animal's lifetime, yet not all are so treasured.
Approximately 44,000 surrendered or abandoned dogs of all breeds are euthanased annually in a vicious cycle made worse by puppy farming and back yard breeding.
There are also hidden dangers. While house hunting out here, I checked wild-dog baiting websites to avoid regions with aerial 1080 baiting programs. The risk of poisoning is ever-present in the bush; not just from domestic dogs picking up baits, but the chance of them snaffling the carrion of other creatures killed by the pellets. Tragedy can result when visitors unknowingly bring dogs into baiting regions where signage may be inadequate, although rural working dogs often fall victim too.
Vigilance is essential, as is keeping lines of communication open with neighbours about the reach and timing of their baiting programs. Ironically, we've found these risks more manageable than the random, faceless terror of metro dog-baiting.
'Off-leash' should never mean 'completely beyond verbal control', so when setting out each morning to walk our three rescues, we're prepared for encounters with livestock, wildlife, pests, horses and other humans.
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As soon as we open our home yard gate, the dogs pelt across our acre. They check for livestock beyond the fence and invariably 'lift' any flock or herd on the other side, then sniff at the rabbit warren beneath a long-closed railway embankment.
We continue along our kilometre of driveway, a scrubby easement between fenced fields. On occasion, we head on to the 'long paddock', the network of old mustering routes now known as the travelling stock reserve (TSR).
This is not a national park (where dogs are banned) or a canine-friendly state forest. The central and eastern divisions of this crown land reserve are a shared zone for livestock grazing, First Nations culture, fishing, apiary, biodiversity and recreation.
The emphasis here is on sharing space. Our closest TSR is a former common with the remnants of brickworks, a seasonal creek, abundant birdlife and regular campers. What we mainly see are marsupials, and we've trained our pack to look but never chase. We collect rubbish that blows in from the road or gets carelessly dumped, and kick down the weeds.
Richard and I are farmers' sons who do not farm, with rescued working dogs who – apart from being excellent security – do not work. We walk the long paddock through the remnants of a rural landscape that the state government now recognises as a public asset with evolving uses; a place where, in the droving days, dogs like ours would play a very different role.
Balance and space have allowed our dogs a greater sense of belonging than we ever experienced in the suburbs, and things are changing. Last time I checked there were dog doors available at the shop that once didn't know why they might be needed, and thanks to the opportunity for long off-leash walks, our pack leads something much more akin to a working dogs' life.
Michael Burge is a writer and author based at Deepwater, NSW
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