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Lessons
From A Sheep Dog
Philip Keller
As
a lad I had grown up with cattle. On our land in East Africa, my father
had always bred the finest of the breeds adapted to the tropics. His
cattle were a special joy to him: the splendid bulls that sired our
calves, the sturdy oxen that hauled our wagons and worked our fields and
the handsome cows that produced our milk were a marvel to the Africans.
When I came to North America to complete my university training in science
and animal husbandry, cattle still played an important role in my career.
I worked on various cattle ranches and longed for the day when I would be
in a position to purchase my own "spread" and establish my own
herd. By my mid-20s I had been made manager of one of the most beautiful
ranches in the interior cattle country of British Columbia.
There I was given a magnificent, big, courageous cattle dog named
"Paddy." He was excellent with our herd of registered Herefords,
and saved me hours of work in handling the stock.
It was shortly after this I found a piece of neglected ranch property on a
peninsula of land on the southern tip of Vancouver Island. Because it was
so abused the place did not attract much interest. But I could see the
potential in this land surrounded by the sea. It was an estate sale, so
all cash had to be paid for the property.
The net result was I had insufficient funds left to purchase cattle. So I
was obligated to start out with sheep. It quickly became obvious that dear
old Paddy was completely baffled and bewildered by sheep. So in disgust
and dismay he began to resign himself to snoozing in the sun or sleeping
by the fire.
Quickly I realized that I faced a serious dilemma with my first flock. I
simply had to find a sheep dog to help me handle the ewes and lambs that
grazed on my impoverished pastures. My highest hope was to come across a
well-bred border collie. For, of all the breeds, they are the finest sheep
dogs.
In passing I might mention that during those initial months at "Fairwinds,"
for that is what we called our spot by the sea, I began to wonder
seriously why I had allowed myself to be "stuck" with sheep.
Compared to cattle they seemed so stupid, so timid, so frail, so
vulnerable to diseases and parasites, such easy prey to predators.
Little did I then comprehend the wondrous ways of God. Little did I
discern His hand at work behind the scenes of my affairs. Little did I
realize the enormous, eternal lessons He would teach me on those
wind-blown acres where I struggled to make a beautiful country estate out
of derelict land.
One day there was a short advertisement in the city newspaper. It read
very tersely:
"WANTED - A GOOD COUNTRY HOME FOR PURE-BRED BORDER COLLIE. CHASES
CARS AND BICYCLES."
I hurried up to a neighboring rancher's house and phoned the owner in
town, 27 miles away. "Yes," the lady replied on the phone,
"I still have the dog. Please do come quickly. No one else wants
her." Her voice sounded desperate.
In short order I drove my old car down the winding country road and pulled
up outside a cute little cottage in the city suburbs. The lady was waiting
for me at her gate. Almost before I could get out of the car, she came
over and began to talk excitedly.
"Mr. Keller, I can't do a thing with this creature," There was a
look of anger in her eyes. "The dig is plumb crazy. She's
loco'." The woman threw up her arms in dismay. "All she does is
tear after the kids; chases boys on bicycles; jumps all the fences and
races after every car that comes by on the road."
"Please let me see her," I requested, trying to calm the owner's
excitement. "Maybe I can do something with her. I have had dogs all
my life."
She led me around to the back of the house. As we entered the little yard,
a flying, leaping bundle of dog flung herself toward me. She snarled and
snapped, then collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Instantly, to my shock and horror, I saw the dog was not only chained from
her collar to a steel post, but also was hobbled by another, second chain
from her neck to her back leg. What a pitiful spectacle!
Crouched in the dirt, covered with dust, the dog glared at me. Her ears
were laid back in anger. Deep, guttural, menacing growls rumbled in her
throat.
"How old is she?" I asked, my question put to the owner to help
cover the profound pity and love that welled up within me. "And what
is her name?"
The owner replied that the dog was already two years old, and her name was
Lassie.
I looked at the border collie with mingled emotions. She was a dog
"gone wrong" ... totally useless ... a sad spectacle ... almost
beyond hope, beyond help.
Yet somehow I saw beyond all this. In her eyes I saw a keen intelligence.
In her beautiful head I saw a great capacity to learn. She had a splendid
constitution with deep, wide chest, broad back and strong legs. The master
breeders had done a magnificent job of producing such a superb creature.
With love, compassion and empathy I looked down at this forlorn, hopeless
animal crouched in the dust.
"At two years of age, most dogs have learned all they ever will
know," I remarked to the lady, my eyes full of agony. "But she
is too beautiful to destroy. I am prepared to give her a chance to
change."
The owner was still, tense, waiting for my next words.
"I will take her home to my ranch on one condition." I weighed
each word carefully. "If I cannot do a thing with her, after six
weeks I will bring her back to you. She is too lovely a specimen for me to
put her away. You must then destroy her."
The lady gladly agreed to my proposition.
So I unhobbled Lass (from now on that would be her name). I led her out to
my car and put her behind the front seat for the long ride home.
All the way I talked to her softly and reassuringly in a low, gentle
voice. All I got in response were low growls. Occasionally I would try to
put my hand back to touch or pet her, but she would only bare her teeth
and snap back angrily.
I could see why the two years of her town life had been very tough both
for her and her owner.
Reaching the ranch, I felt a peculiar, inner assurance that somehow this
torn and twisted dog would be redeemed. Our land lay at the very end of
the country road where it ran into the sea. There were virtually no cars
to chase, no boys on bicycles to tempt her, just the wide rolling
pastures, the wooded rock ridges and the rugged shoreline where ocean
waves thundered against the land.
Most important, there was a new master.
Lass was given a kennel with fresh clean bedding. She had a bowl of
sparkling water. A dish heaped with delicious food was place before her.
She would touch none of them.
She refused to eat, to drink, or enter the kennel.
Every advance made to touch or pet her was rejected.
Any attempts made to call or reassure her were resisted belligerently.
Day followed day. She was beginning to lose condition. And I even began to
fear she might die.
In an act of faltering faith I settled on a daring step. I decided to set
her totally free. The instant I did so she fled into the forest behind our
cottage. In a matter of moments she had disappeared from view. And I
wondered if I would ever see her again.
For several days I drove up and down the road looking for her. I asked
other ranchers in the area to let me now if they saw her. But there was no
sign anywhere. It was as if she had simply vanished into ocean air.
Then one evening, I happened to glance up at the top of a large rock
outcrop behind our home. There, on the summit, Lass lay crouched like a
hunted cougar, looking down at me. I called her name, but she turned and
fled.
That evening I took food and water and placed them up on the rock for her.
At dawn they were gone. So I fed her regularly, but there was no response
to any of the overtures I made to her.
A couple of weeks later a small band of sheep grazed near her lookout.
Suddenly I noticed she took a keep interest in them. She would cock her
head, rise on her haunches and watch them intently. Her latent, inbred
instincts were coming to life.
So evening after evening, when the day's work was done, I brought up a few
ewes and lambs to graze near where she was.
During all this time, though no intimate rapport had been established
between lass and myself, I felt an enormous compassion for this beautiful
dog. An intense longing permeated my whole being for her to come to me, to
get to know me, to trust me, to learn to love me, to work with me, to be
my friend.
Yet, now, week was following week and the time was approaching when she
might have to be destroyed. It was an appalling alternative that filled me
with dismay.
Then one gentle evening the sun was setting in the golden haze over the
ocean. The sheep were grazing contentedly in a lovely pastoral scene at
the water's edge. I stood entranced, my hands clasped behind my back,
caught up in the wonder of it all. The dog was not really in my thoughts
at that moment.
Suddenly I felt a soft warm nose touching my hands.
Lass had come! My heart seemed almost to stop with ecstasy. Elation and
ecstatic delight swept through my senses. Contact made been made! She has
found the fortitude to let me touch her life.
It was the turning point of our association.
It was the beginning of a remarkable companionship.
It was the start of great adventures together.
Quickly Lass discovered that she had a new master whom she could truly
trust. She had come into the care of one who really loved her, who
understood her, who had only her best interests in mind.
More than that. She also began to realize that not only did I understand
her, but also I knew all about sheep, all about ranching, and all about
the exciting part she could play in the whole operation.
On the basis of our mutual affection and trust I began to teach her the
common commands so essential for success. Because of her alert mind and
fine intelligence she learned very quickly. The familiar phrases and
orders such as "Come""Lie down""Sit""Fetch
them""Stay""To the left""To
the right"were readily understood and soon obeyed.
One aspect of her personality that especially impressed me was the obvious
pleasure she derived from doing what I asked of her. Her eyes, large,
brown and luminous, would shine and sparkle. Her whole face would be
wreathed in a happy smile when I complimented her on her cooperation.
From voice commands, we gradually progressed to silent hand signals, so
that even if she was at a great distance from me she understood what to
do. She would watch the movement of my right arm and outstretched hand. So
she became able to handle the sheep with remarkable skill, energy and good
will.
As sometimes happens in cases of this kind, word about this remarkable
working dog began to spread across the country. Strangers would drive out
from the city just for the joy of watching this lovely border collie
handle sheep under her master's care. It was a fine compliment to her.
One of the truly touching aspects of our deepening friendship was her
utter devotion to me. Where before she had been so shy, so distant, so
antagonistic, now she became a virtual "shadow." Where I went,
she went. She wanted me always in full view. My presence was her peace and
her pleasure.
She became essentially a "one man dog." She would eat and drink
only what I provided. She was mine and mine alone.
The skilled breeders of the border counties of England and Scotland had
produced this superb strain of sheep dog. All the ancient, inherent
instincts of loyal and faithful service came to full fruition in Lass.
This was the precise purpose for which she had been brought into being.
Now she reveled in that life with abundant energy and exuberant life.
Strange as it may seem, the most difficult command for her to comply with
was "Stay." Sometimes it meant that she would have to hold a
bunch of lambs in the corner of a field or guard a gate or keep watch over
some unruly rams while I was doing another job. It was very trying for her
to have me disappear from view. She wanted to be on the move in the midst
of excitement. So she would sometimes be sorely tempted to "break
faith" and take off on other tempting escapades.
Two of these were somewhat amusing, yet also posed rather serious problems
if we were in the midst of handling the flock. The first was the colony of
crows that had their rookery in the stunted, wind-blown trees on a small
rocky island just offshore. The rascals would come winging in over our
fields, then swoop down low over Lass to taunt and tease her with their
raucous cries.
Unable to restrain herself any longer she would leap to her feet and race
away after her tormentors. She seemed literally to fly over the fields,
her lithe and graceful body appearing almost airborne in flowing motion.
It was a spectacular show and impressive display but it did neither the
sheep, the ranch nor her master one particle of good.
It was simply a show.
The second cause of her discomfiture were the great land-clearing fires we
had in the winter. Sometimes the flaming sparks and glowing cinders
carried up and away in the wind were so exciting she would go leaping and
bounding after them. Occasionally one would catch in her long lustrous
coat and begin to burn with an acrid odor.
Lass would roll wildly in the grass, then shaking herself come racing back
to me as if to say: "Well, Boss, wasn't that a great display?"
Yes it was, but it had only wasted her energies, sapped her strength and
caused her to break faith.
She could quickly sense when I was disappointed. She knew at once when she
had let me down. She was fully aware when a coolness came between us
because of her misconduct.
There had to be a severe reprimand. There would be a measure of strict
discipline. She would have to be taken in hand and corrected for her
failure to be faithful in the line of duty.
These were difficult and disagreeable moments for both of us. But they
were absolutely essential for her well-being and mine. The entire
operation of the ranch and our success with the sheep depended in large
measure upon her implicit obedience. For by now she had become worth
several hired men to me in handling the flock. We were inseparable
coworkers.
When the discipline was done I would gather Lass up in my big brown arms.
I would caress her head, rub her chest and whisper in her ear, "It's
all over, girl!"
Her eyes would shine again. Her whole frame would tremble with joy. There
was total reconciliation, restoration. In pure pleasure she would leap out
of my arms, race around on the grass in a wide circle and come leaping
back into my warm embrace. It was her way of telling me how fond she was
of me. "I'm all yours, Boss!"
Perhaps the most poignant and powerful memory that lingers with me about
this delightful dog was her increasing willingness to do anything I asked
of her. She was totally, instantly available for any task, no matter how
tough or trying.
On the ranch we had some rather rugged, rough cut-over country. The sheep
would scatter out into this difficult terrain of rock outcrops, wild rose
thickets, downed timber and windfalls. They were searching for special
sweet mouthfuls of grass and leaves not grazed before.
Because of my height, or because of keeping steady count on the sheep, I
always knew or could see where the lambs and ewes were in the broken
country. Lass could not. So I would have to send her into these tough
spots to round up and bring out the entire flock. For her it was virtually
"going in blind," trusting me implicitly.
"Bring them in, Lass, bring them in!" I would command her.
"Don't leave a single stray behind!"
She would go bounding away, over the rocks, through the windfalls, into
the rose thicketsno matter the cost to herself. Often when she
finally came out with all the flock, her face would be scratched, her fur
would be clogged with burs, her feet would be cut or torn. But she had
obeyed, never mind the suffering endured to do the job.
Because of such devotion, because of such faithful service, because of
such loving loyalty great bonds of mutual respect, trust and affection
were built between us.
Looking back across those precious years at "Fairwinds" I was
learning from Lass exactly what it was that Christ, my Great Shepherd,
wanted to do with me in His fields as His coworker. More and more clearly
I was learning simple lessons of tremendous worth. |
