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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

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The Legend of Tuff

Tuff was no ordinary dog. He was a broad-chested, mixed-breed bulldog from the dusty plains of western Oklahoma. He was loyal to the core. He was tough as nails—just like his name. He belonged to a boy named JD, and from the moment they met, the two were inseparable.

Wherever JD went, Tuff followed. JD rode across the Caddo and Washita County prairie on his sturdy pony. He even rode it to the one-room schoolhouse west of Eakly. He rounded up cattle on the family farm. Regardless Tuff was there, his paws pounding the dirt in time with the horse’s hooves. At school, while JD sat through his lessons, Tuff stayed with the horse, standing guard like a seasoned sentry. Rain or shine, he never left his post. He stayed until the bell rang. Then, the trio trotted home together, just three-quarters of a mile up the road.

One warm afternoon, while JD was still in school, trouble came calling. A neighbor’s ornery bull had pushed its way through a loosely latched gate and wandered off. As luck would have it, it made its way straight to JD’s homestead, snorting and stomping with agitation. JD’s mother was outside hanging laundry to dry in the Oklahoma breeze. The bull burst through the linens like a locomotive. It tore shirts and sheets from the line as it charged.

Startled, she dropped her clothespin basket and backed toward the yard fence, but there was nowhere left to go. The bull pawed at the dirt, its head low, flaring its nostrils as it prepared to strike. Streaks of foam, mixed with dust and sweat, ran from its mouth. Its bulk towered just yards away from her.

Thinking fast, JD’s mom cupped her hands to her mouth and called out with everything she had:

“Tuff! Ole Tuff! Come on, boy!”

Three-quarters of a mile away, in the tall grass outside the schoolyard, Tuff heard her. His ears perked up. He knew that voice—and he knew something was wrong.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Tuff shot off like a bullet, heading for home. He crossed pasture and ditch, squeezing under fences and dodging brush, driven by pure instinct.

When he arrived, the bull was still threatening JD’s mother. Tuff didn’t bark or hesitate. He charged.

The bull turned at the last second. It was startled and tried to lower its head for a fight. But, Tuff was already on him. He raced in circles, nipping and weaving, confusing the brute. The bull spun to face him again and again, becoming dizzy from the dog’s unrelenting speed.

Then, in one perfectly timed leap, Tuff clamped down on the bull’s nose—hard. The bull bucked and shook, kicked and bawled, but Tuff held firm, teeth sunk deep, refusing to let go. He brought the angry beast to its knees, pinning it in place with nothing but grit and jaw strength.

Just then, a cowboy riding by spotted the commotion. JD’s mother waved him down, shouting, “Ride fast to the Yarnell place! Tell ’em their bull’s out before someone gets hurt!”

The man nodded and galloped off in a cloud of dust.

Within the hour, the Yarnells arrived with ropes, a nose ring, and a long wooden block to secure the bull. The farmer jumped down from his saddle, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m real sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I reckon I forgot to latch the gate. Wind must’ve blown it wide open.” He paused, nodding toward the growling dog still latched onto the bull’s nose. “But first, we’re gonna need that dog to let go.”

JD’s mom looked at Tuff, calm and composed despite the ordeal. “Tuff, let go now, boy. Come here.”

Without hesitation, Tuff released the bull and trotted obediently to her side, tongue lolling, chest heaving but proud. The bull didn’t move again until ropes were secured and the men began the long walk back to their farm.

JD’s mom glanced at her watch and smiled. “Tuff, JD’s about to get out of school. You’d better go meet him.”

And with that, Tuff turned and loped back down the road. He was headed to the schoolyard just in time to greet his boy.

That evening, Tuff was treated like a king. JD’s mom gave him the biggest soup bone she’d been saving. He was even allowed to lie on the kitchen floor during supper. This was something normally off-limits. As the family passed dishes and swapped stories, JD’s mom told them what Tuff had done.

The story of Ole Tuff was told time and again. It was passed down through the years by my grandmother and my dad. Every time it was told, Tuff got a little tougher. Tuff got a little braver. Yet, the heart of the story stayed the same.

Because sometimes, legends aren’t born in books or movies.

Sometimes, they’re born in backyards—with a boy, his dog, and a mama hanging laundry.