Because You're Never Too Old to...

Gael looking at the sheep. Some day, girl, some day.

Nearly a year ago, I was 2,250 miles from home, at the U.S. National Sheepdog Finals in California, and reflecting on the year behind and the year ahead.

My run had gone poorly, but I had no regrets about going. The coming year was going to be a rebuilding year.

Jack, the dog that ran in the Finals, was retiring. Emma, my other Open dog, needed more training to be competitive. I hoped to get Niki, my 4-year-old, progressing and completing courses; and Gael, my 1-year-old, was just starting her sheepdog journey. Maybe, by the fall of 2019, she'd be ready to start trialing in the nursery classes.

In sheepdog trialing and in life, things don't always go as planned.

Which explains why I've taken up jogging.

Gael, sweet Gael, broke her femur and tore her ACL during play time. (She plays hard).

She had surgery to repair the femur in late November. In mid-February, she had TPLO surgery to repair the knee.

By March, when she was supposed to start walking on the leg, she'd become quite adept at running on three legs, and the muscle mass in that leg was gone.

Border collies are clever and practical. Why use that leg when it was easier and faster to run on three?

And so the walking began.

At first, it was slower than an amble. I'd stop when she picked up and held her bad leg, and only go forward when she used it.

Eventually we picked up the pace, from 1 mph, to 2 mph, to 3 mph. But she only used that leg when on leash.

In June, when the summer temperatures were really heating up and the humidity was rising, we went to a canine physical therapist.

"You need to start jogging with her," she said. Just jog for 30 seconds and walk for a minute.

And so I did. I started slow and slowed more when she picked up and held that leg or tried to lope.

Border collies are clever and practical.

Gael was tired of being crated and walking slowly. She wanted to go.

She started putting that leg down and trotting. And, she's trotting faster and faster.

The heat hasn't subsided, and neither has the humidity. But I'm keeping up.

Maybe, just maybe, she'll return to working sheep by late fall.

Gael and Bubba on the evening dog walk.

Square Meals and Round Bowls

The dogs that run get the round bowls; the one on crate rest gets the square mat.

Sometimes this sheepdog thing doesn't go as planned. Sometimes a fence gets in the way of a very fast dog.

Over Thanksgiving, Gael, the young dog hit a fence during playtime and broke her femur and tore a knee ligament. After undergoing surgery for the broken femur, she had knee surgery last month. So, I've spent most of this winter rehabbing a dog, going on many long, slow dog walks, and acutely feeling the wind, the rain, the mud and the bitter cold.

But, if there is a bright side, it's that Gael may be the best patient ever. She's rather patient and compliant about heating, icing and massage, and seldom complains about her confinement.

Maybe it's because she can't read, and doesn't know that she has at least six more weeks of rehab.

Or maybe, she's quite happy about being fed out of Kongs and snuffle mats, rather than bowls.

When the dog and the cat go to the vet...

If I let him, Jack would spend hours staring at cats. It's a habit I try to discourage--unless we're going to the vet.

Vet offices provide loads of distractions for busy Border collies. Rather than letting other dogs, people, smells and treats distract him, I let Jack, the Border collie, stare at Dewey Kitty who was sitting rather unhappily in his cat carrier.

Dewey Kitty  is no fan of vet visits nor car rides. After receiving his vaccinations and examination, he sulked in the cat carrier that was perched on the bench.

Jack, who was visiting the vet for his periodic adjustment and massage, paid no attention ran her hands over him and manipulated his joints. His eyes were on the cat.

When the vet showed Jack the spinal accelerometer, a little hand-held device that looks like a power drill and makes popping noises, Jack didn't react. His eyes were on the cat.

But when the hand-held device popped behind his ear, Jack, all 48 pounds of him, dropped to the floor.

We got him back on his feet and showed him the device. He stared at the kitty.

The device popped, and Jack dropped again.

"It's the cat," I said. "He thinks he's in trouble for staring at the cat."

"I hope I haven't given him a fear of cats," the vet said, as she worked on him on the floor, out of view of the cat.

When finished, Jack stood--and returned to staring at the cat.

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.

All He Wants for Christmas is...

Tag was born with a charming personality and a bad teeth. He's one of the few Border collies I've seen that has an underbite.

Over the years, he's lost a few bottom incisors while playing tug games with the other dogs. Last week, the now 10-year-old Tag was down to two bottom incisors and a nub.

Yesterday, during his dental cleaning, the last of the bottom incisors were extracted.

But he still remains a charming, manipulative Border collie who knows how to make the best of a situation. He walked over to me and whined, and I prepared some rice with butter for his dinner; and I sat with him on the couch.

And he started to feel better.

Though I'm pretty sure I heard him whisper that some chicken would surely lift his spirits.

A Sunny Day in December

Christmas comes every year, but not so sunny days in December.

When those warm days come on a weekend, I say the Christmas stuff can wait.

The horses' ears perked up when I brought the saddle into the barn; and they watched with interest as I left the barn to retrieve a second saddle with a longer girth.

Roxie, the barn cat, joined in the action. Winters get boring for the barn cats who find great amusement in harassing their humans.

After working the horses, I headed to the sheep pasture where Raven and I continue to work on shedding, or splitting, the flock of sheep. No photos were taken because I have yet to master watching the dog, watching the sheep and taking a photo.

Then it was off to the garden, where I cleaned up the asparagus bed--and marveled at the weeds that never give up. The garden's fall chores aren't quite done, but I still have another week until winter officially begins.

And I studied the radish cover crop that I planted in the garden in late spring. Some of the radishes are rotting--and some may still be growing. I have yet to decide if this was a success or not.

Before the sun sets, I'll take the Border collies on a walk through a few fields that we seldom walk. Then I'll turn my thoughts toward Christmas gifts--and wonder if others consider a sunny day in December a fine gift indeed.

When the Border Collie goes to the Office...

While I love my job, it often interferes with fun--like sheepdog trials. I'm constantly balancing and scheming to make them work.

On some days that means Raven, my Border collie, comes to work with me so that we can leave afterwards for a dog trial. If the weather is cool, she snoozes in a crate in the car.

But on a recent day, I brought her to the office so that she could meet my co-workers.

She scanned the room, stuck her nose in the air, and looked at me.

Where were the sheep?

Now 4 years old, Raven has been doing the dog trial and dog clinic circuit so long that she associates my overnight bag with sheep and fun. And my office had no sheep, and was thus no fun.

I encouraged her to walk from cubicle to cubicle to visit my co-workers. But I could see the thought bubbles above her head: Boring, boring, boring.

In mid yawn, a co-worker walked by carrying her lunch. Raven's ears perked and her eyes locked in on the food. Sticking her nose in the air, she turned to stare at the cafeteria door.

For if a Border collie cannot have sheep, food is a nice second option.

Gratitude--Morning Walks with Dogs

I am grateful for frost-covered mornings in November and remaining bits of fall color.

And for Border collies who insist on the morning walk, no matter the weather.

Ice crystals formed on the pond overnight, but calm winds and a rising sun make it pleasant for walking.

As always, the dogs inspect the pond.

But, unlike me, they aren't mesmerized by the reflections.

They don't stop to ponder how every side of the pond throws a reflection.

We return home to a fire in the wood stove.

And delight in its warmth.

Better--Without the Dog

For many farm tasks with the sheep, I rely on a Border collie for help.

Need to move sheep to another pasture? I call a dog to assist. Need to persuade sheep to go into the barn? I call the dog.

But just because I have a dog trained to work sheep doesn't mean that the dog is always the best tool for the job.

When sorting sheep in a stall or close quarters, I prefer to work alone, without the dog. Why add a dog to the close space and risk the dog or me getting hurt?

The one task that I've always struggled with is the trailer load.

Sheep fear dark, enclosed spaces--and they don't care for the rattle of the trailer. Dogs and people cannot persuade sheep that it's a good idea to go inside a trailer. My husband and I get the task accomplished, but not without high anxiety for sheep and people.

Until this year.

This fall, we parked the trailer in the pasture where the market lambs were living. Once a day, I'd put some hay in tubs inside the trailer. Within hours the sheep figured out the trailer was a place for food. They jumped in and out of it throughout the day.

On the morning they were to go to the butcher, I put some hay inside the trailer. The lambs jumped inside to snack on their morning meal. I slid the trailer door shut.

"Lambs are loaded and ready to go," I told my husband.

Neither of us had touched a lamb during the loading process.

The Strawberry Thieves

I love strawberries.

And so do the birds.

When picking, I find a few half-eaten ones.

I offer those to Raven, the Border collie.

Raven eats it, licks her lips and eyes the strawberry patch for more.

"Eh-eh," I say. "This is not a pick-your-own operation."

The Hawk, the Dog and the Rabbit

The dogs didn't notice that it was 10 degrees and the wind was gusting at 20 mph.

The Border collies just knew it was late afternoon and time for their walk.

I strapped on my skis and skied toward the field bordered by fence rows and woods. Raven and Niki, the young dogs, tussled and rolled, wrestled and chased; Tag trotted obediently behind me while Caeli dashed for the fence rows, hoping to pop up rabbits hunkered down in the snow.

Caeli spotted the rabbit at the same time as the red-tailed hawk. She darted toward the rabbit and the hawk dropped from his perch in the trees.

About three feet from the rabbit, Caeli saw the descending hawk and stopped. The hawk, seeing Caeli, flapped his wings frantically and moved from a descent to an ascent.

The rabbit hopped to safety and is telling the tale of outsmarting a Border collie and hawk on a cold winter's day.

Disturbing the Hunters

The three adult Border collies and I left on our walk at daybreak, when the wind was calm, the sky clear, and frost covering the ground.

We encountered the coyote hunting in the recently harvested soybean.

He looked surprised to see us.

Had he not noticed the time? The lightening sky? Or, did he know in his bones that snow was coming and he needed to eat well?

He trotted toward the woods, then turned and looked at us, deciding whether he wanted to leave his prime hunting spot.

Because we'd just crossed a road, my dogs were on leashes and anxiously awaiting me to release them so that they could hunt the fields for mice.

"Go on, coyote," I said.

Reluctantly he retreated to the woods.

And my three dogs happily ran and chased and hunted until they encountered the raccoon who wisely climbed a tree.

Caeli jumped and whined and jumped some more at the base of the tree.

"That'll do," I said, summoning the dogs to begin walking toward home.

As we walked down the lane, we eyed a pair of red-tailed hawks, circling the hay fields, hunting for mice, perturbed to be giving up their hunting grounds to dogs.

Unlike the night creatures, they'd continue to hunt and screech throughout the day.

Can I Hold Her?

My almost-4-month-old pup and I were visiting co-workers in the garden outlet store.

It was a cold, gray afternoon and there were few customers, just a handful of retirees.

Niki was having a grand time sniffing out the dog lovers, sitting in front of them and getting pats and rubs.

"Can I pick her up?" a gray-haired woman asked.

Niki weighs nearly 20 pounds now and much prefers her faster four legs to my slower two.

"She's kind of heavy," I said.

"Oh, she doesn't weight much more than my cat," said the woman as she sat down her chunky purse and picked up Niki.

The pup didn't squirm. Her alligator mouth didn't explore. Instead, she rested her head in the crook of the woman's arm.

"Do you have a dog?" I asked.

"My dog died this summer. She was 11 years old," the woman said.

A New Addition

Sixteen years ago, my husband planted these pine trees by our house.

As he planted, Rambles, our first dog -- a Border collie puppy, followed behind him, pulling up each seedling.

He eventually planted and re-planted the trees. And, they grew and grew.

Rambles eventually grew up too and turned into a fun dog and great companion.

And, I learned a little about Border collies and puppies.

The Border collies that followed -- Jack (deceased), Tag, Caeli, Mickey (deceased) and Raven -- all came to our household as adults dogs.

That changes this weekend when I bring a Border collie pup home. I hope I've learned a little about dog training and Border collies in the past 16 years.

I'm not planting trees this fall.

I am the Dog

For the past few weeks, I've been without a working Border collie.

My young working dog is recovering from surgery.

My old working dog died.

Tag's afraid of sheep.

I'm afraid to work Caeli on sheep.

Let's just say that it's a lot less stressful for me and the sheep if I trek through the pastures, round the sheep up and bring them back to the barn.

So, for the past few weeks, when I've had to move sheep, I've been the dog.

When you're the dog, you see a lot more tails than heads.

You learn that ewes are easier to move than ram lambs.

The ram lambs often want to look around, to buck and play.

I tell myself I'm learning more about sheep behavior and pressure points and livestock handling.

But I'm really missing my dog.

All he wanted was a hug...

When Tag reached up for an ear scratch, I noticed the teeth.

"Did you lose another tooth?" I asked.

With Tag, the poster boy for orthodontics, it's not easy to assess.

 

Years ago, he lost a front tooth while playing Frisbee.

I count his bottom front teeth. Four and one is loose.

Rubbing his head against my leg, he reminds me that he didn't visit for a tooth inspection. And, that in his mind, he always looks like a champ.

Yet Another Herding Hazard

This morning I was focusing on Raven as she gathered the sheep and moved them from one pasture to the one where I was standing.

I gave her a down command and then a right flank.

Then pow! I had sharp pain in my left buttock.

Spinning around, I looked down at a 10-pound Buckeye rooster.

And, I forgot about the sheep, and about Raven -- and even forgot to tell her to cover her young ears.

The rooster lowered his head and puffed out his neck feathers.

I reached back three decades to those soccer skills I learned in high school.

After a few spurs from him and a few well placed kicks from me, he opted to rejoin his flock of hens.

And I asked Raven to gather the flock of sheep -- there was no gathering my dignity -- and proceeded with training.

On Ticks and Toads

After an unusually cold winter, I was expecting less bugs this spring.

The fly population seems down, but the tick population exploded. In most years, I rarely find ticks on the dogs or myself after our June walks. But this year, I've found them.

Tonight, I found one intent on attaching itself to Caeli's lower eyelid. Luckily, we spotted it in time--and the Border collie was the ideal patient, holding still while I, after several tries, grabbed the tick with the tweezers.

The dogs will get their tick treatment earlier than scheduled this month.

Meanwhile, I've been tip-toeing around the toads. They're in the grass, in the garden, hiding behind the geranium, in the mulch pile, in the barn, around the barn.

I welcome the insect-loving toads.

Though, they aren't telling me where they spent the winter.

Or if they eat ticks.

To Understand Hen-Pecked

When the 55-pound foster dog entered the barn, he encountered a hen who had flown over the gate and into the aisle.

The Border collie gave her a stare.

The Buckeye hen ruffled her feathers, marched toward him, and pecked, pecked, pecked his nose.

He cowered.

Peck, peck, peck.

He cowered more when he realized that she stood between him and his escape -- an open door leading out of the barn.

I intervened, allowing the dog to escape.

Shaking her feathers back into place, the hen resumed scratching and pecking.

My 33-pound Teacher

At age 11, Mickey's arthritic and stiff at times. She might not hear as well as she once did. She's missing some teeth, graying in the muzzle, and certainly not as fast as she once was. But I find her amazing.

For the past 18 months, she's been the world's best teacher. For years, Mickey traveled around the country and accumulated ribbons and prizes for her very experienced sheepdog handler. On the farm, she worked sheep and helped with the sheepdog clinics.

When she arrived on our farm, she had to wonder what had gone wrong. I had yet to master a sheepdog whistle, and my commands were always late, and sometimes wrong. Many dogs would become frustrated with an inexperienced handler. Not Mickey. She gamely worked with what she had.

Maybe it was because I worked her on sheep, had her tag along on chores, let her sleep on the couch. Oh, and the popcorn nights probably helped. But she willingly and enthusiastically worked for me.

Eventually I got better. I learned my whistle commands. I became more fluid in my commands. I started watching the sheep instead of the dog.

This weekend, we competed at the Bluegrass Classic Stockdog Trial. It was my third outing there... and probably Mickey's ninth trip there.

As I watched every level of Border collie and handler compete, I realized how much progress I'd made. I didn't shake at the post. I didn't have to think about my next command. Mickey and I just worked the sheep, and finally, I didn't feel like a novice handler.

I can thank my human trainers who've helped along the way, but I also have to thank a wise, old dog.