5 Days to Dust

The Notice

This is all that's left. After 7 years of loving each other, countless days and thousands upon thousands of  miles together, all that's left of my big dog, Taddymoor Mirk, is this notice.  They'll try another delivery on Monday between 10 and 2.

The decision to put him down was easy. A brave, stoic dog that rarely showed signs of it, he was in obvious pain from the fist-sized splenic tumor that appeared on x-ray and ultra-sound. Accepting that decision makes me inconsolable at times. I miss my dog. I didn't have time to prepare. There was no warning. He was 11.

3 years old in South Wales

The first time I saw him was on a small patch of wet grass just outside the Millichap's kennel on Hendre Owen Farm in Port Talbot, South Wales. Mirk was 3 at the time with an expression that read; "I love to work all day. Let's go." The 2nd time I saw him was on a bright green hillside fetching a flock of Leah Millichap's registered Texel sheep. Richard warned me to stand back as they barrelled past me to his feet. Mirk was working with older full sister and brother, Jen and Cap the last time I saw him before coming home with his half-brother, Lad. They were gathering 150 lambs off the hill that were sold to a neighbor. Let me put it like this; the dogs were efficient.

6 months later Richard offered to sell Mirk. A full year after that I picked him up at LAX and set about learning to handle a confidently powerful hill dog. I want to be very clear about this; there's nothing quite like it. I never once asked that he didn't give me more. He never failed to bring me sheep anywhere I ever ran him. He could catch a sheep's eye like no other I've owned, and loved to shed and pen. Mirk was fearless. He was graceful. He was gentle.

                                Photo by Gloria Atwater

Sonoma Wine Country Sheepdog Trial, March, 2013

My friend, and one of the classiest veterinarians I've ever known, Dr. Joy Thayer, helped me at the end. It's an hour and a half to her clinic, but I had a bad feeling about this one, and Mirkie deserved the best I could do. I'm not sure which of us I was trying to shield as I stroked his beautiful face leaning close to obscure that final act. I kept telling him he was good as I experienced the last beat of his massive heart. It was 6 months to the day after Price died.

Last September, Mirk competed at Soldier Hollow, Meeker, and the huge, semi-final course of our Oregon national finals. In January, he reveled at his appointed job of exhaust dog at Snowbirds. On big, obstinate ewes that were uncommonly treacherous, he did himself proud 3 months ago at the Wine Country Sheepdog Trial.  This week it took just 5 days to go from my big, handsome boy to heartbreak to dust.

Lost in Translation

I wrote this post for the 2013 USBCHA National Sheepdog Finals. They have a section of their website entitled; "In the Beginning," where handlers share funny stories from their start in the sport. Some are very funny, such as my personal favorite; "The Barn Door," by Rob Drummond where he talks about a broken barn door and a half-broke dog.

Mine is a distant memory of a dog I raised on the ranch and loved completely for sentimental reasons as much for her heart. Sadly, I don't have a picture of her, but this one's for Chica...



Chica was raised on the San Felipe Ranch


Back then, 600 miles round-trip was a long way to travel for a dog trial. And, when you’re only running 1 dog in novice? Well, you gotta crack out somewhere. I cracked out in a desolate area of central California on a barren field alongside a feedlot with a mystery-breed, black and white ranch dog named Chica.

The novice always ran last and we hardy souls, there were about 4 of us, sat around all day (think 7 hours) watching the open handlers on parade with *real* Border Collies, intimidated by their perceived skill, and waiting our turn to shine, or in my case, for a turn.

It came, and I was confident. Chica, a ranch remnant, completed the outrun, all 75 yards of it, and that’s where the trouble began. I couldn’t blow a whistle yet, but had managed to get voice flanks on my edgy little dog. Try as I might, however, and as luck would have it, she wouldn’t take them…none of them…not one.

When the sheep zigged, I flanked Chica to cover, but she either ignored me outright, or went the wrong way. My collar tightened, so I did what came naturally. I raised my voice…same result. I raised it louder to my very best “outside” voice…no change. Undeterred, Chica got sheep to my feet, and we were now to the pen!

Round and round for what felt like eternity, the sheep circled, the dog flying counter to every flank I delivered until, mercifully, the clock ran out on our run. Mortified, I began to walk off the field, alternately glaring at my dog, and staring at my boots. The imagined sound of derisive whispers rang in my ears, and that’s when I heard my name.

Our judge, George Grist, had beckoned to me. Oh Gawd! It was worse than I thought. I was so bad that I required attention!!! Did he speak to everyone after their run? Who knew?

For those of you who don’t know him, George Grist has helped many handlers get their start. He’s bred lots of good dogs, helped put working Border Collies on the map, but George is not the man you’d expect to see pictured beside the word “diplomatic” in the dictionary. Webster’s notwithstanding, in his most compassionate voice, George made me laugh when he gently asked me; “Is your dog on backwards flanks?”

A Letter to My Dog

Denying to myself that I would ever lose him, I wrote this letter to Price 4 years ago.

A letter to my dog

I've been feeling the weight of my dog lately like a fine, wool blanket; warm, treasured, familiar, comforting. Addressing this, Dear Dog, just seems goofy, so I’m writing a thank you note to him for helping me craft another life when the last one collapsed under me like a Rocky Mountain avalanche.

With love for me, no holds barred, you have survived my ignorance, wrongful punishment, misplaced anger, bad timing, crazy ideas, long road trips, cheap food and hard beds. How did we find each other? What are the chances?

My dog should run, not walk away from me. I have put him in tight spots. He once almost drowned at a motel parking lot when I left him outside over night in a winter torrent. Drain holes in the truck bed plugged and frigid water pooled inside the dog box. By morning, he looked like a wet cat that someone failed to murder. My dog just wanted to pee and get to work.

I remember details from the first time I saw you. It was exhilarating like when I saw my second ex-husband for the first time. I felt euphoric with butterflies. I desired him. I had a visceral reaction to you too, but my instincts were better. You are a good man all the time.

My dog is the window that God opened after slamming an iron door on my tightly clinched fist. He is a wooden casement window that makes that shushing sound when the weights descend to raise the pane. On our first day together, I left him alone on the side of the house in a kennel. He stood scared, staring at the door, exactly how I found him 12 hours later. Immediately recognizing my selfishness, we spent a glorious day getting to know each other.

God opened more windows, light filtered in and we began to lengthen our stride. You tried so hard to please me. I bullied, you tried harder. I have no words to express the emotions that ripped through me both times you almost died. The snake bite was the worst and all 5 days you spent in wretched agony at death's door were devastating to us both. 2 years later when you lost a lung lobe to infection, I never realized the extent of it until I saw the 9 inch incision running down from your withers. You are the bravest creature I have ever known.

Six weeks after the snake bite my dog found success at 2 of the toughest sheepdog trials in North America, The Meeker Championship and the National Finals. 2 years later, with an e-collar around his neck, a gash the length of his rib-cage, and a fentanyl patch taped to one leg, I lowered him from my truck a day after surgery that spread his ribs to remove part of his lung. Crouching, he turned to walk up on sheep in a nearby pen. "That'll do, big dog." At 7 years old, and just that quick, his career was over.

I see age creeping into the frame just now. I know you're still strong and so athletic. Your instincts remain razor sharp and still there's massive presence in your eye. I don't know how I’ll let you go when the time comes. I expect that you will help me with that. But not today, funny boy. Today we have work to do.

That'll Do Price



AS PRICE January 3, 2000 - January 17, 2013



Spottie, my Spottie...

At 11 months

I'm fortunate. I have 2 youngsters in my kennel that please me. Tam you already know. He's a little further along than young Spot, and going to his first trial the end of November. At a year and half, it's all about stretching things out with him, making the distances longer while keeping him happy and correct. Gifted with a natural outrun, and graceful precision, it was feel for his sheep that he lacked.

It's been a slow process instilling that particular skill and not over yet. Too often young dogs become the proverbial square peg in a round hole under the guidance of less patient handlers. They hurriedly pound prospects into places they don't fit to accomplish a short term goal sacrificing confidence in the hastened process. I take my time creating pace in Tammy, and leave his pushy side alive and well. I'd rather have a 3year old dog that's rough around the edges, than a 5 year old running mechanically and hesitant.

But enough about Tam. What about the gorgeous pup in the picture? Spot is from a paternal line of dogs I have long admired. I've had others from the line, and when they're good, there's nothing like 'em.  A trusted friend told me about the litter, and I bought him just like that.

Spottie is big, bouncy and playful. He's not one of those needy Border Collies though. He really doesn't care if I pet him. He's the one that digs the holes, chews stuff up, knocks the water over. I hauled him with me this summer on my road trip to Soldier Hollow, Meeker, Strang Ranch and the Finals, and he gained some much needed socialization. On that trip Spot was the one that barked if tied out, got his hair up at other dogs, snarked at Tam, and chewed through the trailer light plug. Agh! He's busy, and he's a handful.

And he's also very fun to train. His enthusiasm is boundless with huge displays of style and eye that I love. He hasn't shown any fear whatsoever towards anything, but he does possess a healthy respect for me. At 10 months, we're just having fun. Little gathers, a lie down, a stand, learning his flanks on whistle and voice, and lots and lots of wearing, wearing, wearing. Want to pull sheep off the fence? No problem. Load 'em in the trailer? OK, but watch out for a huge dive in after them. Clean flanks? You bet and he'll tuck in those ends all day long.

Life is good at BorderSmith Kennel just now. I have Mirk, who has become the grand old man and is running like buttah. My friend, Mandy is graciously allowing me to compete with Buff. So nice, and then there's my pups. Tam you'll be seeing soon enough, and then there's Spottie, my Spottie...

Imported Buff

This is a compilation of Buff photos taken by my friend, Bridget, during his run at Meeker this year. Thanks Bridget. I ran this dog last year for his owner, Mandy, and if I'm lucky you'll be seeing more of him. He is an Irish import that came to Mandy by way of Joyce Geier, who bought him from Seamus Gallagher, (Supreme Champ, Michael's, uncle.) Joyce brought him across, and sent him to Mandy a year later when he didn't quite fit her style. Good news for Mandy. He could not fit hers more perfectly in the pro-novice, and is perfectly happy to run well for me in the open. Buff has found his last home. Mandy adores him, and there's lots to like.

I first ran him at Geri Abrahms Free to Be Ranch Trial in July, 2011 with Dennis Birchall doing the judging. We had him just a couple weeks at that time, and it showed. Dennis not only remembered Buff, but had judged him at the Irish National with Seamus handling. He explained that Buff had missed the team by only a few "honest" points. "Honest" you see, because Dennis had been judging there as well.

After running him just once this year, at Ewer's Snowbirds on the Border Trial, Buff had earned a few points, but not enough to go to the finals. I would have tried harder had I known Michael Gallagher was judging our finals. Michael remembered Buff very well, and in fact, helped me sort out a few whistles we'd been struggling with.  The sheepdog world is so small, and it seems Buff has friends all the way around it. He's a very likable guy.

With just aging Mirk to run in open, I'm happy to have 5 year old Buff on the road with me. I have nice youngsters in the wings, but they're very much in the drawing board stage. Completely different from Mirk in almost every way, Buff is teaching me to stay light on my feet. And then there's the puppies...

During the Carbondale National Finals last year, Buff made a fortuitous, accidental breeding with good bitch, Rosie. There were 5 pups. The good news is they have all ended up in working homes that will never part with them. I saw all 5 this summer at Strang Ranch during my stay in between Meeker and the Klamath Falls, OR National Finals. That's them at the end of the video. Of course, I had a favorite, but it seems you'll be seeing more of Buff in more ways than one.

Candy Raises the Bar

How was that?

I took a couple students and went to a fun trial that Candy Kennedy put on over the weekend. She called it "Bare Bones Trial," and it was. On her farm flock in her training field, it was desigend for younger dogs, and handlers who need trial experience. It was brilliant! Here's hoping Candy and company do it again soon.


This was a no frills effort intended to be fun, low key, no pressure. Just an opportunity to put some ground under nursery dogs, and further the efforts of novice and pro-novice handlers. Unfortunately, I don't see many trials like this in my area, and I really appreciate the fact that Candy saw a need, and set about filling it.

2nd time to the post

Mandy shown here with her imported Buff, ran in the pro-novice and made a great job of gaining experience on the trial field. This exceptionally talented dog is currently serving as my 2nd open dog, in addition to capably teaching Mandy the dog-trialing ropes. She loves him, I love him. We ask a lot, and he gives us his very best every time.

Maiden voyage

Remember Star? Jan owns him now, and this was not only their first trial together, but Jan's first altogether! It was nothing short of uplifting for me to watch my friend acheive an early goal of simply going to the post, and Star do everything he could to help her find success. Were they successful? Jan and Star closed the pen gate with a good score, and just how many of us can say that about their first time? Certainly not me! These two are a perfect couple, and no one is happier about that than I am.

Dexter, (shown here with Mandy,) and I had a relaxing weekend supporting our friends from the shady sidelines. I was happy to see new faces, and make some new friends. We all started under "bare bones" circumstances, every one of us, and, like an old friend used to tell me; "you gotta crack out some time."

One of Those Days

By the short hairs

Ordinary, every day occurences become so much more interesting with a pup in my kennel. I smile easier, and more frequently. This picture is of Nell and Spot, who is not quite 3 months old now. His birthday is easy to remember, because he was born the day before Thanksgiving. He's an engaging little bugger, and Nell is fairly tolerant of him, even though she just weaned her own pups a few months back. 

Beautiful

I gave a lesson today, then worked my own dogs in the big field, and it was a perfect day for it. The weather forced me to my sweatshirt, but the sun was bright, the day without wind. When the field has it's Sunday clothes on as it does just now, it makes you want to linger. So I did. Big dog, Mirk, always meanders far afield, and Star stayed close to the truck and the water, because he had been the last to work and was cooling down. Nell is jumpy, there's no other way to describe her, but she likes to stay close. Spot is always underfoot to the extent that I'll look for him, then find him directly below at my feet. Like Nell, he likes to stay close.

Oh! Come on!

This is my favorite time of year in Cali. Days are cool, it might even rain. Nights are cold, but not that cold. The grass is really coming now, and the swelter of late summer and early fall are still a ways off. The dogs revel in winter here, especially dogs like Mirk, who came from Wales where it's really cold. The sheep are happier too, much more willing to work and be worked. I spent hours in that field only leaving when I decided it was a good day for a ride on my road bike.



OK, let's go...

 I have too many dogs in my kennel at this time, and it's easy to complain about the effort to keep them all clean and fed. But there was no place I'd rather have been today than in their company on that little hillside. The unconditional love of 7 dogs is a lot of love, and today I simply embraced it...then I went home and cleaned kennels!

Puppy Class

My friend, Bridget, is in town for Snowbirds on the Border dog trial. She stayed over at my house last night, and since she was idle today, and I just ran Star, I came home early for puppy class. We both have youthful innocents to train, and decided to give 'em a go on the sheep. It's always fun to watch the youngsters.

At 5 months, Bridget's Rainey got the most face time. My camera was drawn to her like cops to donuts. Adorable, don't ya think? She circled, she balanced, she trotted purposefully to her sheep, and she called off beautifully giving us a brilliant demonstration of her "off" button. When not playing with the sheep, she played quietly by herself while we worked the others.

Here she's saying; "my turn?" Either that, or "mom, I love you more 'n my luggage."

"No worries mom, I got this." "It's me and you, right?" "That is right...right?"

Only his 3rd time out, Tam moved from the round pen to the medium field. Small, the round pen. Meduim, the 3 acre field. Large, a hundred and twenty acres. Each time I've worked him he's improved and I'm so happy to report that today was no exception. He's a listener this one, and so very fast. Bridget cracked up when he awkwardly stopped himself hard on a dime with an expression that read; "what did I do that for?" Gotta love those pups...

No pictures of Nell today, but she came out of the round pen too. Her breeder, Vergil Holland, called her mother " the girl gangster," and this apple didn't fall far from that tree. She loves the move I call the scoot and grab, and she executes with intention. I surely can't fault her enthusiasm, and at this stage of the game, I'm quite happy to see it!

The King

It's good to be King Mirk

Pardon Me

My Foster Dog, Lucy

Dexter has shown me the light as far as my love for Miniature Pinschers goes. But, I would never dream of buying a pure-bred when there are literally thousands of them in shelters and rescues all over the country. 20%-30% of those are pure-bred anyway according to the ASPCA.

I don't know what possesses me to do these things, but for reasons I'll never understand, off I went yesterday to the San Diego Animal Shelter to adopt and foster Lucy. And here she is, all energy, love and light filling up my livingroom, and my heart with her irrepressible spirit, her love of anything ball, and her joy. Lucy needs a pardon from the unfortunate life she's led thus far.

Institutionalized for months, Lucy is darker and slightly bigger than 6lb Dexter. Her tail was left behind (sorry) unlike his, which is missing. It's the characteristics they share that endear me to this type of dog. I have had her for little more than 24 hours, and already she loves absolutely nothing more than to be held in my lap, arms wound tightly around her undernourished body. Just like Dexter, she is a complete snuggle-dog.

I don't know her history, and it's better that way. I prefer to remember her how she is today, and the dog she will become. I'm feeding her dog food topped with soaked flax seed 3 times per day to get some weight on those bones. She loves treats too, and has already begun to understand the meaning of "cookies?"

Just spayed 2 days ago, Lucy is also micro-chipped and current on all her shots. A few benefits of adopting from a county animal shelter. They were having a sale on dogs with any black on them. Lucy has a few black hairs, and one small black dot on her tail. At $25 for the package, she was a bargain. She's all set to go to her forever home. Are you lucky and smart enough to have her? Will you grant her pardon? Do you know anyone who will? Any prospective adopter will have to be vetted just like Lucy was, but if you're interested, please let me know. Since I couldn't, I don't see how you can resist.

Little Dog Monday

Oscar, Dexter, and Juno

Any of you who visit often have met Dexter before. I adopted him from a MinPin rescue that rescued him from a kill shelter. Here he is flanked by his friends, Oscar and Juno who belong to repairer of everything BorderSmith, and dear friend, Jeffrey. This is what happens when you rescue mutts. You get pictures like this one that bring a smile to your lips, and sheer joy to your heart.

I rescued Oscar from a kill shelter in Norco, CA after falling for a tear-jerker pet food comercial that aired during a televised dog show. Sometimes I am irrisistably drawn to the macabre, and find myself flipping over to ogle what's happening in the breed ring.

Faces of hopeless shelter dogs were shown in a slide show presentation, and my heart broke (again) when I was reminded how utterly doomed they are, and how many we kill every year in this country. I went immediately online to find the least likely to be adopted from a shelter near me, and found Oscar. With the intent of fostering him until a suitable home could be found, I drove off the next day to retrieve him.

Jeffrey has had Oscar for years now, and they are inseparable. Have you seen the paw-shaped car magnets that say "Who rescued who?" That's the story of Jeff and Oscar. And then along came Juno. She was the last puppy from a "designer-dog" litter produced by a misguided backyard breeder who thought she could make a buck, and Jeff caved in the moment he saw her.

It was almost 80 degress here in sunny, Southern California today, and the little dogs were in rare form. Maybe it's because their size makes it hard to retain body heat, but small dogs revel in the sunshine. All 3 stayed busy hunting lizards, digging up gopher holes, and lounging in the sun while Jeff and I fixed things  that needed it.

All day long we called each other's attention to the antics of one small dog, then the other. We're so blessed to have 'em. You can be too. With the holidays approaching, folks might be tempted to buy a puppy. The ads say this season is a bad time to add a dog, or puppy to your life, and I agree. But, if you have to do it, please consider adoption first. Then go take some adorable pictures of your own.

Ranch Dog

Morning Chores

My dogs have been busy. Instead of training for our summer trials, though, they've been busy doing chores. Besides tending the practice sheep, there is a commercial flock of Suffolk ewes and lambs that go out in the morning and back in at night. They are beyond knowing the way, but can be tempted by nearby hay fields, or spooked in route by a tractor or loose dog, so it helps to have an extra set of legs on the job.



What's Next

The practice sheep also go in and out of an overnight pen, kept that way, because Boo, the guardian dog lives with the Suffolks. Fending for one's self isn't prudent for a ewe in this country, so they are protected as best as possible in a secure pen at night. Every morning they go out to a big pasture to hang for the day in grass to their bellies and ditch water in abundance.

All Finished

We're managing some training, usually first thing in the morning for a short time, but this is a commercial horse training facility  afterall. I have witnessed horse shows, pony summer camp, lessons and horse training  from daybreak to dark, and that is certainly the priority around here just now. Having grown up in a similar atmosphere, it's very nostalgic for me. In the meantime, the dogs are biding their time, running to train, and doing what they can to help out around here. All I can tell you is that it's our pleasure...our pleasure to be here, our pleasure to help.

Legging 'em Up

Buff and the ATV

This time of year typically finds me running my dogs with my bicycle on dirt roads that wind through hay fields near my home getting the dogs in shape for the finals. It's always hot and dusty, and requires loading up bike, dogs and water before heading out on a few miles of focused run.

This morning, I simply stepped out of Big Barbie, (my RV,) unleashed my dogs, retrieved the ATV, and took off. Mirk is from Wales, Buff from Ireland, where most distance is covered beside an ATV. On a cool, damp morning like this one, they both reveled in the run and the weather. Both dogs brightened measurably at the sound of the engine. It was all new to Star, but he followed the other dog's lead and outpaced them with his long, athletic strides, loping easily beside me all the way.

The practice sheep are about a mile away, and our first stop to turn them out for the day. From there we looped over the sod farm on a wet, dirt track, through tall grass and across the irrigation ditch. We turned back on to the main road, and hit another gear to finish strongly with the dogs running flat out. 

Legged Up

I am a far cry from the dusty hay fields back home, but the intent and the process are the same. The dogs get out, and cover as much ground as possible to become conditioned and fit. The fact that everybody involved loves it is a just icing on the cake.

Buy that Dog!

Mandy and Buff

It's just not something you will hear me say very often. "Buy that Dog" carries with it a great deal of responsibility, and weight. If I utter those words, I am suggesting that someone take on the care and training of a life that may or may not be well suited to its' new home. I am putting someone in a position of making a commitment that I can only hope will be honored over time.

On rare occasions a student, or others, will ask me to help them find a dog. This is not a task I take lightly, nor one that I would undertake under anything approaching questionable circumstances. Be warned! I must be sure that the person wishing to acquire a dog is suitable working-dog-owner material, then I have to be as sure as I can be that any dog I refer is valued appropriately, and will suit that individual's needs, and skill level, and that's not easy.

Typically what I do is find a dog that may be right, then say to the prospective buyer and seller; "here you go, now you guys work it out," leaving the individuals responsible for their own decisions. Not so with Buff who was owned by a friend, Joyce Geier, and referred to me by another, Carol Campion, who knew he was for sale. I took one look at a video of the dog working, called Mandy, and said emphatically "buy this dog!" To her credit, and that of our friendship, she stepped up, did just that, and boy am I glad she did!

Buff was trained and trialed in Ireland by Seamus Gallgher, who hails from a long line of good dog men. Joyce saw Buff there and bought him for herself. After bringing him home to the states and trialing him for a year or so, she realized he may not be the best dog for her. Because I've done it, I know that it takes guts to make that admission, and in so doing, you are allowing someone else to find the dog of their dreams. It happens. It happened, and my student, Mandy has done just that.

Feeling the Love

I met Buff today for the first time, after his arrival last Friday from New York. Mandy brought him out to test him on sheep, and we threw him in with some lambs. Not the best choice for transitioning a dog, but all I have to work at the moment. Buff surpassed every expectation I had for him, and more importantly, he surpassed Mandy's. The first time she sent him on a little gather in the small field by my house, her hands flew to her face and a look of unbridled joy appeared as she watched her talented youngster square up and speed off on a stunningly beautiful flank to accomplish the task. And then it got better. If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll admit the truth; it made me cry...real tears of joy for the dog and for Mandy. You can ask her...I cried.

"Buy that dog!" Will I use it more liberally on the heels of success with Buff? Absoultely not! If anything, I'll be even more careful, because matches like this are so rare, that what are the chances?  All I know is that we got this one right for the best possible result. Joyce has an opportunity to find the the dog of her dreams, Buff has an idyllic home, and Mandy can finally acheive her working dog goals. It would all have been OK anyway, because if, for some reason, it hadn't worked out, I would have been standing in line to buy that dog!

Just Right

Right where he is supposed to be

This is Bittersweet Kep. I bought him as a puppy from Carol Campion, raised him, trained him to nursery level, and sold him to a wonderful lady, named Nancy Starkey, In Mt. Airy Maryland. It is always hard for me to sell my dogs, and I am very picky about where they go. In fact, I've made a few enemies here and there, because I wouldn't sell one of my dogs to someone when I knew I could do better by them.

I could not care less about the enemies. I care deeply for the dogs.

Nancy uses Kep on Trial and Error Acres, her purebred Blue-faced Leicster sheep farm.
Nancy trains Kep on a regular basis to help him become the very best sheepdog he can be.
Nancy trials Kep at USBCHA sanctioned sheepdog trials and has tremendous success with him there.
Nancy refers to Kep as "the big guy."
Nancy is very proud of her dog and loves him to bits.
Nancy lets Kep sleep at the foot of her bed, as shown in the picture above.

Kep is in sheepdog heaven, and I am so happy to have been a small part of that.

Dexter Rocks!

Photo credit: Jan Elliott

Lie Down Price

This is my lie down

Bar-Broke

Tweet

Photo credit: Jan Elliott

Me and Mirk in training

I was invited to dinner at the home of friends in a sleepy little hamlet called 3 Rivers, in the foothills of California's majestic Sierra Mountains a couple of weeks ago while I was away at a nearby dog trial. The invite was irresitable and I was so happy to have gone. From my perch on a stool in the kitchen, I watched these gracious folks prepare what was by any standard, an exceptional meal. I asked them; all this for me? And they replied that they eat that way all the time, and it was no trouble. Well, it would have required hiring a catering service if it had been me supplying that meal.

My hosts invited me to stay over night, and avoid driving on unfamiliar roads going back, but I explained that I couldn't because of my animals. I had 5 dogs with me, and only little Dexter was suitable for indoors. Instead of making my dogs spend an inordinate of time in their kennels back at my RV trailer, I brought them with me, so I could get them out at least once to empty.

The question came up; "do your dogs mind spending so much time in the truck?" to which I informed my hosts; not to worry, they are all "bar broke." To their credit, Joella and Larry had no idea what that meant.

Most times after going roping somewhere, a stop was made for lunch, or lunch and camaderie afterward. We always good-naturedly made the winner pay. Since most of the ropings were no where near home, the horses learned to stand patiently in the trailer while we fed, or otherwise entertained ourselves, and somtimes this meant a pretty long wait. These wonderful rope-horses were referred to as "bar-broke" and never complained in any way that I know of.

In the last few years I have had the great good fortune to travel a lot and trial my dogs. Through the course of all this coming and going, my dogs have all become very good travelers. I make every effort to stop for them at least once every 5 hours, more if there's a puppy among them, and everyone grows used to the routine. Currently, little 6 month old Jed is the exception, but even he learned quickly to sleep through, but let me know in no uncertain terms when nature calls. He is very good at it, actually.

There have been times when my dogs were relegated to the truck overnight when I was hoteling it. They have been tied beneath the trailer for long periods when the camping area and trial field were far apart. They have been left situated in crates in my trailer when it was to cold to leave them exposed, but with ever decreasing frequency, they have had to wait while I am in a bar.

Maybe it was just a team-roping thing. Maybe the lure of the good ol' boys was too strong, and that's why roping and drinking seemed to go hand in hand. So too, in dog trialing there are those who appear much more interested in the after party than the dog trial. Maybe I have become wiser with age, or maybe my priorities have changed, but you will rarely find me at the after party, and I can't remember the last time I was in a bar. While it is not a bad skill for a dog to acquire, I just don't see that mine need to be bar broke any more.

The Patience of My Saint

It's lambing time here at BorderSmith Kennels, and the lambs shown here were some of the first born. Out of my registered Dorper ewes by a White Dorper/Cheviot cross ram, they were born one day apart all within the last 3 days. I jug mama and baby for their first 24 hours to insure a strong bond, and afterward move them each day to the big pasture where the grass is coming on fast now.

With the patience of a saint, it is always Price who gets the call. Star man has sufficient tolerance as well, but lacks experience, and Mirk is a bit too brash for lambs so tender. Price intuitively knows where and just how much pressure to apply to get things moving quietly and keep the sheep flowing smoothly.

The tiny babies are clueless, and the dog means nothing to them. Their only care is that mama is near. Oblivious, they will stand, or nurse stubbornly when you want them to move. It is mother that must show them the way. With babes so new, the ewes will turn and fight the dog instead of moving away from him as they would do without lambs by their side, and Price must be resolute, but kind to complete the job.

My very soon to be 11 year old dog is a marvel to watch at this task. He will oh-so-slowly work the small band from side to side gently nudging a lamb here, bumping a ewe there. Even as my patience is waning, Price continues his non-threatening approach, pausing when the lambs stop for a slurp, or the ewes turn to check on them, before pressing on.

My Dorpers are proving to be very good mothers. Very attentive, happy to stand and nurse, instinctively and immediately knowing who belongs to who. I have been lucky so far with these ewes. There has been no intervention necessary, and I will keep all of them for another season.  I have always been lucky with Price. He is a once-in-a-lifetime dog who continues to find new ways to amaze me after retirement and into old age. What an amazing partner he is.