My boss made me take my laptop and all my hard drives, plus the sticky notes that have all my passwords which I keep plastered all over the agency memos that say to not write down your passwords….and leave.

I've driven to a local chain coffee chop in a strip mall about 2 miles from work.  I'll have to find a new place to work tomorrow…or home.

This coffee shop will not be my new temporary office space because:

1) The coffee sucks.  I've been here before when truly desperate and they consistently either burn the espresso or somehow all their brewed coffee tastes like HAZELNUT. I don't even like HAZELNUTS in their natural environment. I wish they'd go extinct. They just piss me off.  Add to that Elton John crooning "Your just a candle in the wind" and I feel like stabbing someone with my extraneous plastic stirring stick.

I ordered an Americana, no room for cream. What did she think I'd be stirring? My internal rage? Yes…

2) Some loud grandpa is here with his 4 year oldish grandkid and its obviously a regular thing.  Both are completely overwhelmingly obnoxious.  The only thing I hate more than HAZELNUTS is Cuteness on Parade. 

HOLYHAZELNUTTEDCHRIST it's actually the old geezers child. The guy has to be 70.  Yikes.  They've chosen to sit down next to me.  Perfect. 

3) The 20-something dude in front of me is downloading music which has slowed my internets down to a creep. Fucker.  He has a macintosh but is using windows software. Loser. 

The old geezer is a retired neurosurgeon.  Which makes his tipping the barrista 32 cents that more dastardly.  He has been chatting with some tired looking woman referred to as "Sister Jan"… She appears to have a hard luck story that she tries to put an unlikely positive spin on,

"So, I guess no one liked my dinner. But there is always next year…" sigh, "I'm waiting to hear back on my mole biopsy… Laura sure is a nice lady!"

I haven't been able to follow most of their conversation because it was too boring and the child kept interrupting to shove shit up his nose and lick stuff he shouldn't.  Like the seat of his chair. 

The former surgeon stopped a woman leaving to ask her about her hat.

"It looks ethnic!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get it?"

It was a black fedora with a band of metal pyramids around the base…and the anarchy symbol scattered about the top. What country or region did he have in mind?

"Spencers in the mall," she answered, confused. "It's goth…"

"Oh! Heavy! ….But you don't look pale enough!" he said. What a fucking dilrod. 

Still, my spirits are lightened.  I think all moles are suspicious. 

Today we worked in Dianne's field again.  A few of us ran our dogs through a course we set up with buckets and a pen.  Though I feel more comfortable running Pat now, and I'm starting to feel where Pat needs to be in relation to the sheep and the obstacles, when I need to make him lie down, when to flank and how far…and he is starting to feel what I want from him and when I'll want it…we have maybe one more opportunity to work together beforehand and I have no idea what will happen at the trial. I keep fearing that it will somehow involve me renting at my clothing, ululating, burning a sheep effigy, then accidentally drawing Mohammed's likeness in sheep dung.  The crowd will gasp.  Somewhere a fatwa will be issued and I'll forget to close the pen and lose all the points on the only thing I seem to be able to get fairly regularly. 

Sometimes things go horribly wrong in my world. Not just marginally off course.  I hope I remember matches and my Mohammed by Numbers (all 1's and 2's) stencils…

Today I worked Pat in P*Trick's field, which has fetch panels and one set of drive panels set up, plus the pen.  It was a closer simulation of an actual trial field than the 2 buckets and wheel line we used the other day at Dianne's.  I'm getting closer to determining with a fair degree of accuracy just how bad I will suck a mere few weeks from now.  On a scale of 1 – 10, 10 being End Times Suckage, where the Good ascend to a white soft fluffy cloud of happiness forever and leave behind me rear-ending their minivan, and 1 being The AntiSuck, where I don't suck at all, infact we finish the course with straight lines, hit all panels, pen and dance an amazing tango that we've actually never been exposed to but suddenly just comes together for us, ending with a flourish where Pat dips me and then, though it looks like a hump, it's actually a bow, to the judge, who is weeping from the sheer beauty of a dog doing what he was bred to do, plus a tango ….I'd give us, at this point….a 7.  Medium High suck: my pants fall down at the post and Pat brings me the sheep who get tangled up in them, and drag me through the first set of panels and deposit me midway to the second, which the sheep miss…but, because I'm fast, even on my knees, crawling, dragging a ewe, who, frankly, looks better in my jeans… we make our pen.  We'll see.

Our first run went badly for a few reasons, but I think the most important one was that Pat needs to be stopped. Alot.  I forget this. Alot. Pat has power and can move sheep.  He doesn't have a great deal of variation in how fast.  If he isn't stopped and made to listen early, then it gets progressively worse for the rest of the run.  By then he is making mistakes and enduring correction, and this makes him edgy, which translates to losing his head…and me mine.

Sadly, or romantically, I am very similar to Pat and this compounds our problem.  I tend to do everything fast. This has helped me in other sports and at work, giving birth,marriage, divorce…writing, which I love and need- my biggest struggle is that I spew shit out on paper (or screen) and can't force myself to rewrite or edit.  This is just how I've always been. I only move forward and usually fast.  This is one more way that stockdog work is forcing me to be a better person.  Or so I believe at this moment in time.

So, our second run went really well.  I stopped Pat, he listened, neither of us gave, or took, a wrong flank. We made our panels, mostly…and we penned. Both times, actually.  We're much better with close work than the far away depth perception stuff.   It felt good and Pat and I do work pretty well together when I'm paying attention to the details. Slowly.

And I wrote this quickly and I'm not going to edit because I'm tired and haven't learned nearly as much as I like to pretend.  Thus…the 7.

More practice tomorrow.  Might be our last opportunity.  I'm hoping to knock it back to a 5.  I like that number.

We set up a makeshift course at Dianne's field today and Phyllis, Ann and I practiced running it.  Prior to this, I was getting pretty confident about where Pat and I were in relation to the December trial. Once again, however, reality screamed when it viewed itself in the mirror.  

Only one time did I actually make a "panel".  The other times:

1) Pat felt the pressure and wouldn't take a flank that I should have seen as a potential problem and set him up differently to avoid in the first place.  I yelled and whistled "AWAY! AWWWWAAAY! AAAAAAAAWAYYY!! {transition to high pitched ululating}… {SOB} Pat?" 

…and Pat held his ground as the sheep drifted through on the wrong side.  

2) My depth perception failed me.  I thought the sheep were through our makeshift panels (buckets) but that was not the case.  As the sheep milled around and doubled back, clearly 'this' side of the 'panels' I realized that yeah, I really can't see shit.  I will have a problem with this at the trial.  I always do in watching other people run.  I am considering wearing binocular strength contact lenses.  I'll use my stock stick as a cane to guide me to the post and hope for the best with the recognizing shapes and colors, something I pride myself on. It's how I tell whether something is edible or likes nascar.

I can leverage my other senses to help me adapt over time… hearing and smell for hazards and approaching sheep…whether I'm at the 'pen' or a 'porta potty'….

It's usually the far away stuff that interests me anyway, on or off the field. 

On the plus side, penning is getting easier.   

I have just a few practice/bonding with Pat days left before I leave for work and won't be back until the Thursday before the trial.    I hope to at least suck differently this time. 

We'll see.

Today I worked Pat in Dianne's field. We worked on Pat slowing down and me not standing around looking like I'm anally impaled on a fake post constructed by the sheer idiocy of all that is Me and Not Learning By Example.  

"Do you ever see me just standing there?" Dianne asked.  I don't know why she does this rhetoric thing with me.  I think our relationship has progressed far enough for her to just punch me in the face, followed by an exaggerated walking gesture made with her two fingers across my bleeding horizon. Some pointing. 

"You have to walk with him….be in the right place so you can HELP HIM…."

"But you have to stand in one place at a trial."

"This isn't a trial. You have to help him be right enough here so that he trusts you at a trial."

Anyway. It went well, I think.  Pat is pretty responsive and I walked and walked. I did not stand still. Not even at the end, when I started dropping things out of my pocket and Pat was peeing on them as fast as they hit the earth.

Pat.

Then I asked Dianne if Pat could stay the night with me, because I wanted to "run" in the "desert" with "dogs"…but really Pat and I went out for ice cream and to have our Christmas Card pictures taken in matching red sweaters with Santa hats….Now we're sitting together on my couch in the light of the roaring propane fire and digesting chicken.  Watching the House Dogs of Hayseed County. 

Not really.  Pat won't get on the couch. I've tried.  I'm on the floor with him.

No. What Really Happened:

The first part.  I worked Pat, I was corrected for standing still. I'm often corrected more than the dogs out here, but that is good. Dianne set sheep for Jody R. using Scout and that surprised everyone by going well.

THEN I took Pat and Scout to the desert for a run and I yelled my lungs out and flung myself to the earth not ONCE but TWICE when Scout chased cattle.

"YOU FUCKING SPAYED WHORE WHY DO YOU NOT LISTEN TO ME!! STOP STOP STOP CHASING CATTLE RIGHT NOW STOP OR I WILL KEEP YELLING UNTIL SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING HAPPENS TO ONE OR BOTH OF US….SOB….I HATE THIS….SOB…Pat? Good boy, it's okay..You are a Good Boy….No, really! You're okay!"

Pat waited about 1/4 mile back during these episodes and it took some coaxing to get him out of his Definite Down position. 

Scout seemed sorry at the end of the second round. Or she finally felt a little pity seep through the cracks in her cold black heart. Hard to say. She did NOT, however, chase any of the cattle completely surrounding my car.  She just looked at them, and at me, as if to say, "You are so fucking smart. NOW WHAT?"

Indeed.  I showed her how *I* do it by shooing the beasts away with the bumper of my Subaru and a stereo on bad Caldwell music top volume.   Her face in the rearview mirror will haunt me for a very long time.

Then I came home and fed the dogs chicken and pork…and I went to dinner with Dianne….and I told her that, when I got home,  I planned to take pictures of Pat and I in matching robes watching TV and holding hands/paws.  But I haven't and I won't because I'm also full of chicken and I'm far too lazy. AND PAT WON'T GET ON THE COUCH.

Yesterday I worked Pat and Jen at Dianne's.  Dianne worked Scout. 

I used Pat to hold sheep for Jaenne to practice her lift.  I think my and Pat's skills really shine in setting sheep.  We're small goal types.  We like all the same things. 

I used Jen later for 'playing catch' with Dianne/Shep.  Jen is a great dog, but so much harder for me to work than Pat.  That eye.  That stubbornness.  Jen had a hard time lifting the sheep.  She kept stalling at 10 or 2, staring, maybe a wag to acknowledge hearing me…way back there on the other end of the field…she just stood her incorrect ground, probably reflecting on how nice and comfortable her sided Dr. Fosters and Smith dog bed is and how much she likes her new plush squeaky tick toy.  Would there be chicken or beef for dinner?  I'm sure I interrupted her fond reflections with my continued whistling and increasingly shrill corrections.  Rude.

Pat. I love Pat. He's goofy, intelligent, damaged, sensitive….all the other dogs seem to view him with suspicion and/or revulsion.  He's replaced my/Carlos' hamster Howard as my soul mate.  

I sat in the car contemplating a hot bath while Dianne worked Scout.  I hear it went well.

My robust hillbilly genes have failed me.  I have a cold.  I'm stuck in GL with a 3 wheeled car and no food.  I don't care about the food or the 4th wheel enough to get off the couch.  Everything is closed on Sunday, like minds.   

Happily, I have coffee. 

It's too cold for me to go outside and run or get food or throw Dianne's sheep some hay, although I'm going to do the latter just to stop the endless loop of Peggy Lee singing 'Is That All There Is?' which seems to accompany the sheep trudging slowly across the pasture to stand, dismayed, under my tree, in clear view from where I'm laying on my couch.  Sheep are depressing. I've never noticed it before.  Even when I throw them the hay, and they perk up a bit, it won't even be like a small happiness.  More like Their Disappointing Due.  I don't know what some men see in them.

I deleted this morning's post because it deserved to die.  Turns out, I don't mind the woman I compared to a family history of cancer. She's actually fine once you spend 4 hours in an indian casino staring at a collection of badly taxidermied animals together.  Chewing ice berg lettuce and swilling the most interesting thing on tap …keeping your mouth busy so that you don't say anything.  It's almost like friendship only more bristley and less prone to lasting beyond this week.

Again, all things are relative.  Next to that mountain lion stuffed on juniper, with an incongrous pot belly that hung from its bony frame….the only thing missing but obvious was a sign saying, "Died of Tuberculosis" underneath its gaunt forever hissing head…I felt sorry for everything.