Trust Your Dog

Rhyme, self-appointed royalty in her current life, was an opinionated creature to train.  Certain commands were deemed irrelevant to her rarified consciousness.  Commands like “Lie Down”.  She’d come around the top on a lovely cast, turn in, and drive into the sheep and catch one.  I would go up the middle and push her back over and over and over and over.  I’d send her and start walking, every time.  This was understandably frustrating.  It was difficult to keep myself calm.  I grew tired of constantly reprimanding her and holding her back, struggling to keep the annoyance from my attitude.  I knew that to some degree the constant corrections added energy to the situation.  One day on a large open field with a group of ram lambs I decided to trust her, stop the nagging, just turn around and let her bring the sheep along with me.  I started with a small gather.  She stopped at the top, good.  As she brought the sheep to me I turned around and started walking.  No nagging, pushing on her, nothing.  It was working!  I stayed looking ahead as I walked briskly along, but could hear the quiet patter of the group of sheep just a short distance behind me.  Rhyme always had lovely balance and never was one to let any of her charges wander off.  I relaxed.  This was the secret.  I’d been sustaining her bad behavior with the energy of my constant corrections.  Hallelujah!  I walked about 50 yards, the little group of ram lambs trip trapping along behind me.
 

Not wanting to go too far and tempt fate, I turned around to stop her.  I was not so idealistic as to believe she would stop with my back turned.  There was the little group of ram lambs about 10 feet behind me, walking along, occasionally glancing back at the one poor sod who Rhyme had caught.  She must have gotten a hold of him right after I turned my back.  This was when I had Navajo Churros.  Long draping fleeces in a variety of colors.  She had a huge swath of fleece from the britches of this poor lamb and was using it like a rope to haul him backwards.  Her feet were spread and dug in, muscled bulged on her fit little body.  She was hauling on that hunk of fleece like a champion tug of war contestant.  Inch by inch she was pulling this poor lamb backwards.  The only part of him making forward progress were his eyes, bugging out of his head.  The rest of the group was showing the classic ovine survival response.  “She’s got Joey.  Just keep moving.  Poor Joey, but it’s not my turn to be eaten today.” 

It was a long time before I turned my back on Rhyme again.