[ back ]
Sheepherding scheme ends in wink of eye
(by Timmy Sullivan - July 14, 2010)
SENIORITIS, BY TIMY SULLIVAN
Sheepherding scheme ends in wink of eye
There will be no Sullivan sheep. As you can imagine, this has been quite a disappointment, but you can't have sheep without a shepherd, and, as we recently learned, our beloved Rosie has "no work ethic whatsoever." Here's how it all went down.
After yearning for a border collie and finally bringing home a little black-and-white fluff ball who thoroughly looked the part, I spent months reading every book I could get my hands on about sheepherding BCs -- as devotees of the breed call them.
I was enraptured and began envisioning our own little herd being masterfully maneuvered across the front lawn and around the flower beds by our own little herder. Among the many perceived benefits of my plan was the notion that having sheep to herd might just turn Rosie's attention away from herding us, random small children, unsuspecting robins, blowing leaves, and, of course, the cat. Clearly, I thought, she has the coveted herding gene.
Of course, I didn't share this plan with Ed, but seeing the books on my night stand might have given him a clue. If not, he definitely got it this spring when I registered a fully grown Rosie for a top-quality sheepherding seminar.
Now, if you follow this column, you know that, when I say fully grown, I mean fully grown. Rosie looked like a real BC for just about a month and then exploded into a dog with the coat of a border collie and the body of a Saint Bernard -- well almost.
Suffice it to say that, when we made our entrance at the seminar, all eyes were on Rosie, and all I could think of was that "Sesame Street" song, "One of these things is not like the others; one of these things does not belong." There they were, nine perfect little prick-eared, bright-eyed BCs and Rosie, who looked like a Holstein cow at a dog show.
I must say everyone was polite throughout the morning as we all sat around a small pen watching the seminar leader demonstrate herding with one dog after the other. As they waited their turns, all the other dogs sat facing the ring and never took their eyes off the sheep. Rosie draped her ample self across Ed's lap and went to sleep.
Finally, after about three hours in rain and hot sun (BCs are bred to take extreme conditions while on the job), it was Rosie's time to show her stuff.
But before she could enter the pen, I was instructed to place a noose-like rope around her chest so the leader could gently control her movements around the sheep. Unfortunately, when I tried to get the rope around her ample body, Rosie decided she'd had enough and let out the first and only growl I've ever heard from her. There was dead silence as all the dogs and their handlers gave her the eye. "This dog is aggressive," the leader intoned, and all heads nodded.
The leader went on to explain that an aggressive dog cannot be trusted around sheep (never mind people), but, just to bring closure, he agreed to bring Rosie into the pen to test her herding abilities. Rosie took one look at the sheep huddled in the corner, did three play bows, got no response and plopped down next to the leader. That was it.
I slipped off the rope -- without incident I might add -- and our little family did the walk of shame back to the car. "That's too bad," I said as we headed home. "I really thought Rosie would love herding, and it would have been so much fun to have sheep."
"Yes," Ed said, shaking his head sadly. "Too bad."
But I thought I saw a smile flicker across his face as he glanced back at Rosie through the rearview mirror -- and when I turned around, I swear I saw her wink before she settled down on her blanket.
[ back ]
