As with Brodie yesterday, I started out by taking my sweet little Shetland, Silver Belle for a stroll. I have aspirations of showing her in the breed ring so I’ve halter broken her and she leads very well. I had the notion I might teach Robin something about distance, which seemed to work okay. Again, going away from the barn, everything was just fine.
On the way back Robin found himself in the same dilemma as Brodie yesterday. Though he has never had Brodie’s predilection for heading, today responding to the pressure, he wanted to head yet all of his instincts told him he needed to be behind us. His response was to attempt to orbit around us but he couldn’t because he ran smack into the paddock fence. Most dogs would have doubled back and I fully expected Robin to do the same, I prepared to catch him on the quarter turn and position him properly. “Outsmarted you just this once, you Red Dog,” I snickered, just in time to watch him continue his “away” circle by clearing the paddock fence.
I’m not sure who was more surprised. I came to an abrupt halt, my little Shetland at my side, thinking….how do I get him out of there? He came to an abrupt halt, clearly thinking…okay, now what do I do? Then – wait, I don’t need to get out of here - there’s MORE SHEEP in here! Preparatory to our walk to the slope, I’d separated out my two Cluns to idle in the paddock, leaving the others in a pen in the barn. I could hear Daffodil, my puppy sheep, sighing. Here we go again.
Robin is a bombastic, pushy dog. I have been advised by someone who knows what they’re talking about that I should send him away for training and there are days – like today – when I am ready to make that call. But then, I can’t bear to part with him for that month or two of foundational training. I need him. He challenges me because he lives life large with great expectations for each day.
Today he hit the jackpot. He’s in the paddock with two sheep all his own to do with what he pleases. How he came to be in these fortunate circumstances, he doesn’t question. He crouches….starts to slink.
“Robin, lie down,” I whimper into a sudden gust of wind. “Stay,” I whisper, a note of pleading in my cracked voice.
He lies down – and stays while I, my little princess in tow, make a gimping dash for the gate. “That will do,” I call prayerfully and he runs to me. Somehow, with Silver Belle dancing on my toes, I crate him in the SUV, and then marched my relieved little sheep into the barn to put her into the pen with the others.
I should have quit there but you know, I was just so darned proud of him for listening to me, holding firm when it was so tempting to chase those sheep all around the paddock, for doing everything right -except jumping the fence, of course. But that’s Robin. He seldom considers going around an obstacle; he’ll go over it, under it, or just plain through it without hesitation. I should have named him Admiral Nelson.
We collect ourselves, I swing the gate wide. If something goes wrong, I think, they’ll head back here. Daffodil lingers, wanting no part of this lesson. Snowdrop is hungry. Her bell tinkles, urging her twin onward. We start off with no serious difficulties but halfway down the fenceline Daffodil gets annoyed. Robin is persistently inside her flight zone and I keep pushing her off because she is in my back pocket. Nothing suits her about her present situation so she kites off to the north at fast trot.
Robin makes a beautifully sweeping turn around her. They dance in figure eights against the green grass and I wishing for a camera suddenly realize I must run for my life as a 150 pound sheep is bearing down on me with no obvious intention of stopping. Robin has a very enthusiastic fetch.
Daffodil manages to put on the brakes. Perhaps she didn’t want to hit the fence. Snowdrop raises her head with an “Are we done playing yet?” expression and off we go again, wearing our way down the fenceline.
I was so proud of my dog when we arrived at our destination. The sheep dropped their heads to graze and I thought….hmmn- time for a break. “Go play” I told Robin, looking longingly at the camp chair Ken had left for me.
Robin’s expression clearly said, “Are you NUTS?” as I stepped between him and the sheep and in that instant our perfect world fell apart.
The paddock comes to a point just above the slope. Hayfield to the north and a tractor lane along the fenceline to the south with an opening in the stone wall into my cousin’s perfectly manicured lawn. I’ve teased him about bringing the sheep over to “mow” his lawn and suddenly, hoof prints all over that beautiful lawn were a distinct possibility as Snowdrop darted up the tractor lane. Predictably Daffodil headed up the opposite fence line, back the way we’d come, through the hayfield. It was a 7-10 split. My Red Dog was dumbfounded.
Stupid, stupid me. I was at the farm by myself; no cell phone. Robin escorted Daffodil back and we lingered on the slope, watching Snowdrop watching us. She was dangerously close to that opening to my cousin’s lawn. If she passed by that turnout and went further on, she’d be in my not so secret garden beside the barn, and further than that – gulp – in the road. I daren’t send Robin after her as he had no way to do an outrun in the lane – he’d be chasing behind her straight to the road. After a few minutes consideration she caught her bearings and headed for the barn. A slightly better choice than my cousin’s lawn.
I made an executive decision, hoping it was a better one than the last. We sent Daffodil on the same path as her sister and left them bawling in a corner of the Not So Secret Garden. I clipped Robin on lead and we hustled (for the second time!) back to the barn. I pushed open the south door, banged on the grain barrel with my stick on the way through the alley then fled through the north door, shutting it behind me. A chorus of bawling let loose as we hustled around the front of the barn, slipped inside again and Robin lay down, gleefully holding his lost sheep against the solidly closed north door of the barn. I shut the south door, clipped him to a handy long line I keep beside the south door and flung open the pen door and the door to the paddock so everyone had a clear flight path away from the dog. “In you go, girls.” I gasped with relief. With Robin at the ready the sheep in the pen moved outside and the twins were more than eager to join them.
Robin is a good dog. He forgave me my foolish call. We sat on my bench in the garden looking at the sheep picking through their hay, me muttering at the disaster averted and the many things that could have gone wrong but didn’t. Next time, I thought, I’ll leave the barn doors open as well as the gate. They’ll have options. As always, Robin was eager to go again but no, we’re not pressing our luck a third time Red Dog. We’ve had quite enough adventure for one day. But we’ll be back tomorrow. With a barrier for that tractor lane. And I’m putting in a work order for the east gate…no more long trips down the fenceline.
Back home, I slumped before the fire contemplating pleasant things. A stiff drink. Scotch came to mind. A long soak in the hot tub followed by a snooze in front of the fire before bedtime. My eyelids drooped then snapped wide open. The gate. I hadn’t closed the gate.
My husband responds instantly to plaintive howls for help. We careened down the road to the farm, three border collies swaying in the back of the SUV. I know I didn’t close that gate, I said. I know I didn’t. Which way would they have gone? I pictured Lamb Chops devouring Grandmother’s Forsythia then starting on the Lilacs; the big Cluns, Tulip, and my little Shetlands scattered to the winds...and it's getting dark. I look back at the dogs. Just how equipped are you for this little adventure?
We careened to a stop by the gate, solidly closed with all six sheep safely tucked behind it, looking somewhat surprised to see us again so soon. “The wind blew it shut,” Ken pointed to the unfastened latch, swinging in the stiff evening wind. "Probably while you were chasing them the first time or they'd have gotten out when you let them out of the pen." I love this man. He didn’t even yell at me for leaving it open.
I let out one long heartfelt sigh of relief then opened the back hatch of the SUV. The dogs tumbled out into the gloaming light. Brodie raced out into the near field to inspect his favorite woodchuck hole, sweet Ladybug behind him. Robin halted at the gate, satisfied to be once again staring at his sheep. I watched the Passover moon rising above the Pinnacle and could only repeat the words of Sue R. Life is good. Life is very good. Especially when your sheep are in the pasture where they belong.
