Over the years I’ve become accustomed to the incongruous sight of rugged ranching families, with their weathered faces, rough hands, fearsome pickups and macho confidence, carrying a small dog. A wee dog, a mini-mutt, a compact canine, a tiny terrier, a Lilliputian lapdog, a pocket Poodle, a pint-sized Pomeranian, pigmy Pug...paltry Pekingese, a little Lhasa, a dinky Dalmatian, a diminutive Dachshund (a teeny weenie), or a contracted, corpuscular chow-chewing Chihuahua.

These petite pups look out of place amongst the bullying Blue Heelers, busy Border Collies, exuberant Shepherds, saddle horses, hay wagons, big tires and steel shod hooves that make up the rancher’s daily environment. They are like a corsage on a backhoe bucket.

But let me assure you, most of these miniature dogs are tough as a railroad spike. The selective breeding required to shrink these breeds has concentrated certain traits like toughness. Unfortunately it also often concentrates the yipping, snarling, nipping, whining, irritating egotistical genes as well.

Which brings me to Concho, a toy Poodle, beloved by his mistress Georgi, and generally despised by the rest of her family, all her friends and even most of the strangers they meet. Because, of course, Concho accompanies her everywhere they go.

Upon arriving at the home ranch after a weekend of rodeoing, Concho leapt from the truck and played outside while the folks unloaded. An hour later he had disappeared. For two days despite search parties, phoning and plaintive calls from the front porch after dark, Concho remained missing. Wednesday morning found Georgi alone in the house when she heard a scratching at the door. Concho looked up at her and cocked his head as if to say, “How could you, my faithful servant, have let this happen to me!”

The veterinary examination showed no broken bones but lots of swelling and several deep puncture wounds on the back and neck. The vet said the injuries conformed to the pattern of the talons on a giant horned owl, but the vet could not understand how he escaped. Georgi figured she knew how. No sooner had the owl snatched him from the yard and started upward, Concho, true to form, started his yipping, snarling, nipping and whining routine, probably demanding to be treated like the first class passenger he was. The owl raised a leg mid-flight and looked at the nasty little beast screaming dog obscenities and decided something this evil must taste bad and dropped him from the sky.

Concho’s still tough and though he’s begrudgingly admired, he is still universally hated which suits him fine as long as Georgi waits on him hand and paw. However he’s now known by many as Lazarus, as in, ‘Georgi, tell us the story of Lazarus and the owl.’