Sisters: Not Synonymous with Same

 

Frost and Gael wait their turn.

When I walk out into the pasture to train my Border collies, I bring a training plan, my hat, a whistle and lead line. I also bring a constant reminder: Gael and Frost may be littermates, but they are not the same.

I raised Gael from a puppy and bought Frost as a 2-year-old. They share the same parents, are both sensitive and both black and white. That's where the similarities seem to end.

Frost naturally has square flanks and a tendency to run wide; Gael naturally runs tight and has a tendency to slice her flanks.

Gael is very keen and focused on the sheep. Frost, too, wants to work the sheep, but is not as keen and more worried about listening to me.

Frost is a bossy, alpha female. Gael is submissive to other dogs.

Because of a broken femur and torn ACL, Gael is about a year behind in her training than Frost, and that difference is the hardest for me to remember. While I work with Frost to drive the length of the field and respond to whistle commands, I have to remind myself that Gael isn't solid on whistles, and that we're working on doing short drives correctly.

To avoid those sibling comparisons, I've started working on different elements. This morning, I worked on shedding, or splitting off a group of sheep, with Frost, while I did outruns and small drives with Gael. At the end of each session, I found myself telling each one that they did a good job.

This training strategy may also have another benefit: keeping sibling rivalry at bay.

When the Morning Walk Turns into a Run

"Cats," I said, when I saw two sets of eyes looking at me from the picnic table near the pond.

But they were kittens really. Just a pound each, and probably six weeks old.

They were also in danger.

I was on my morning dog walk around the pond with two cat-chasing Border collies and one loves-all-things-stinky Border collie.

I got the two cat chasers on leash as the kittens saw me for what I was: human.

They came running toward me.

The dogs strained on their leashes to get to the kittens.

Bad things could happen if they met.

So, I turned and ran toward home. Dragging two 40-pound Border collies behind me and with two kittens chasing me, I called for the third Border collie, Bubba, the lover of sheep poo, dead turtles and fish goo, who was meandering around the pond.

How fast and far must one go to outrun two kittens?

Turns out 100 yards will do it.

After securing the Border collies safely at home, I returned to the pond and found the owner of the kitties. The kittens are now safely home. They, being kittens, pay no attention to property boundaries and had wandered over to the pond when relatives camped there over the weekend, and did not know how to find their way home.

Dog Training during a Pandemic

Frost practices penning over the weekend.

When I receive the Outlook calendar notifications, I'm reminded of where I planned to be this spring: at dog trials in Virginia, Tennessee, Wisconsin, Kentucky and Colorado.

Instead, I'm at home, training dogs and discovering some truths about myself, my dogs and training.

1. I like training and working dogs. Some love competition above all else. Others prefer to train. Others just love the farm work. The absence of competition made me realize that while I like the competitions, I also like working my dogs. With no competitions in the near future, I could stay inside when the cold wind blows (which it's been doing a lot this spring), but nearly every day I'm working the dogs. Even when moving the sheep to pastures, I find myself throwing in a little drive or flank work with the dogs.

2. Dog training has become more thoughtful and less stressful. Instead of reacting to a recent trial or preparing for the next one, I focus on what I, or the dog, need to work on. With my older dog Bubba, I've been playing around with shedding and penning, paying attention to where he is and where I am, and how we can impact the sheep. With my young dog Frost, we continue to work on driving, but throw in other exercises. This past weekend, we worked on penning and started some shedding training. If something's not working, I stop, think about what I can change and try again the next day. She's relaxed and eager to work every day.

3. More time means the young dog gets more practical farm work. If I have to move or sort sheep, and I'm in a hurry, I use an experienced dog. With more time, I can set up the situation where the young dog is likely to be successful. So Frost has helped move ewes and lambs, drive groups into the barn and other tasks.

But training in pandemic time has its downsides, too.

1. Staying at home doesn't put the needed miles on the dog. I still need to get Frosty out to new places where the terrain and the sheep are different.

2. Clinics or observations from experienced handlers are lacking. I tend to a wishful observer and benefit from professional input. While videoing a session helps, it's not the same as in-person observations.

3. It can be lonely. Sheepdog training has its highs and lows, and it's always more fun to have people to commiserate with and laugh about it.

Eventually my Outlook calendar will stop reminding me about canceled events, and eventually the dogs and I will get out and about again. I'm hopeful that we have benefited from pandemic time training.

Why Should the Birds have All the Fun?

It's that time of year when fields burst into yellow dandelion blooms and balls of fluffy sheep hair. The sheep are in full shed and rubbing against fences.

Birds are swooping down and gathering bits of white, tan, red and black fiber for their nests.

This year, I gathered some for myself and used the sheep hair for container gardening.

I grow herbs in pots near the back porch. While big pots of herbs look impressive, they can be back-breaking to move.

When foam packing peanuts were used in packaging, my mother reused them at the bottom of pots. They were lighter than soil and allowed for drainage.

This year, after seeing a posting on Facebook, I decided to give sheep hair fiber a try.

I put it in the bottom of the pots and then poured potting soil on top.

Last night, frost was predicted. As I was carrying the pots inside, I thought, "Coats! I should have felted the plants some coats."

Photo of hair sheep in various stages of shedding.

Little Victories on the Sheepdog Trial Field

The trial field at Edgeworth.

I can fill pages with everything I learned at the Virginia Triple Crown Sheepdog Trials. (But, because this is a blog--I'll refrain, sort of, I promise).

Over the course of nine days, Bubba ran six times on three different fields with three different types of sheep. Emma ran five times.

My main goal was to continue forming a partnership with Bubba. He arrived at the farm in late May, fully trained. But he has a different style than my previous dogs--and I have a different style than his previous handler. We aren't yet a solid team (though we made big leaps over the past few weeks).

I also wanted to get more experience on working on big fields with different types of sheep.

So here's a little about what we learned:
1. A dog that finds sheep at 600 yards away is an amazing thing.
I have never sent a dog 600 yards to find sheep, and I stood at the post, whistle at the ready, watching and hoping. The dogs took off, looking and casting out, running over hills and out of sight a few times, and I had to trust they were on the right path. They were.

2. Both of my dogs did poorly at flanking on the fetch (until they got closer to me).
That means I'm going to have to practice flanking on the fetch, walking out to correct them, and to keep increasing my distance. It'll be a good winter project.

3. Eleven minutes is a really long time.
Over the past few years, I've really worked on focusing and observing what my dog and the sheep are doing on the field (instead of what I hope they are doing). As the dog is working, I'm watching and asking: When I give a flank whistle, does my dog take it? Does he slice his flank? How are the sheep responding? Where is the line? This still doesn't come  naturally to me. Thus, 11 minutes is a really long time. (Most courses I run are in the 8-minute range).

4. Even at a sheepdog trial, you can phone a friend.
With Bubba, I've been working on whistle cues, flanks, timing and shedding, but not so much on penning. After two failed attempts at the pen, I called his previous handler and trainer. "He's a big dog," she said. If he sliced a flank, even a little bit, it would be enough to unsettle the sheep. "Tell him to get out before you flank him," she said. I tried it at the next trial. It wasn't smooth, nor pretty. But it helped and we penned the sheep.

5. Working four lambs is really hard. 
I have lambs at home. I know how unpredictable they can be, especially when they don't have an older ewe as a leader. Working four lambs that were in a new environment and that hadn't been worked in small groups was really challenging. Sometimes they wanted to look at the dog. Sometimes they wanted to run. Sometimes they did a little of both.

6. You can retire, and still be impressed with your dog
Sheep behave differently depending on who is in their group, the dog, the weather and the time of day. At one trial, I ran during a difficult afternoon stretch when the sheep seemed to be winning. They kept running back to the set out pens, and there were more disqualifications and retires than scores on the board. When I sent Emma to get the sheep, she found them, but then a wily ewe got past her and bolted down a hill and out of sight. I could not see what was going on. After scanning the hilltop for what seemed like minutes, I retired and began the 400 yards up the field to find my dog. That's when I heard, "She's got the sheep" being relayed from the set-out person. Several seconds later, the sheep appeared on the hilltop, and Emma was bringing them to me--and handlers were applauding her efforts. She won.

7. At a trial, my whistles sound like a banshee--and Bubba doesn't speak that language.
My trial whistles sound nothing like my practice whistles. Thank you adrenaline. My other dogs have put up with it. Bubba does not. To him, it sounds like I'm yelling at him. Don't let his size fool you. He's a big marshmallow. Halfway through my third run, I realized what was happening and softened my whistles. The improvement was dramatic. Bubba is going to train me to soften my whistles, and that's a good thing.

8. Bubba is also going to teach me to watch for and correct sliced flanks.
Bubba is a big dog and a little slice has a big impact on the sheep. When I saw it and corrected for it, the drive got better.

9. Not all sheep are the same.
Katahdin sheep were used in all three trials--and all behaved differently. At the first trial, we worked four Katahdin lambs that were unpredictable and tricky and not used to being worked by dogs. At the second, we worked two lambs and a ewe that were seldom worked by dogs. While the lambs had a leader, the lead ewe often acted like she had no friends and would split from the lambs. Both of these combinations required a dog that could push the sheep along. At the third trial, we worked three ewes who were used to being worked by dogs. I made the mistake of not stopping Bubba when he reached his sheep and putting the brakes on him. It made for a lively run and a lesson learned.

10. My dogs amaze me.
No, I'm not bragging. I just am amazed at how hard they work and how hard they try to be right and how willing they are to work with me and to put up with my blunders.

Small Victories

In herding, as in life, it's best to savor those magical moments and small victories.

This winter and spring have been marked by walking with dogs, in biting winds and rain, over rough, frozen ground and through mud.

I've been walking my young dog who is recovering from a leg injury. And, I've been walking with Emma, my open trial dog, as she drives, or pushes, the sheep around the fields.

Emma is not a natural driving dog. She'd rather gather the sheep and bring them to me. But driving is a useful skill, and a necessary one in competitions.

So, I've been trying to build her confidence by walking with her, and I've been trying to make it more exciting by driving the sheep to a fence where she can hold them there.

All those hours of training and miles of walking paid off at the sheepdog trial this weekend when she brought the sheep to me, turned the post, and trotted off, pushing the sheep toward the panels.

She had more confidence, and I seemed to finally have the timing of asking for little stops, flanks and walk-ups along the way. With just little adjustments here and there, we kept those sheep walking in a straight line and through the panels. When she completed her drive, Emma and I maneuvered those sheep right into the pen.

While we bobbled on other parts of the course, and still have lots of shedding work to do, I considered the weekend a success, and savored those small victories.

I savored a big victory too. For the first time, I scored a 30-point drive.

While Others Buy Bread and Milk...

The weather forecast predicted single digit temperatures, up to 10 inches of snow and 45 mph wind gusts later in the day.

So, I took an extra long dog walk in the morning. The dogs didn't seem to mind the freezing rain and ice pellets piling up on their backs.

Emma was too busy hunting rabbits to notice the freezing rain.

Caeli, now 13+ years old, loves the daily walks.

Jack says working sheep would be more fun.

If the weather forecast is correct, they'll be spending a few days hanging out in the house.

I let the horses out into the pasture. The Haflingers are designed for the cold, and only come to the barn for feeding.

Emma and I then drove the sheep out to the hay feeders in the pasture.

I then went to work preparing for the storm. I moved hay feeders under the barn's overhang and set up a wind block for the sheep.

I brought in armload after armload of firewood.

And, then I grabbed a book and made popcorn.

Who eats break and milk during a snowstorm?

What I Really Want for Christmas

While I appreciate a 50-degree, sunny day in December, I'm dreaming of frozen ground.

It seems like my farm chores, winter, spring and fall involve trudging through mud.

The mud is so prevalent that it's become part of the weather report in my journal:

Cloudy skies, 36 degrees, mud. 

Windy, 41 degrees, mud.

Another muddy day.

Meteorologists would point out that mud is not a weather term, but I doubt many of them are walking through it, in fear of falling or losing a boot.

The mud is worse around the gates.

I'm sure the mud seems worse this year, as we're past due for spreading gravel under gates--and one of our pastures was just planted this spring. New pastures have more bare space, and few roots to pull the water downward to those underground reservoirs.

But maybe, I think, I've just become old and crotchety and obsessed with the weather (and mud).

Or, maybe we've had a lot more rain.

I check the rainfall totals for the nearest weather station, about 30 miles from us. To date, we're about six inches above normal.

And then, because I can be a data geek, I check the rainfall for 2017, and see it's about 10 inches above normal.

That's a lot of extra water--and a lot of extra mud.

December 19, 2018--Light winds, sunny skies, high of 50 degrees, MUD.

Another Day, Another Training Challenge

But mom, you said to keep the sheep out of the exhaust pen.

My tri-colored Border collie sees the world in black and white.

Niki is the most challenging, most affectionate, cutest and hardest working dog I own. But, she sees the world differently than my other dogs.

At the sheepdog competition this past weekend, I used her to exhaust sheep for the pro-novice class. The sheep weren't so sure they wanted to go into the exhaust, or holding pen, at the end of each competitor's run. The pen was unfamiliar, and sheep don't like unfamiliar.

Niki loved running out onto the field, collecting the sheep and directing them to the exhaust pen. She enthusiastically did her job time and time again.

On the second day of the trial, the sheep no longer saw the exhaust pen as an unfamiliar, scary place. Instead, it was a place where they could eat hay and get away from the dogs.

So Niki's job description changed.

Her job was to make sure the sheep did not get to the exhaust pen during each competitor's run. At the end of the run, though, she was to let the sheep into the pen.

And, that's where she got confused.

She was all into keeping them OUT of the pen at ALL times. That was great when the handlers were competing, but not when they were finished. She was not going to let those sheep into the exhaust pen EVER.

To get the job done, I resorted to keeping her on leash, opening the exhaust pen gate and keeping her out of the way so the sheep could get into the pen.

It's Monday now, and I'm pondering how to help Niki understand that her job description can change every five minutes.

The good news is that she wants to work with me. The bad news is that I've got to figure out her language.

Traveling with Dogs: What we ask

When I loaded up the Subaru, the Border collies saw the open crates and hopped in, ready for the ride. They had no idea that we were traveling for 2,300 miles, or that the journey would take days.

Before departing for California, people asked if I were traveling alone.

"Nope, I have three dogs," I said, adding, "They're great traveling companions. They never ask how much longer, demand a different channel on the radio or complain about my singing."

While Border collies amaze me on the trial field, they really amaze me as travelers, and not just because they never ask me to change the channel.

During my travels, I ask them to ride in crates for hours. When we get out of the car, they may see zooming cars and strangers. Sometimes they work on strange fields on unfamiliar sheep. At night, they sometimes sleep in motel rooms where the voices of people and vehicles can be heard through the walls. Sometimes, they sleep in their crates in the car.

Rarely do they protest. They just adapt.

Oh, there was a 24-hour period when the young dog was miffed about the pottying situation. With no green grass in sight, I asked her to pee on gravel. She just looked at me. Ten minutes later, she decided that gravel was okay.

We aren't in the green fields of Ohio anymore. Gael, now a year old, adapted quickly.

By the time they're adults, most Border collies participating in sheepdog trials have traveled hundreds, often thousands of miles. Although too young to compete, they often travel with their owners and other Border collies, to trials.

I'm sure the socialization helps them adapt.

But the dogs also live in the here and now--and if they're with their human and their pack, then that is where they want to be.

Emma checks to make sure it is Jack underneath all that dirt.

Heading West Then

My first trip to the West was a quarter of a century ago.

It was summer, and my boyfriend, now husband, stuffed his Ford Bronco II with a leaky tent, foam mattress, cooler, AAA tour books and maps, and we drove. Our destination: the Badlands, Custer State Park, Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone.

The wide open spaces and hiking were spectacular.

The weather was not. It rained for days. In Cody, Wyoming, we awoke to an inch of water in our tent. In Yellowstone, we awoke to snow on top of the tent. We became experts at lingering in lodges, restaurants and laundromats.

At the end of the trip we were still talking to each other--and talking about plans to go back.

Two years later, we made the trek west again.

This time, we had a better tent and a Ford Ranger; we also traveled with 10 other people.

The highlight of that trip was spending several days horseback riding and camping along parts of the Oregon Trail near South Pass City, Wyoming.

That vacation was the last of our long car trip vacations. When given the choice between driving and flying, we opted to fly.

This fall, though, I am making a road trip west again. My destination, Alturas, California, is nearly 2,300 miles away.

How Many Border Collies Does it Take?

The sun was shining. Temperatures were in the 50s. I had the day off work. It seemed the perfect time to plant my spring-blooming bulbs--and to spend some time with the dogs.

About five minutes into the project, I was questioning the wisdom of gardening with dogs.

While tucking crocuses into the ground, Gael, the 4-month-old Border collie, snatched my glove and darted across the yard.

Glove retrieved and crocuses planted, I moved to a different spot where I attempted to dig. Gael was front and center, right where I wanted to dig.

Then she wanted to participate. She dug in the dirt,upsetting recently planted bulbs.

Meanwhile, Emma stared at the cat.

And Raven stared at the back door, hoping some dog would exit.

Because I'm planting so late in the fall, I don't know if the bulbs will come up in the spring.

If they do, I'm sure they'll have that natural, fall-where-they-may look, and that they'll make me smile and remember the day I attempted to plant bulbs with Border collies.

A Rookie at the National Sheepdog Finals

Jack at the shed. Photo courtesy of Beth Murray.

When Jack arrived from Texas last summer, I never envisioned qualifying him for the USBCHA National Sheepdog Finals. Instead, I was hoping to have a nice open dog for competition and a dog that would help me improve my handling skills.

We traveled to trials in Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, Wisconsin and Virginia. We had sheep escape during the fetch; we missed drive panels; we were disqualified during a shed; and we timed out at the pen. Sometimes we completed the course, and sometimes we didn't. Over time though, we got better, and every once in a while, we were able to pull all the elements together and place. By this summer's end, we'd earned enough points to qualify for the National Finals in Virginia.

One hundred and fifty dogs from across the United States and Canada are accepted into the Finals--and the handlers' list reads like a Who's Who of the sheepdog world. They returned to the Finals year after year. I was a rookie, making my first appearance.

Running on the last day of the four-day preliminary round gave me lots of time to think about this. Over the first three days, I saw sheep escapes from the course, missed drive panels, disqualifications at the shed and timing out at the pen. I also witnessed dogs and handlers working together to move the four sheep skillfully around the course.

A friend and I made two visits to the practice field to take the edge off me and my dog. During the second work, she told me to fetch the sheep and then whistle Jack counter-clockwise around the sheep.

"You're going to need that," she said. During the fetch, many groups wanted to run toward the exhaust--and most handlers were giving quick "away-to-me" commands to stop them. It did little to settle my nerves.

The crowds didn't help. At most dog trials, the only spectators are the other handlers and a few friends. At the Nationals, hundreds of people attend and watch. Sunny September weather brought them out in droves.

Self-doubt set in. Would I be able to keep the sheep on course? Would I make a rookie mistake on the field? As my turn approached, I went to the car to get my dog, whistles and crook. Jack, a 9-year-old who'd run in many big trials, went into pre-run warm-ups: rolling in the grass, whining and sidling up to me. He was ready.

Like that, I forgot about the crowds and that this was the National Finals. Taking a few deep breaths, I petted him and reminded myself that this was just another dog trial. A sense of calm overtook me, and we walked to the post. As Jack swung out into an arc, it became just me, my dog and four sheep who were bolting toward the exhaust.

I gave my away whistle. Jack swung around to stop them. Usually that's enough to change their minds, but these sheep were determined to escape. I was determined to keep them on course. Pretty lines went to the wayside. Jack moved like a cutting horse, zigging and zagging to hold them onto the course. Somehow we got the sheep around the post and through the first drive panel. I was slow to give a flank in front of the second drive panel, and the sheep dipped low, missing the panel.

As Jack moved the sheep to the shedding ring, I glanced at the clock. Eight minutes had passed, and we had three minutes left to split two from the group, re-gather and put them in the pen.

Still inexperienced at shedding, I take time to position myself in the ring and set up the shed. We split the two and I send Jack to re-gather the group.

I have one minute to pen--and complete confidence in my dog.

With steady movement and a few flanks, we guide the sheep into the pen, and I shut the gate.

We'd done it. It wasn't pretty, and the 114 score wouldn't be high enough to move onto the next round, but we'd completed the course at the National Finals--and I was ready to try that again.

After my preliminary run was over, I had time to really watch and enjoy the

Finals--and take photos.

Strange Bedfellows

When the temperatures drop, I expect to see Tag and Caeli snoozing together on the couch. They've both hit the double digits in age and have been together nearly nine years. On the farm, we call them the "old married couple."

For years, Dewey and Louie, the office cats, have snoozed together.

But Roxie, the barn cat, did not have a snuggle buddy. Trick, the Senior Barn Cat, does not snuggle. He's perfectly content to curl up on top of the hay bales and survey his kingdom.

So, when the temperatures dipped below freezing, Roxie found a warm buddy.

I think she's embarrassed by her new friend, as it's taken me weeks to get a photo of the two.

Zero Degrees in the Barnyard

When temperatures dip below 20 degrees, people ask how the barnyard animals are handling the cold.

The horses, sheep and even the chickens handle the cold weather better than the hot weather. For, with winter coats and a wind break, they only need extra hay to warm up.

And they love extra hay.

Last night temperatures dipped below zero degrees Fahrenheit, but the winds were calm. So the horses spent the night in the pastures, pawing through snow for grass, rolling and snoozing.

For the dogs, temperatures below zero mean shortened walks. Old paws feel the cold in sub-zero weather and after five minutes or so, I few of the dogs begin tiptoeing.

The sheep have hooves instead of paws, so after eating their hay they mosey to the pasture. Their thick coats and low stature handle the cold just fine.

The chickens venture outside, but not as much as when it's warmer.

The Buckeye chickens were developed to handle Ohio winters. They have short combs and heavy bodies. They don't let a little snow keep them from roaming.

After lunch, when temperatures finally reached double digits, I took the dogs on their daily walk around the hay fields.

Jack came back with icicles, and Niki, with a dirty nose.

Both seemed disappointed that herding training wasn't on the afternoon agenda.

But 20 degrees is when the human works the dogs on sheep.

The One New Year's Day Regret

I spend part of New Year's Day doing activities that I'd like to do throughout the year. Lucky for me, the sun came out and the temperatures climbed to the 40s, so I could spend hours outdoors.

 Pictured from left are Tag, Raven, Niki, Jack and Caeli. This was taken right before I released them so they could run in the fields.

I started the day like I do most, with the dog walk. But on this day, because the sun was shining and because I had time, I extended the walk to the far hay field and lingered as the Border collies hunted for mice, rolled in the grass and chased each other.

I followed that up with several rounds of herding training--a treat when the weather is warm, the ground is soft, but not muddy.

I took time to admire the horses, soaking in the afternoon sunshine.

Lily, like always, is front and center. Jet is behind her.

Noticing their bushy bridle paths, I took them in the barn for hair cuts, grooming and lots of peppermint treats. Is there anything more soothing than listening to the barn radio and the swish of scissors while standing over a horse? 

And, while being lulled by the horses, I made my New Year's Day mistake.

I addressed the chicken issue.

For months now, I've been squabbling with the hens who insist on sleeping in the horse barn, rather than the chicken coop. Carrying hens from the horse barn to the chicken coop has become a nightly chore.

I decided to put a stop to that and move them to the other chicken house, the chicken house that has a fenced yard and no direct access to the sheep and horse barn.

I spent New Year's Day preparing the chicken's new home. I cleaned it out, spread fresh straw on the floor and stapled plastic over an opening to cut down on drafts. That evening, I carried 2 roosters and 16 hens to their new home.

This morning, they roamed their new yard and gobbled up butternut squash seeds and apple cores.

They seemed happy, they seemed content.I was happy, I was content.

But as dusk approached, one hen flew over the fence and into the yard. Another flew over the fence and marched to the horse barn.

And so this evening, I did what I'd done on New Year's Day: I moved a chicken from the horse barn to the chicken coop.

November Sunsets

Dusk does not linger at this time of year,

Not like July,
when a sunset walk takes me around the pastures and hay fields,
allows me to linger at the pond,
and listen to the bullfrogs,
and wonder when darkness will ever come,
so I may fall into bed, tired after soaking up so much sunshine.

Tonight I am in the wheat field, just minutes from home,
taking the dogs on their after-work walk,
and pondering work, chores, holidays, life.
When I look up, the dogs are silhouettes.
By the time I return home,
I'll be lucky to spot white-tipped tails.

The Geese Return

The Canada geese joined the bird chorus this week. Dozens and dozens are flying northward to their summer homes.

To my dismay, two stopped at the farm pond.

As I walked the Border collies in the morning, the duo swam to the center of the pond where they preened and swam circles around each other.

Honking geese interrupted their flirtations. Looking up, I spotted another pair flying toward the pond, chattering and honking.

The pair on the pond honked back.

I don't know goose talk, so I don't know what they were saying. I only know that the back-and-forth honking was loud and insistent.

"Oh, no you don't," I said, shaking my finger at the two flying overhead.

I didn't want the geese setting up house on the pond. For four geese lead to a dozen geese, which leads to dozens and dozens more.

The two must have understood people talk, or maybe they saw the three Border collies. They flew on to find another pond.

And to my delight, the pair on the water took off and joined them.

I smiled at my small victory in what is sure to become a long battle with the geese.

The Office Cat

When I work from home, this is often my view.

Dewey likes to perch on the scanner and watch me.

Those are during the good moments.

During the bad moments, he walks on the keyboard or presses the print button.

If I ignore him, he'll grab my hand--and sometimes forget to retract his claws.

He'll shred paper.

He'll yowl.

Eventually I'll give in and feed him, or toss him outside.

And he'll give in and snuggle on my lap or a blanket.

And I'll love my office cat once again.

What they teach us...

While cleaning out a desk, I came across these photos of Rambles, our first Border collie pup.

She arrived on our farm in the spring of 1998, just weeks after we moved to the farm. The old farmhouse was in a state of renovation, with no doors or woodwork. She stayed in the mudroom during the days while we were at work, and tagged along with us everywhere in the evenings.

On this particular evening, she was helping my husband, Randy, plant pine seedlings. She had a grand time following behind him, pulling up the seedlings he'd planted and racing around the fields.

She was the dog that made me fall in love with Border collies, and she was the dog that began my dog-training journey. I taught her obedience, agility and so many tricks.

Rambles died nearly nine years ago--and many of the seedlings planted that spring are nearly as tall as the house. We now need two hands to count the number of Border collies that have called our farm home: Rambles, Jack, Tag, Caeli, Mickey, Raven and Niki.

Today I visited the young Border collie, Niki, who is at sheepdog boarding school. While she was working the sheep, and the trainer was correcting her, I realized that this dog-training journey will last a lifetime.