Hausie The Ausie

05/13/2026

Good Morning from
The Hause

05/05/2026

He used to wake with the hens—
dust rising in gold light,
eggs tucked warm beneath straw,
and a man’s steady voice calling his name
like it would never stop.

But then came the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind—
the kind that settles heavy in your chest
when footsteps slow,
when laughter fades behind a closed door,
when even a loyal dog learns
something isn’t right.

He watched his daddy grow smaller in the bed,
breath turning into something fragile,
like wind slipping through cracked boards.
He waited by the door anyway—
because that’s what good dogs do.
They wait.
They believe.

And when the day came
that waiting wasn’t enough…
his world changed.

A new scent.
A new truck.
A new pair of hands that knelt low,
not rushing, not forcing—
just… staying.

She came once.
Then again.
Then again.

Each time, he gave a little more of his guarded heart,
placing it gently in her palm
like something breakable.

The last time,
she brought another—
a man with patience in his voice
and purpose in his steps.

And something in that moment said:
This isn’t an ending.
This is a crossing.

Training wasn’t easy.
Old habits lingered like ghosts—
the pull toward fields,
the instinct to roam,
the memory of a life that once was.

But love is a language dogs understand
better than any command.

So he learned.

Step by step.
Command by command.
Day by day,
he became more than what he had been—
not just a ranch dog,
but a steady presence,
a quiet guardian,
a lifeline.

Until one day—
there it was.

A jacket.
A patch.
A purpose stitched in bold across his chest.

Service Dog.

Not given.
Earned.

Now, he walks beside Mom—
not behind, not ahead—
but exactly where he’s needed most.
He steadies her world the way
someone once steadied his.

And at home—
there’s laughter again.

A little sister with wild energy,
sometimes his shadow,
sometimes his test of patience—
but always his.

They run.
They argue.
They curl up side by side
like two halves of something whole.

And then come the grandchildren—
small hands, soft voices,
giggling as they bury their faces
in his fur.

To them, he isn’t a story of loss.
He’s a hero in a jacket,
a gentle giant,
a best friend who never leaves.

But if you look close—
when the house goes quiet,
when the sun falls just right across the floor—
you might catch him watching the door.

Not with sadness.
Not anymore.

But with memory.

Because somewhere deep in that loyal heart,
he still carries a man
who once called his name at sunrise.

And every step he takes now—
every life he helps steady—
is a quiet promise kept.

Good dogs don’t forget.

They just keep loving—
in every direction they’re given.
-Kimber McLaughkin

05/04/2026

Hause and Bentley Adventure to the Waterfall

Hausie the Aussie bounded ahead, his tri-colored coat flashing in the Ozark sun. Bentley followed close behind, his boots crunching gravel on the trail that wound through Cove Creek Polyface Farm. Their destination: the hidden waterfall tucked away in the Ozark Mountains.

The path was no easy stroll. Soon, they reached the first challenge—boulders the size of six grown men stacked like ancient giants guarding the creek. Hausie barked once, as if to say, “Follow me, Bentley!” Then, with the agility only an Australian Shepherd could have, he scrambled up the rock face. Bentley laughed, tightened his grip, and began climbing after him. The mountains weren’t for the faint of heart, but the promise of the waterfall kept them pressing forward.

After what felt like forever—and a few scrapes on Bentley’s knees—they reached the top ridge. The roar of falling water greeted them, loud and wild. Hausie’s ears perked and his tail wagged furiously as they emerged into a clearing where the waterfall spilled in a 4 foot curtain into just the right sized cool pool.

Without hesitation, Hausie leapt in, splashing like a pup, while Bentley kicked off his shoes and waded in beside him. The water was cold, real cold, but refreshing after the hard climb. They played and splashed, the sun catching the mist, painting tiny rainbows above their heads. For a moment, the whole world felt like magic.

When the shadows grew longer, they began the hike back. Down the boulders, across the dirt road and along the trail, Hausie trotted at Bentley’s side, both tired but happy.

At last, the farmhouse came into view. On the porch, Nana stood waiting, a big soft towel in her arms for Hausie and a bundle of dry clothes for Bentley. “You two look like you wrestled the whole mountain,” she chuckled.

Bentley grinned, dripping wet. Hausie shook his coat, spraying water everywhere, and Nana just laughed. The day’s adventure was over, but its memory was stitched forever into the fabric of the farm.

05/04/2026

Hausie The Ausie emotional recovery

05/04/2026

Hazel’s blue eyes sparkled as she skipped across the orchard path, her two blonde braids bouncing, each tied with a pink ribbon that matched her dress. Right behind her toddled Oakley, in her pink romper, with short brown hair flying every which way. The cousins carried small baskets, ready to pick gooseberries with the same excitement they had last time.

But Hausie the Aussie trotted close, his red collar catching the sunlight. He hadn’t forgotten their last gooseberry adventure—Oakley’s startled cry when she reached into the Invicta Gooseberry bush. Those thorny berries, quickly nicknamed “The Mean Berries,” had left her with a painful prick and a frown that lasted the whole afternoon.

Not today. Hausie lowered his head and gave a guiding bark, circling the girls like he did with sheep, steering them gently down the row. Hazel giggled, “He wants us to follow him, Oakley!” Oakley clutched her basket tighter and nodded, trusting the black-and-tan shepherd completely.

At the end of the row, the Jeanne Gooseberries grew plump and purple, their bushes almost thornless. Hausie sat proudly beside them, nub of a tail wagging, as if to say here, safe ones only. Hazel knelt down carefully and plucked the first berry, holding it up so it shone in the sunlight. “These are the good ones,” she told Oakley.

Oakley reached out, hesitant, but when her fingers brushed the smooth stem without a single sting, she squealed with delight. “No mean berries!” she announced.

With Hausie standing guard, the cousins filled their baskets, laughter floating through the orchard. Every so often, Hausie nudged Oakley gently away from wandering too close to the thorny Invictas, his shepherd instincts sharp as ever.

By the time their baskets brimmed, Hazel twirled in her pink dress, Oakley danced beside her, and Hausie barked happily. The Jeanne Gooseberries were safe, sweet, and plentiful—and thanks to Hausie the Aussie, no little fingers got pricked that day.

05/04/2026

Sleeping off the hair cut and a bath

05/04/2026

I got over 20 reactions on one of my posts last week! Thanks everyone for your support! 🎉

01/24/2026

Back from their walk about

12/24/2025

Happy Holidays!

12/18/2025