Heart

Heart

Some dogs need heart to be great.
 And great they will be, maybe.  You'll know it when you see it.
If you have the correct vision.
So the wise handler makes heart. Or maybe not the wise handler, but the handler who can.
Not everyone can spend themselves that way.
Unwind your own warm and lively confident heart. Like a fishing reel.
Think of no other uses for it.
Spin out every inch of string, every inch of your own hot beating heart.
You can only do this if you're confident.
If you lack confidence, there will be no heart to give.
You're wise to cede your heart to your dog, because dog sends it back to you, stronger.
Heart in dog makes heart in handler.

and so you spend yourself.
It is right that you should.

Would you do it again?
YES!
but I would need my heart,
which has gone
with that dog that has a lot of heart.

Always with me

The past is the present too.
She is in me, a part of me.
She will never leave, even when she dies.
No one can take her away. I don't have to guard her to keep her close.
I don't have to be careful and I don't have to be afraid.
It doesn't matter what the people think about what was said and done, or what I'm writing here.

She is in my cells. She is in my blood.

I don't have to carry a leash. Or a sign.
I don't need her emblazoned on my T-shirt
or tattooed on my skin.
because she's already here.

And I am in her.
Always.
I go with her, even when I stay home.

Its quite wonderful!

(Photo by Jodi Darling)

Saying goodbye

You knew it would come to this.
When you got that fluffy 8-week old little imp, this day was already written.
It was part of the deal. You promised that lively fluffy silly fellow, that you would do this hard thing, that you would make sure the last minutes were as good as the first minutes.

It's been hanging there for fourteen years, this thing.
Pray that you choose the right time, the right day.

Do you wait until the good days are gone?
Try to guess when it IS the last good day.

It is not easy.
You will gamble.

Talk  to your God.
Talk to your dog.
Dont be fanciful. Do not entertain falsehoods. This is real life, not some fucking slogan.
Be brave and do your best. If you err , a day short, or a day too long....(and I believe I have erred, I think,  in both directions, but mostly , by not deciding soon enough.)
 KNOW that your dog will forgive you, if you don't choose exactly right. He knows why. and he understands.

Please be grateful, Very grateful that you, and you alone  have this awful choice.
And be thankful, SO very thankful, that he was yours, from the beginning to the end.
and that you got the chance to say good bye.

An old friend remembers.

How many years has it been?
7. Maybe. More or less . 7 is close.
7 years  ago I gave a good dog away. But I did it well.

Zeke  went to live with a co-worker, when I determined that he would not make an open  trial dog for me.
But Damn. Zeke and me had some good times on the pro-novice field.

When I became more ambitious in the sport  of sheepdog trialling, Zeke went to live with a co-worker of mine. It seemed like a good deal for him : 2 masters, a lot of sheep to work , and no one bothering him with the pressure of competition.

Years and years pass.

I saw Zeke this week. He was at the place I work, for a vet-check, to update his anti-inflammatory s. Zeke is old now. His face is grey. His body is thick.

I would,nt have known him.
 I.     Would.     not.      have.      known.      him...

But he knew  me .
Clearly.

A different sort of falconry

I was once, an aspiring falconer.
It was a long time ago. It almost happened , until both Master falconer, and apprentice got summarily fired  (for no good reason) from our situations, and were scattered to the same winds of any who have to move quickly and without any resources to speak of.  (I ended up in LaGrande.  My sponsor ended up in a "compound" with those loony Montana Freemen. Google it, if it doesn';t ring a historical bell. They made the news.)
The end was a mess,  but I retain even yet, sweet memories of hawking with friends on sweet cool, sunny autumn days. Sweetest times.
 I learned the sport, somewhat.

Even before that, I had a short sub-contract job describing vegetation, and otherwise assisting in a  general survey of vertebrate animals on  a BLM district in far SE Oregon, It was a shitty survey,...Shitty boss. He was later jailed for some shit.  I dont think I ever got paid for that job (Goddammit!)
Except in this: One of the most remarkable things I've ever seen.
Among other duties,  I was tasked with live-trapping native rodents. After the various small mammals were documented, I would release them. Poor little nocturnal mousies would be dazzled and momentarily disoriented by the morning sun's brightness. By the second day of rodent grid, families of kestrels (clever little sparrow hawks) would accompany me on my trapline chores. They'd learned that I was a good source of easy hunting.). After a week, they were fluttering about my head, and hovering, waiting for their  mousie treats.
I enjoyed it.

Decades later, I still remember.
A couple of years ago, I got a sparrow trap to get live meat for a Swainson's hawk I was readying for release (Yeah, bitches, I re-hab doomed birds illegally too. So call the cops!)

I captured an excess of introduced old world sparrows. I started offering these to my kestrel friends. And I got takers!

One winter resident female kestrel  watched for me daily. When I ran out of live sparrows, she would take thawed frozen ones. When I ran out of frozen sparrows, she would take lean raw chicken. When I ran out of chicken, she would follow me around as I and my dogs kicked at the scrubby edges of fields to scare up a birdie for her to eat.
She wasn't the only one. I played a lot of kestrels and a few merlins, prairie falcons, coopers, and one very bold (hungry) young goshawk.
Most of the hawks I shared sport with were transients, and migrated on after a day or two.
But the female kestrel played from September till April. She recognized me, and she recognized my car, and would "wait on" when I arrived in her neighborhood. Sometimes I would'nt at once see her, but she always saw me.
That last April, she took up with a guy kestrel, and went away with him to nest. I saw her less and less.  I still miss that female K-bird.

I still trap sparrows, and I still feed some wild hawks.
Last week a bold female kestrel came in for sparrows three days in a row.  Game on!

. It never happened.

Nothing like that ever happened.
I have to repeat it to myself. Relatively pleasant days can go by when I can believe it.

The physical memory is pretty faded now, more like a memory of a memory.
I wore it out through overuse. Like a  toy panda bear I used to have who got so threadbare and bald from too much attention for too long, that it wasn't even recognizable as the original bright fluffy toy in the photograph of Christmas morning 1957.

Something did NOT happen two years ago, during the week before the USBCHA finals.

I am more content when I make myself believe it never happened. This seems consistent with the  apparent sentiments of others. Lots of people are pretending it didnt happen.
I think I can stay contented if I pretend along with them.


Once in a while, though, not as often as used to be, I forget to remember that it never happened.
I need to work harder on that.

Its Finals time! (Bitter! ...SWEET!...Bitter)

The USBCHA Finals has always been, for me,  THE ultimate sheepdog trial of all time. The ONE!
It is the trail that matters most. The trial to work toward.....maybe not this year, maybe not the next, but the one after that....yeah maybe!!!!
I've been following avidly for 15 years.
It used to be my goal, my aim, my daydream, and last thoughts at night.  When I was working  my dogs, making my plans, the USBCHA finals was the thing that was in my mind. It has been like this since my first novice trials with my Rook, and my Kelly ( both gone now. They got old, and then they had to go, , but not without teaching me how to move on to the next step)....and I did move on to the next step.  A pleasant easy going dog called Zeke (Greasy) and a real neat bitch named Taff showed me some moves. Both of these dogs were utterly lovely to work with, and i trusted both, but these lacked 100% of the natural talent it takes to be competitive.  I was reaching. Still dreaming the dream. I discarded Zeekie and Taff.  Both Zeke (Greasy) and Taff now  live with people who love them a lot, and use them on stock, and don't dream of making a decent showing in any USBCHA finals, or any trials at all.

Then. I worked a real good dog. for a few years... .and I didnt merely dream about competing in the finals, I saw it happening. Each step within reach. Two and a half years I worked her and all of the work made sense. Each day of training took us palpably closer. I could see it unfolding. The thing was going to HAPPEN! No doubt in my mind. and back then I wasn't delusional. I knew myself. I knew my dog. I had confidence in her. She had confidence in me.  We were exactly where I'd been aiming to be.
She was (is) the dog that would go there, and not merely qualify, but knock some socks off too.
It was going to happen.

One hears that "No dog is perfect" , and "every dog has a weakness" .  It probably seems pompous, but it was only truthful for me to say that , " My dog is perfect. She has no weakness. None"
 I stand by it, still, though she is not my dog any longer. She wasnt my dog then, though I didnt realize it,  Her heart was mine. No doubt about that. My heart absolutely belonged to her.

The Finals. Here they come again.
It is a bitter anniversary. 2 years ago is the last time I spoke to and touched my dog.
I got a phone call from my mentor, and compliantly delivered the dog to him.

I wish I had'nt been so compliant.But  I used to be so damn nice, so I put my hopes and dreams, and my only true love in the seat beside me, and took her to my mentor's house,
and I have never touched her again.
I did it because I  trusted my mentor to make it right.  I wish I would have fought a little.  I wish I would have fought a lot.  I wish I would not have made it easy, but I trusted that all would be made right. I really trusted that guy.

My dog is in the Nationals this year.
 She might just win it. I dont know why not. She is perfect. She has no weakness. None.
Good handler too. Great handler!

Mentor? Well.

Hit reset, and kill the ghosts

Again,
and again ,
 and again........

I don't really know whats ahead in my sheepdog journey.
I suppose no one does, but it is helpful, probably necessary to have a picture in one's mind of the road one wants to travel.
When that picture falls apart,and that road becomes blocked, One must form new images and expectations to cling to.
These will fall apart too.
Buddhists would have something to say about all this grasping and clinging to visions that don't exist.
They might call it, the source of the suffering.

When I'm working a dog, I try to line out my training session, so that its fairly certain that my dog will succeed.
I can do this in any given 15 minute work, but long term, eludes me.

Maybe I need to limit my hopes, dreams, goals and expectations to 15 minutes at a time.

When I train or trial my dogs, Ghosts of my past expectations haunt me.
They hover around and laugh at me, not in a pleasant way.

I need to find a way to kill these ghosts. They are fucking me up.

Resources: "Hi Officer. No, I don't own that land."

To make progress in  the sheepdog thing,   requires three absolute necessities. No. Four.

1. Pretty good dog(s) : They needn't be perfect, mind you, but if they are perfect, so much the better.
2. Pretty good sheep: They needn't be perfect, mind you, but if they are perfect, so much the better.
3. A pretty good place to work : It needn't be perfect, mind you, but if it is perfect, so much the better.
4. Time, preferably during daylight.

Three out of four aint bad.
I've got pretty good dogs, Maybe even perfect!
I've got pretty good sheep, Maybe even perfect!
..And , now Kind thanks to the equinox, I've got some daylight after my daily work obligations are finished.

I am all dressed up, but there is no where to go.

I've been trying to save up for a light weight  trailer of some kind, that I can pull with a Toyota, to take my sheep about 1 mile south of here, where there lies welcoming and waiting and PERFECT, miles and miles of beautiful open country on public land.
But January paycheck bought some plumbing work, and February paycheck paid my overdue  property taxes. March paycheck bought a load of hay,....and dammit, Aprils paycheck will have to buy tires, I'm afraid.

So, The PERFECT place to work sheep will have to wait. I've been working sheep on less than perfect.
Each evening after work, I've been taking my good sheep, and my good dogs, through the streets of the  ragged subdivision where I live,  to  an empty ~ 2 acre lot , where I do some close up work.....(in 2 acres, close-up work, is all ya got.....But Thats okay, because if your dog and you cant do it do it close up, long distance wont work either.

It wasnt perfect, but some good , some beauty, could be squeezed out.
When I'm doing good work with my dogs and my sheep, I feel physically beautiful. Isnt that vain? Isnt that silly?

Apparently some neighbor, or another found my dog and sheep work less  beautiful than I do,  and called the police, to put a stop to it.
A polite sheriff deputy knocked on my door, to tell me keep my sheep contained on my own land.

There was no  ticket, no fine.  Thats good, certainly, but  something here is wrong.

I'm not very high on my neighbors just now.

Clearly!  Some neighbor or neighbors are not high on me!
I think I want to be somewhere else.
I dont have the resources to make it happen.

I'm feeling pretty low just now.

We have our own language

Even when its sneen, their spumers may become laxish
 and bebies will spill out, one at a time from the spoo.
Woolie Beebs suck on the teatly bazoom.
Dogeroons, be careful . Uws are fierce at lambing.
Heads up while you eat the sploo, and the old dags.

A word about sheep

 A lot of sheep-doggers start training on the sheep of their trainer.  These are probably GREAT sheep. Later, hungering for more frequent sheep-time for their dogs, a novice herder will beg , borrow, or steal, any local sheep they can find.
Eventually, a dedicated sheep-dogger will find a way to acquire a wee small herd of one's own.

If this is you , Congratulations!   You'll be thinking about sheep.

You have a new responsibility. You are no longer looking after the well-being of your good dogs, You will be considering the health and well-being of your flock. You'll concern yourself with your individual sheep.
If you have a ram and ewes, you will concern yourself with with the status and genetics of your fold.
You will be responsible, not only for your individual animals, but also you'll be responsible for what your flock will be.

What do you want from your sheep?  Think hard about this.

Today at work, a valuable breeding ewe came in with a dystocia. She could not deliver her royally pedigreed lamb without surgical intervention.  She came from a line of sheep bred for show. She was absolutely beautiful! A beautifully arched aristocratic facial profile, Long neck, Long back. Solid haunches.
Be very careful what you wish for, my sheep-keeping friends.
Huge single lambs make great show sheep. ....and a huge single lamb was what this gorgeous ewe  predictably carried.
 A very  few generations of breeding for Humongous singles cost this ewe her life.  Her gorgeous single lamb, survived, due to outstabnding veterinary intervention.. He will be bottle raised and will take his princely place in the pedigrees of show sheep of the future.


We sheepdog folks dont tend to be concerned with producing Suffolks for show,...(THANK GOD!)... Suffolks of any sort are headstrong , and not very good for our young dogs confidence.

But do, pay heed to what you are breeding for, regardless of what sort of sheep your aiming for.
Do you want a flock that only lambs with human intervention? Are you really all that happy about hourly night time checks during lambing season? Are you happy about sewing a ewes prolapsed vagina and rectum shut , to keep her alive long enough to breed another season?
Do you want a flock that you have to force your ewes accept and feed their lambs?


Think hard about what you'd like your sheep to do for you.
Sheep keeping should not be hard. Verifiable idiots have been doing it for thousands of years.

The single secret to improving a flock, is ruthless Culling.
If you dont cull, your flock will not improve.

.......and also, stay the fuck away from  suffolks.

Bed Dog

Its cold, and I like a dog to cuddle up with when I'm in my bed.

Watson, my late standard poodle, still missed, was a great bed dog.  He would cuddle up up, and decline to rise until I'd put the other dogs outside, and had made my coffee. He would join me for coffee and special "poodle-time" while I put my morning together. I miss Watson.

Rook. He was a good bed dog. Fantastic cuddler.....until he became incontinent in the number one AND the number two way, with advanced age. I think he understood. I hope he understood , when I bought him inexpensive discardable  dog beds and used thriftstore blankets and placed beside my bed.

Vangie. . Good bed dog. I hope she's enjoying a bed.

Its cold now, and I'm skin-flint enough to turn my heat all but off during nights.
I'm taking applications for a bed dog.

Star. She sucks my blankets! WTF,   Suckles my blankets, and thinks about her sweet mama (Tess)
This makes my bedding wet. Very wet, and unpleasantly dank.. Yuck! Also Star rates my breathing, and when its deep enough, she goes into the kitchen and eats my cookies , or meat that is thawing., or topples the garbage and spreads it about.
Star! You flunk bed dog! Get in your crate!

Jet. He doesnt really want to be in the bed. I can respect that. I, also, am a mammal who needs some space....but Jet also sneaks out to topple the garbage, and just yesterday, he spilled and ate a 20 lb bag of wild bird seed.
No No! Get in your crate!

Fitz! My loving puppy! He seems to get the whole bed-dog thing....at least, I am pleased to think so.He has the cuddling down. He is a natural.....; until I catch him.TAKING a SHIT right on MY BED!!!!!!   ON MY BED! while I'm in it!
Fitz. You flunk at bed dog.
Back to the crate you go.

Jones. It almost worked. He's a good cuddler, Doesn't shit. Doesn't pee. Doesn't pull midnight garbage heists....but every morning I let Jones in my bed, I wake up with the NASTY toilet plunger next to me. He LOVES that thing!
Sorry Jones. Crate time.

I'm about ready to invite my cats in for the night, and see if one of these might be a cuddle-muffin with no alternative agenda.

Or alternitavely, I read that the old timers used to go to bed surrounded by hot baked potatoes.

Click "Reset"

After some personal disappointment in my sheepdog 'game' , I was forced to set the dial on 'reset'.
Reset.
The world is new. Its an entirely new game.
There will be no worrying about qualifying for ....any damn thing. Not this year. Probably not next. Maybe never.
That did not make me happy.

I've always held goals for myself and my dogs. These keep my attention filled with the long term reach.
My goal , for recent trials is to give my dogs confidence-building experience , and , most importantly , to have a ROCKING GOOD TIME!

Target achieved.
Happier handler. Happier dogs.
My new game plan is slovenly, at best ,
No pressure. None. On me or my dogs. Fun will be had. NOTHING else matters.

The formally quirky, Miss Star is responding very well to our new minimalist regimen .
Being bums might be the best road for both of us.

Lord! I do feel like myself , and I'm liking it.
My dogs are happy , and surprisingly, performing better on sheep, then ever before.

No complaints.

Reset.
Total.

Finals :Goddam!

Well, thats why I quit Facebook.
But Fuck me, I can't look away.

Its a little hard to take.

Once THIS Finals is over........Things'll be great.
Till then, I'm rooting for everybody, or at least everybody who sounds sweet at the handlers' post. (Cant abide hollering handlers!)


Wish I was there.

It just takes so goddamed long to bring a young dog up to competant open.

Been there.
Done that...with the best dog in the world.

Then she was gone. I never even saw her again.

I am disheartened.
I have nice pups, but Its such a long road and I'm afraid I may not have the heart for it.

Oh jeezus, I loved that dog.

Its Finals Time. Great excitement

The entries are in.
 How many points will it take this year?
Who is going to Klamath? Who is not?

http://www.usbcha.com/events/sheep/entries.html

I am not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNzBgR0UoYo

Back in the Saddle Again

Upon edit-

I have retracted the forbidden name from post number 2.

There are others whos magic may yet be intact.

Might as well keep it that way.

In other news , I have some real nice dogs! Spectacular , even.
Introductions are in order.


Jet is a handsome young fellow by Helsley's Cap, with an upright working style. He could do with a little confidence, and wider flanks, and possibly a tad more 'feel for his sheep'.  I think I can help him with all of that. No, REALLY!

Jones , also handsome, also by Helsley's Cap, was born 1.5 years ago in my kitchen.  Jones   has been spending time with DD, because I had difficulty starting him.
He is going around sheep for me very well for me this week . Jones has 'feel for sheep ' in pleasing abundance.

Both of these young gents like working with me.

My Star is even starting to look like an open dog , when the mood suits her, which seems to be happening more often.
Star is , about 6 now, I think, so its due.

Fitz is a clever , confidant , even bold 5-month old pup. He was on sheep one time with DD. He liked it and looked good. At this point , nothing else to say about Fitz, except that he makes me laugh.

I'm entered in Athena.  Its been a while since I trialled.
I'm looking forward to being Back in the Saddle.

Talismans, Lucky Signs and the...... Forbidden name

 I am modern, scientific ,and maintain realistic expectations about cause and effect, but what handler does not believe in some very silly ritual to bring success on the trial field.

Lucky socks.

 Lucky underwear.

A lucky crook.

We wish one another "luck".

I've got a whistle lanyard dripping with beads and charms , each having a  meaning to me, and serving to remind me of some particular value or virtue to pull out of my small bag of skills when I stand at the  handler's post.

I have a crook that was a gift from someone I loved.  That is lucky.

I ran a phenomenally great dog, A once in a lifetime dog ,  who did not belong to me.

Very lucky. I walked in God's grace. Grace from God bestowed by my Mentor, who's dog I , through his grace,  had the undeserved pleasure of partnering with.

You may get confidence wearing your lucky underpants as you walk to the post, But Theres NOTHING like the "Luck" of knowing you are running the best dang dog at the trial, at any trial, anywhere.

I came across 2 mementos this morning:

A pressed four-leaf clover  that I found last year at the set out at Lacamas SheepDog Trial.

I picked it observing that I was one lucky gal. It bode good things, fulfillment in my sheepdog journey, a balanced life. I carried it in my wallet, to remind me of my blessings, and for luck.

The other memento was an annotated score sheet from a trial I ran in one week after I picked the lucky clover. I did not know at the time , It was to be my last  run with a dog that was my heart.

 I welcome trials as a chance to show me what I need to work on with my dog. I am thankful that even a poor run can be a point from which to make specific improvements. And even a less than stellar run will have instances of great beauty.

I had written notes on the score sheet based on conversation with  Jack Knox, the judge of that trial . Jack was generous in sharing suggestions for exercises  to sharpen up my shed.

I remember looking forward to practicing, with utmost confidence that dog and I would soon have complete mastery of the shed. I was ready. Great stuff was going to happen to my trialling. I was poised on the brink of exactly where I wanted to be.

My luck changed soon after.

Looking back,I should have seen it coming.

Earlier my crook broke. I had left it leaning on a wall at a trial, and it had fallen , breaking the horn handle in two. Once harmonious and united, now separated.   The magic leaked out.  A cold  foreboding.

I get that I am supposed to pretend none of this ever occurred, because the mention of it may be uncomfortable.  Everyone gets the luck they deserve. 

The forbidden name must not spring from my lips.

But why not,  My magic has already  leaked out. 

Its alright now to say the name.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon edit-

I will not say the forbidden name.

There are others whos magic may yet be intact.

Might as well keep it that way. 

Like the world needs another sheepdog blog from a mediocre handler

I was going to start a blog about my sheep, and dog,  and sheepdog trialing ups and downs.
Maybe I could contribute a unique voice, amid the perhaps hundreds of other sheepdog blogs.
It was going to have poetry, philosophy,humor, art , and science.
I expected my blog to be a chronicle of  set -backs and victories,  arcing ever  upwards, toward success,   as dedication, hard work, and a little luck led on an  inevitable path  towards personal fulfillment, and  spiritual growth (and kick-ass runs.)

I've loved the game since I first started. LOVED IT! It was a compelling pursuit, and caught all my imagination. Complex, multifaceted, and damnably difficult. Impossibly difficult....Yet there were  instances of knee-weakening  perfection. Brief, and illusive. Even now I can almost feel it.
Hey, Sister, this IS God's plan for your life!

Good friends, unbelievable dogs,  outside under the sky.  The sheep were pleasant, and beautiful, and they smelled so fucking good.
 Listen, bird calls.
Breezes. The sheep's breath, warm sweet clover.
Dust makes me happy to be alive.
My  joy is too large for my skin. It seeps out as cooling sweat.
A lonely person can experience  union with another soul. Person and dog. Greater than the sum of their parts.

Somewhere, I read that it takes about 10 years in trialing to get a modicum of competence.
It would have been neat to call my blog, "The Tenth Year" , but that year came and went without notable success. The eleventh and  twelfth years passed similarly.
The success I was hoping for eluded me still.

For a while there though, about year 13 or 14, I felt close to it.  I thought I could almost touch it.
My cup overflowed.
I felt my bliss.
 I was physically beautiful when I was having a good session with my dog, at least it seemed possible that I was.



.......But that might not have been true.
Delusion.
I am no longer in a position to even imagine I knew my own path.

So, here is my first and last blog post on my sheepdog blog.

I'm going to write a biography of a Depression instead.
Please join me @ my other new blog :SUCK'

http://smoulderingsuck.blogspot.com/