Bobcats, Grizzlies and a dog named Shep

Hello Everyone!

Yep, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year is coming up for the Montana/Montana State faithful! It’s Cats vs Griz in the Treasure State’s classic gridiron matchup.

Like many Montana households, mine is a split between Cats and Griz. I remember many late afternoons of getting those calls from my daughters—both UM grads—of POOOORRRR BOBCATS!!! And my oldest daughter once replied to a rancher friend who asked why she went to UM instead of going to MSU like her old man:

“Oh it was easy… I already knew how to open gates!!!

So there you go—it’s that kind of stuff that makes this rivalry fun! But, I hate to tell you Griz fans out there, this year it’s going to be—POOOOOORRRR GRIZZLIES!!!!!

If you get a chance, read on about one of the most famous dogs ever to set it’s paws on Earth—Shep the faithful sheepdog that gave Fort Benton an identity that lives on today. Shep’s story has been told and retold but sometimes we need a remainder that devotion, faithfulness, and loyalty are virtues that are part of our DNA—no matter the species.

Have fun this weekend!!!

Charley Pike

Morning after morning, the dog would show up at the railroad platform. He would wait there all day long. Every day for five and a half years he would show up and watch and wait.

If you know dogs, you can read their emotions. From August 1936 until January 1942 the people of Fort Benton got to know the dog they would name “Shep.” Many would share his dejection as he waited for his friend who would never return. They shook their heads in resigned understanding of his faithfulness.

The dog, probably an Australian Shepherd, had been herding sheep with his human companion along the nearby Missouri River breaks when the man fell ill. The sheepherder managed to walk into Fort Benton with the dog padding behind. The man who’s identity is lost in history was admitted to Fort Benton’s St. Clare hospital where the nuns cared for him.

The nun in charge of the hospital’s kitchen fed the dog scraps of food.

After only a few days in the hospital the man died. His family requested the sheepherder’s body be sent back East for burial. The dog was by the casket’s side when it was loaded into a railcar. He whined as the door slid shut, then ran down the track as the Great Northern locomotive pulled the train from the station and began rumbling out of town.

The stationmaster, Pat McSweeney, observed that after the train picked up speed and ran out of sight, the dog returned hot and tired. He stood in the hot summer sun looking down the tracks, occasionally pacing on the platform, until well after dark.

Nobody paid attention to where the dog went that night.

Early the next morning the dog returned to the site of his companion’s departure. Observers noted the dog was in fine feather, ears up and wagging his tail as a whistle announced the approaching train. He watched and sniffed as passengers and freight unloaded and passed through the station.

There was nothing or nobody the dog recognized. Again, mostly unnoticed, the dog again waited on the platform and disappeared after dark.

As each morning dawned the dog McSweeney now called Shep would climb to the platform as Great Northern #235 arrived from Havre—but as the days and weeks passed he met each train with less and less enthusiasm .

Hot summer mornings changed to windy fall days, then to bitter cold winter.

The sheepherder was never to return. But how could Shep know?

Nothing deterred the dog from his daily routine. Station employees Tony Schanche, Jim Wood, and conductor Ed Shields looked after Shep as much as Shep would allow. Townspeople would attempt to adopt what they thought was just another stray. Some of the town’s more uppity residents saw Shep as a mangy nuisance.

After more than a year, a newspaper reporter from nearby Great Falls chronicled Shep’s story. People came to Fort Benton just to see Shep, but he shunned the attention and spent more and more time out of sight hunkered down somewhere under the station platform. Word of the vigil spread around the region and by wire around the nation.

In 1939 Ripley’s “Believe It Or Not,” brought Shep and his story to the world. At the peak of its popularity in the 1930s, Ripley’s was read daily by some 80 million readers, almost two-thirds of our nation’s population.

Shep’s fame grew, as did the notoriety of Fort Benton and shed some nostalgically pleasant light on a community as it endured the Great Depression and the entry of World War 2.

Letters addressed to Shep postmarked from all over the world arrived at the town’s post office. Some contained gifts, checks and cash. Shep’s money was put into fund to help the local needy.

The 1930s passed into a new decade. Shep remained a fixture at the rail platform—never venturing, unwavering in his watch as each train came and went.

But on Christmas Eve 1941, as the citizens of Fort Benton were holding a candlelight ceremony to honor the dead from the attack over in Hawaii at Pearl Harbor, Shep was spotted downtown. It was the only time the dog was seen away from the tracks and the train station.

The morning of January 12, 1942, Shep was sniffing around the tracks.

Probably deaf, half-blind, and arthritic from old age, he slipped as he was crossing the icy tracks back to the platform. The engineer of old #235 coming into town at 10:17 that bitter cold morning had no time to stop the train.

Shep’s funeral two days later was attended by hundreds. Boy Scout troop 47 formed an honor guard and carried the dog in a coffin to his resting place. Shep’s vigil had ended.

The grave is on a bluff looking down on the old train depot and the town of Fort Benton. Visitors to Fort Benton will find a memorial to Shep standing on the Front Street levee, just down from the Grand Union Hotel. The bronze statue was created by noted Montana sculptor Bob Scriver.

Famed radio personality and Americana storyteller, Paul Harvey recorded one of his signature series “The Rest of the Story” featuring Shep.

Shep’s story never fails to bring a tear to the eye.