
There are lots of things I could write about great experiences trialing in a variety of venues with Stanley. And, there are lots of things I could write about moments (er, uhm, years, actually) of frustration and disappointment when I knew we weren’t working as the team we had the potential to be. But really, many of our best moments together had nothing directly to do with competing for the privilege of adding more letters after his name. The best moments always had to do with succeeding at some task as a team - tracking down lost ducks and then herding them back to their pen, dog-breaking young sheep, calmly and efficiently sorting sheep into separate pens... It took me a long time to learn when to trust that Stanley knows how to do the job better than I do, and when I need to step in and offer some “advice”. The evening he decided to fetch a moose to me, I advised him pretty strongly not to do that again. On the other hand there were plenty of times when I learned that the best thing I could do is tell him the job, and then trust him to figure out how to do it.

Although I do have my own flock of ducks with which to practice, I don’t own sheep, so all of our practical sheep management experience comes from helping out with chores at the various places where we go to train. One summer, I volunteered to take care of a small flock of about 20 sheep while the owner was away. One of our daily chores was to bring the sheep up from a lower pasture to the barn. The pasture wasn’t huge - maybe 4 or 5 acres, but it was bordered on two sides by a river, and the grass and willows were dense enough that the sheep couldn’t be seen at all. The first couple evenings I was so paranoid that my exuberant young dog would charge into the sheep and drive them in a panicked stampede into the river that I wouldn’t let him more than about 10 feet from my side. With much effort, and more than a few expletives, I managed to roust the sheep out of the grass and up to the gate with my dog by my side, but I emerged both nights scratched and bruised from bashing through the brush. By the third evening, I decided it would be easier to risk my dog chasing the sheep into the river and then drag them ashore than spend another evening of bushwhacking. So I waited by the gate, listening with trepidation for the sound of tell tale splashes, but within a few minutes the entire flock appeared out of the brush and trotted calmly to the gate with a happy dog quietly bringing up the rear. And that’s when I “got” that training a herding dog is supposed to be about letting the dog help make the job easier, not about the handler working very hard to control every step the dog takes. For the rest of our stint as critter sitters I followed the traditions of millennia of rugged, independent shepherds leading a Spartan existence with their sheep and their dogs - I sent my dog off to gather the flock while I waited at the gate sipping my double shot mocha latte with a dollop of whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon. Life is good with a dog you can trust to help you out.

INLAND EMPIRE COLLIE CLUB