God's puppy

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Sheepdog Trials in Hyde Park

for Robert Frost

A Shepherd stands at one end of the arena. Five sheep are unpenned at the other. his dog runs out In a curve to behind them, fetches them straight to the shepherd,then drives the flock round a triangular course through a couple of gates and back to his master; two must be sorted there from the flock, then all five penned. Gathering, driving away, shedding and penning are the plain words for the miraculous game.

An abstract game. What can the sheepdog make of such simplified terrain? - no hills, dales, bogs, walls, tracks, only a quater- mile plain grass, dumb crowds. Like crowds on hoardings around it, and behind them. Traffic or mounds of lovers and children playing. Well, the dog is no landscape-fancier; his whole concern is with his master's whistle, and of course with the flock- sheep are sheep anywhere for him.

The sheep are the chanciest element. Why, for instance, go through this gate when there's on either side of it na wall or hedge but a huge and viable space? Why not eat grass instead of being pushed around it? Like blobs of quicksilver on a tilting board the flock erratically runs, dithers, breals up, is reassembeld: their ruling idea is the dog; and behind the dog, though they know it not yet, is a shepherd.

The shepherd knows time is of the essence but haste calamitous. Between dog and sheep there is always an ideal distance, a perfect angle; but these are constantly varying, so man should anticipate each move through the dog, his medium. The shepherd is the brain behind the dog's brain, but his control of the dog, like the dog's of sheep, is never absolute- that;s the beauty of it.

For beautiful it is. The guided missiles, the black and white angles follow each quirk and jink of the evasive sheep, play grandmother's steps behind them, freeze to the ground, or leap to head off a sranggler almost before it knows it wants to stray, as if radar controlled. But they are not machines- you can feel them feeling mastery, doubt, chagrin: machines don't frolic when their job is done.

What's needfully done in the solitude of sheepruns- those tough real tasks- become this stylized game, a demonstration of intuitivw wit kept natural by the saving grace of error. To lift, to fetch,to drive, to shed, to pen are acts I recognize, with all they mean of shepherding the unruly, for a kind of controlled woolgathering is my work too.

God's puppy

" I'll lend you for a little while

A Sheepdog pup", God said.

"For you to lovewhile he lives

And mourn for when he's dead.

Maybe for twelve or fourteen years

or only two or three.

But will you 'til I take him back

take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you

and (should you have him brief)

You'll always have his memories

as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise you that he'll stay

since all from earth shall return.

But there are a few lessons to be taught below

I want this pup to learn.

I've looked the whole world over

in search of teachers true

and from the folk that crowds life's lane

I have chosen you.

Now will you give him all your love

nor think the labour vain

nor hate me when I come to take

my puppy back again?

I fancied then I heard them say

"Dear Lord, Thy Will be done

For all the joys this pup will bring

The risk of grief we'll run.

We'll shelter him with tenderness

We'll love him while we may.

And for the happiness we've known

forever grateful stay.

But should you come to call him back

much sooner than we planned

We'll brave the bitter grief that comes

And try to understand.

If by our love we've managed

Your wishes to achieve.

In memory of him we loved

To help us while we grieve,

when our shaggy faithful bundle

departs this world of strife,

We'll have another pup

And we'll love him all his life."

By Jill Harwood

A dogs plea

Treat me kindly

my beloved friend

for no heart in all the world is

more grateful for kindness than

the loving heart of me.

Do not break my spirit

With a stick

For though I shall lick

Your hand between blows,

Your patience and understanding

Will more quickly teach me

The things you would have me learn.

I may not always be right

But I am always willing to forgive

And be forgiven.

Speak to me often for your voice

Is the world’s sweetest music,

As you must know by the fierce

Wagging of my tail when your footsteps

Fall upon my waiting ear.

Please take me inside

When it is cold and wet

For I am a domesticated animal,

No longer accustomed to rain, cold and bitter elements.

I ask no greater glory

than to have the privilege

of sitting at your feet

beside the hearth.

Keep my pan filled with fresh water,

For I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.

Feed me clean food that I may stay well,

To romp and play and do your bidding.

To walk by your side and stay ready, willing and able

To protect you with my life,

Should your life be in danger.

I cannot tell you when I need medical care,

Or when injections are due;

Watch my movements and see if I am listless,

Shying away from my food

And take me to our friend

The Veterinerian for a checkup

On regular basis.

And my friend when I am old,

And no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight,

Do not make heroic efforts to keep me going.

I am not having any fun.

Please see that my trusting life is taken gently.

I shall leave this earth knowing

With the last breath I draw,

That my fate was always safest in your hands.

All I ask is,

Stay with me to the end,

Hold me firm and spaek to me

Until my ears no longer hear

And my eyes no longer see.

Border Collies

I've seen the rocky mountains

And the gulf of Mexico,

The Californian surfers

And palm trees by the row.

I've read the works of Shakespear

And seen Picasso's paint

The sounds of concert pianists

And heard the bagpipes quaint.

And all of these have thrilled me

But not one could ever compare

with watching Border Collies working

A single or a pair.

There's magic in each movement

that Mozart never had,

And beauty in each turn

That makes my heart feel glad.

There's sciencs in each answer

of every whistle tone,

That Newton never tought of

Nor was he ever shown.

There's feeling in the handeling

That poets know,

or men that work with Collies

And feel the teamwork grow.

Wherever life may take you,

in sunshine or in fog

You'll never quite forget it,

when once you've worked a Collie dog.