We always had a dog on our farm to help with cattle, so it was natural that our children, and now our grandchildren, like dogs. Everyone developed fond attachments to each other.

Our son purchased a female yellow Labrador retriever named Nugget as his first dog when she was 3 years old and Jon was in his mid-20s. Nugget had already established her reputation as a champion hunter by pointing and retrieving several thousand pheasants, quail and waterfowl for her owner, a licensed outfitter who guided clients on hunting excursions throughout the United States and Canada.

When the outfitter took an administrative position with another guide service, he placed Nugget with an acquaintance. Nugget had to live in an 8-by-3-foot kennel for several months.

Jon had hunted with Nugget once; when he learned she was for sale, he visited her. Nugget greeted him with a few tail wags and sad eyes. The next day Jon brought her to his home, for he had contacted his outfitter friend and purchased her.

Nugget often visited our farm with Jon. Our hunting trips resulted in many pheasants, ducks and geese for our freezer, besides those we ate fresh. Nugget joined us on fishing trips, holidays and sometimes stayed with us when her regular family was away. She was always respectful and happy.

As Nugget approached 11 years of age (over 70 in human years), Jon’s wife, who loved Nugget too, gave him Hayden, a female yellow Lab pup. Hayden did everything in high gear – like eating, romping and even when twitching while dreaming.

When anyone called Hayden she bounded at full speed and slammed into this person like an indignant teenager answering “What?” Nonetheless, Marilyn and I agreed to care for Nugget and Hayden while Jon and Amanda visited Alaska several summers ago.

Not wanting Nugget and Hayden to run loose and possibly get hit by the many trucks on our road when Marilyn and I were at our day jobs, Jon and I built a 16-by-30-foot pen with cattle panels under a large elm tree next to our house and placed two portable kennels, lots of toys and ample water in the pen.

Nugget and Hayden seemed okay the first day Jon and Amanda were gone. On the second day, I had to sternly order the dogs into their pen; on the following day, Marilyn had to call me to come home to fetch the dogs because they refused to enter their enclosure until I grabbed them by their collars and scolded them.

We wondered why they were so recalcitrant. Fortunately, the next day was Saturday and I was home all day. The weather was terribly hot and humid; the dogs were glad to stay with me in our house except when I had outside chores.

That evening Nugget or Hayden asked every 10 minutes or so to go outside, but then barked to be let back inside shortly thereafter. Tiring of their demands, I made them stay outside after supper. I fell asleep in front of my television, while Marilyn watched her TV shows in our bedroom.

Shortly before nightfall a loud clap of thunder awakened me. I flipped on The Weather Channel and learned a violent storm with high winds and hail was proceeding toward our home. Alarmed, I asked Marilyn if the dogs were with her.

She answered, “I thought they were with you.”

I scrambled outside and yelled for the dogs to come to the house, but there was no response. Re-entering our home, I told Marilyn what was happening and that I would look for Nugget and Hayden with my Jeep.

As I pulled out of our driveway and headed down our gravel road, I spotted Nugget and Hayden trotting toward me with their tongues hanging out, but happy. They periodically bumped into each other, like two drunks. I stopped my Jeep and opened the rear door to let them into the back.

Neither budged. Then I opened the rear side door. Hayden looked at me reproachfully, as if to say, “Okay, but quit telling us what to do; I can take care of things fine.”

Both hopped onto the back seat and Hayden leaned admiringly into Nugget as I turned around and hurried home, just as wind and hail began pounding our vehicle.

I called Nugget’s original owner to ask for his thoughts. He said, “Nugget is the smartest and most respectful dog I ever had. She was trained to not poop or pee in her kennel, so when she was confined to a kennel with the keeper I placed her with temporarily, she was humiliated when she ‘couldn’t hold it.’ Putting her in a pen reminded her of this humiliation.”

Chastened, I thanked him for his explanation and I never penned up Nugget again. She could take care of things fine.

Dr. Mike Rosmann is a psychologist and farmer in western Iowa. Readers may contact him at mike@agbehavioralhealth.com