The Dog Who Flanked too Wide

A Parable

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a novice sheepdog handler and her first Border Collie.  The Dog took care of the sheep at home, and managed well at trials, quickly progressing to Open.  The Dog was fleet and strong, hard-working and wise with his stock.  The Dog was a good partner, listening to commands and doing the job that was asked.  The Dog was happy.  The Handler was happy.  All was good. 

Yet all is never truly perfect in the world.  When given a flank command the Dog sometimes ran too wide in his arc.  The Handler asked online how to bring the Dog closer, sure that more experienced hands would share their wisdom.  Quickly a sage came forward with some training exercises to help the dog learn to stay closer to the stock when flanking.  Then a Troll joined the conversation.  The Troll explained how flanking too wide was a sign the dog was weak.  The Troll quoted a famous trainer as one of his justifications for his pronouncement that the dog was weak.  The Troll declared that the Handler should put the Dog aside and work with a dog of more power and quality.  And then Kind People took pity on the handler and berated the Troll while telling the Handler that she could still be successful with a weak dog, but to be sure not to breed the Dog and perpetuate his weakness.  And the Troll defended his position, with another troll or two as reinforcement.  And the Kind People continued to wring their hands and tell the trolls to be nice and assure the Handler that she could get by with this poor weak dog.  The Handler assured the electronic masses that she fully intended to keep the Dog and keep working it.  The Handler asked that the conversation return to ideas to help keep the Dog closer on his flanks rather than debating the overall quality of the Dog.  The request brought another training idea or two from people trying to be helpful.

Like all storms, the roaring wind of words eventually ceased, and all was forgotten.  The Handler took the idea first given and tried it.  It was very helpful not only in keeping the Dog closer, but in helping the Handler understand the dynamic between dog/sheep/person.  The Dog was happy.  The Handler was happy.  All was good.

The Dog went on to be very successful despite some clumsy handling.  The Dog went to the National Finals, getting to the semifinal round.  The Dog was successful at a variety of trials on a variety of stock, though never that good on very light sheep.  The Dog was bred and offspring were solid dogs.  The Dog took the handler from Novice Novice, to Open, to the National Finals, to the World Trial.  The Dog was happy.  The Handler was happy.  All was good.

Summer Symphony

A storm came in while I checked the lambs.

The western sky filled with great gray clouds,

tall and dense.

A lone bee buzzed his industrious tune against the distant thunder,

One last load.

The ridge was still bright and hot as I walked down towards the lambs,

towards the storm.

Sun shone through the gaps, outlined the sculpture of the clouds.

No carved and painted ceiling comes close.

 

I sent my dog to gather, silent she vanished over the wall into the brush,

Nothing but the flies and thunder and heat.

I wait then hear the cadence of the flock coming, bleats from stragglers,

past the wall.

They are fine, vibrant, annoyed at the interruption.

We let them go.

My dog and I walk back up the ridge, storm behind and heat before us.

I hear the rain.

The drops advance behind me like a tiny running army,

thousands of footsteps swarming up the hill

I reach the top as the first drops find me,

cooling the air and my skin.

© Maria Amodei 2015

On Your Mark, GO!

I took the dogs swimming today.  I have not been swimming Chord while she was busy with motherhood.  Rather nice not having her along since she’s my wildest swimmer.  While Chord was off the swim team I added in young Ike, Poe and Etta.  The energy on the shore while I'm strapping on life vests then opening the gate is unbearable on a good day.  Today I added Chord back in, another voice against reason.  I was swatting various barking dogs with spare life vests.  Then came the worst part, turning my back to the water crazed horde to open the gate.  Of course the chain was stuck.  At this point some dogs were screaming like air raid sirens and some were simply barking like fools.  Unable to bear the din I ended up breaking a big leafy branch off a bush to use as a weapon.  It was complete with some sort of little fruits that went everywhere when it made contact.  I thwacked a couple more dogs and pummeled the ground by my kayak, filling the boat with little hard fruits.  I finally managed to get the gate unlatched while the dogs were kept to a low whimpering and yapping. 

They are still bad at the end 20 minutes later, with some dogs willing to come out to be disrobed, but then plunge back in practicing their dock dog leaps.  It takes constant reminding to get them back to shore again.  Last time Poe thought perhaps the recall was optional.  He was somewhat shocked to learn I will dive in that skanky pond to get a teenage pup who misunderstands the requirements of life.  He was even more shocked to learn that I can out swim him even wearing jeans and a T shirt.  All those years of swim team are coming in useful.

They are just as bad when hitching up to the dog sled.  At least when going swimming I'm not trusting them with my life.

People sometimes comment how well behaved my dogs are.  I don’t mention the canine riots that occur on a regular basis.

The Bigotry Bell Curve

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.  Edmund Burke

This past Thanksgiving I was thankful that I am white. The holiday that has always meant caring, gratitude and celebration of life was stained by bigotry. I sat at a Thanksgiving table and heard racist comments about the conflict in Ferguson. I was taken aback, as much by the fact that no other people at the table spoke up as by the comments themselves. I chose to politely discuss aspects of the events in Ferguson that conflicted with the statements still hanging over the table like acrid smoke. I was able to close the conversation, but not before my holiday celebration was poisoned. Perhaps I should have immediately called out the comments as what they were, racist. I’ve been fortunate that I’ve not had to consider how best to respond to comments like this before.
 

I came home from Thanksgiving dinner and opened Facebook. Almost immediately I saw a comment from an acquaintance about the shooting of the 12 year old black boy carrying a realistic toy gun in Cleveland. The comment was that any kid who was brandishing a lifelike toy gun with the police around was “too stupid to live”. As horrifying as the comment from the original poster was, I was more upset by the number of my friends who “liked” this comment. At this point the video was out showing the boy being shot within moments of the police arriving. The audio of the 911 call was out with the caller saying they thought it might be a toy gun. At best, this was a situation that the police did not handle well. If this had been a neighbor’s kid or any other white kid in a nice neighborhood who did something dumb one afternoon, I am sure people would have found some more sympathy for the family and questioned how the police handled the event.
 

These events brought home the degree to which bigotry is creeping into mainstream life, even in the communities I am part of, communities that have not allowed open racism before. The comments from people I know hit me harder than the actual social tragedies that they were discussing. I began to recognize the shift in what is acceptable social behavior. As bigotry becomes acceptable I feel its cold touch in my life. The bigotry bell curve is sliding in the wrong direction.
 

I mulled over this phenomenon, this recognizable bigotry not just in the news, but in people I speak to. I was meaning to write this piece this winter, but set it aside. Then a racist killed nine black people in Charleston. As if to rub salt in the gaping wound, multiple public figures refused to accept this as the hate crime it so clearly is. A white man with a history of supporting white supremacy walks into a black church and murders nine black people at a prayer meeting. These basic facts were available the next morning, yet the apologists continued to search for more politically acceptable alternatives. Refusing to recognize this tragedy as murder motivated by racism is to wrap acceptance of bigotry in colored paper and bows and hand it to racists.

History is replete with examples of horrific behavior from bull baiting to slavery to hurling Christians to the lions. In each case these “traditions” were validated with acceptance by the people of the time. Blessed with general acceptance individuals were spared the difficulty of evaluating their behavior against their conscience. By and large we go with the social norms that we grow up with. Few people stand against evil that has woven itself into general social practice, and often those few are ridiculed. We seldom think deeply about established social practices, quick to latch onto reasoning that supports our continued acceptance, whether passive or active.
 

The bigotry bell curve is sliding towards more racism, more hate, less tolerance. It is becoming more acceptable to make comments that imply an insult to people of other colors, faiths or sexual orientation. As these comments accumulate it becomes more acceptable to make obvious disrespectful statements. As these disrespectful statements accumulate it becomes easier to justify disrespectful behavior, laws and actions that discriminate against people who are not part of our comfortable social family. We control the social norm on bigotry in our daily lives. As the norm allows more and more subtle racism, the extreme end of the curve allows more and more violent racism.

We all define what behavior is socially acceptable. From the most depraved killer to those who dedicate their lives to helping others, we each have a hold of the social scales and help pull the norm towards our own behavior. Each and every one of us is responsible for racism. That means you. We each have a responsibility to recognize bigotry. You don’t need to use a blatant word like “nigger” to wield a racial slur. Indeed the deliberate use of the words “them” and “they” can be just as powerful. We each have a responsibility to recognize bigotry not only in strangers, but in ourselves, our family, and our friends. We need to set an example of tolerance and respect for people of all races, faiths, and sexual orientation. We must speak up when we see or hear behavior that is disrespectful. We must step out of our comfort zone and dare to be the few that will likely be ridiculed. We won’t solve this problem by being Facebook warriors, decrying the actions of the shooter from afar. We will solve this problem by each of us grasping the social scales and pulling them towards tolerance and mutual respect. We will solve this problem by our example, by our respect for others, by recognizing bigoted behavior and identifying it as such. Maybe we even lose a friend no matter how hard we try to make our position known in a reasonable way. Maybe we save someone’s dignity, someone’s life. When we choose to lead with our conscience regardless of social habits or niceties, when we deliberately take responsibility for the social norms around racism, we will pull away the fabric of acceptance that breeds and rationalizes bigotry and hate.

 

The Bequest

We dress in the fabric of the people around us
Checkered prints of smiles and humor, caring
Gifts, not heavy, yet hard to hold
Then they are gone, the absence surreal

Denied our eyes, our ears,
We reach through memory
For a familiar laugh, smile, or touch
Like grasping for mist that cannot be held

The evening breeze, cool, shifting shape
Touches us as if someone is there
Yet a glance yields only gray quiet
We cannot touch, but still know

No estate to bequeath, just a smile,
Never mine, never yours,
Make a place for it, as if coaxing a bird to sit on your palm
That it will not dissipate like morning fog
Make a place for it, as they made a place
So it will stay

© Maria Amodei 2015

Spring

Scent is such a powerful sense, able to immerse our minds and emotions completely into the world around us. Whether it be the summer rose, wet autumn leaves, wood smoke telling of warmth on a cold winter day, or the olfactory crescendo of three months of cryogenically preserved urine and manure released as the true harbinger of spring.

Not so Fast

Ike got to run in the team today.  He was pretty good, distraction level age appropriate for a 9 month old. "Ooh, what's that!" 

The conditions were very fast, snow well packed and a bit slick under the runners though the dogs clearly had good traction.  I did a short run, which should have been simple as well.  Should have been.  There's one sharp left from an uphill section, with the trail immediately dropping fast from the turn, perfect recipe for the sled to get pulled into the turn too soon, cutting the trail and hitting the tree.  All turns have trees on the inside of the corner.  You notice these things when driving a dog sled.  You begin to have a personal relationship with the trees, assigning them personalities, and malice.  They want you. 

As usual the corner was too tight so I stopped the dogs to pull the sled out wider.  I noticed Ike had his tug line under his hind legs so I took a moment to fix his line, and another moment to get Jag back on the left as he’d crossed the gang line avoiding the tree himself.  I walked back toward the sled and someone bolted, so they all bolted.  I bellowed a LIE DOWN that could be heard in two counties.  Now going down a steep hill the sled ran into the wheel dogs.  I quickly pulled the sled back, set the hook, and put Levi (wheel dog) back in his collar which he’d slipped evading the renegade sled.  We were perched at the top of a steep and winding downhill trail.  Usually a very fun section to run, but I had 6 dogs on fast trail and the delays were percolating their little brains like a pressure cooker.  Today was looking like my day to die.   

The next quarter mile was brutal.  I’m still hoarse.  Every time I subtly indicated they could resume travel they hurled themselves forward in a run for the roses.  The turns were one on top of the other, always with that patient tree on the inside, waiting for you like a spider with a baseball bat.  I could not just ride the brakes as the more tension on the gang line the more tightly the sled is drawn into the turn.  You have to let it slide a bit to get yourself forward past the vertex before the dogs pull you around.  We ended up stopping some 50 times, bolt stop bolt stop, sometimes I only let them go 5 feet.  My poor wheel dogs, closer to the emotional volcano, were trying hard to moderate themselves.  Finally both slipped their collars rather than be dragged forward while I was commanding them otherwise.  I’m pretty sure the major sources of my stuck throttle were Chord in lead, oblivious Ike in the next pair, and Marcus in lead, in that order.   

Finally the trail leveled and straightened a bit so I could let them run.  Free to go they settled nicely though we finished the short run at quite a good clip.  All in all it was a wonderful run, with a brief, jumbled and miserable section in the middle.  If I run that trail with 6 dogs again on fast conditions I’m going the other direction so we go uphill through those turns!