Fiona Robertson – Bringing in the Cow

My very first sheepdog puppy, Jess, was gifted to me by the late Alex McKinven, of North Hatley, QC, Canada (formerly of Fifeshire, Scotland) for looking after his dogs on weekends he was away showing cattle or competing in sheepdog trials.  She was well-bred and VERY keen to work, but the problem was that she was well bred and VERY keen to work – if you get my meaning!  In other words, for a beginner with no background in farming or livestock or dogs, she was a whole lot more dog than I could train or handle!  But we struggled through and at the age of two she competed, with me as co-pilot in her first Novice trial.

It didn’t go well. 

However, because I was now a “seasoned” dog trainer and handler (we all are, while we’re in Novice, right?) when our neighbor asked for help with his cows, we accepted readily.  They had never used dogs before – didn’t know anything about working stock dogs – and were a little apprehensive, but I assured them of Jess’ prowess and skill and my complete control over her.  They agreed.

The farmer’s wife – charged with evening milking – was about 8 months pregnant at the time and was having difficulty bringing in the cows from the lush June pastures. Actually it was only one cow, determined to burst her udder rather than leave the clover buffet.  On account of her non-mobile state, the farmer’s wife couldn’t walk all the way out to shoo her towards the barn, so I, being an expert stockdog person, offered to “fetch her with my highly trained dog”.

Because cows are no different than sheep, right?

And even though my dog has never worked cows, she’ll be a superstar and save the day, right?

And even though I hadn’t actually completed a novice course (due to my dog only being half trained, at best) she’d instinctively know what to do, right?

The situation could have been a horror story, with a ripped udder, broken legs or a kicked dog, but you’ll be relieved to hear it was very much a comedy.

I sent my dog on a right hand outrun (because that is the only way she’d go) and she went out gangbusters (anyone who knew Jess will remember she did EVERYTHING gangbusters – with an emphasis on the “busting”).  She got behind the rogue cow, walked (ran) in to lift…

And then I see her little black and white face around the side of the cow.  It seemed so small in the distance, yet so clear was her expression: “What the heck is this?”

Er…. “Walk up?” 

Having found no sheep at the top of the field and likely being very peeved at me for tricking her into thinking there were, Jess left the cow and ran back down the hill.

And the cow followed. 

Actually, the cow gained speed until she was in full mad-cow chase mode; head down, bag swaying as she galloped after my tiny, helpless little dog.

As Jess, looking with sheer panic over her shoulder with tail tucked between her legs, leapt through the space in the gate, the cow skidded to a halt and the Farmer’s wife caught her.

“Wow, thank you!” she said to me, looking at my (shaking) dog in awe.  “That was really something!  Those dogs sure are incredible.”