Yesterday I helped DD shave dog belly's…(I KNOW! I thought she waxed them, TOO, but no. Number 10 blade on HORSE clippers. She's rural old school.  I have to say, with Jen and Scout I'm still looking at letting a salon in town do it. Tweeze a little around the nipples and imbedded ticks, wax the main parts….Her dogs swim in a POND, mine float on innertubes in a pool heated at 78 degrees. That's city water, my friends.)

Then we worked at P*tricks in his big field.  I worked Pat and Rose. (Rose is UNSHAVEN.  Or 'european' as we titter behind the artisan yard stump. She doesn't bathe, either!)

Pat was working really well for me. Still some trouble hitting the earth on that first contact down whistle, where I spit and blow a high pitched sound 3 times before the thought passes through to his brain that it's a deliberate sound that MEANS SOMETHING, and, even then, I have to help curry the message up there by running 20 yards toward him.  But usually just that first time, when Pat's excitement and enthusiasm clearly has the best of him.

The rest of the time he tends to be really good about stopping, and more importantly SLLOOOOOWING DOWN.

Sadly I decided to try to pen toward the end of our first work and that did not go as well.  When Pat gets tired, and/or stressed, he tends to kick out wider and wider, circling mindlessly, frantically.   We had a better chance tap dancing our way into America's heart at this point then getting sheep into that pen.  And neither Pat nor I had timing for either.  I called him off but I'd worked him longer than I should have and felt bad about that. 

Dianne reminded me, for the 234th time, that I need to remember that I should only pick one thing to work on and let that be enough.  We had made progress with the fetch and the drive….The pen was too much. 

Then I worked Rose.  Fast fast fast.  Lie down. Fast fast fast. 

I like Rose very much.  She's just an endearing little thing with passion for Her Work.  It's a challenge to keep her backed off far enough that she isn't completely sucked into the sheep's bubble where all you have is either slicing, dicing or a lie down. 

I love having the opportunity to work these very different dogs with very different styles and motivations. 

Today I worked Pat and Rose again in P*trick's field.  Pat was better still and we got a pen.  I just ran him through the course and straight to the pen.  It was quick and, except again at the top where he still isn't reliably lying down – preferring to bring the sheep to me as if my life depended upon it, as if they had The Cure for Belly Fur —- we continue to work better together every time. 

Rose worked better for me also. I mostly drove the sheep around the field and through obstacles with her about 10 yards off to my side.  It took awhile but she started to relax and instead of FAST – DOWN – FAST….we were getting some variation in her pace.  

Now I'm going back to Boise.  My son left yesterday to go live in New Mexico.  Typical eighteen year old Get Me Out Of Idaho thing, he went to live with a friend of the family and try out some place new.  I already miss him.  Who will I watch Reno 911 and Trailer Park Boys with?  Who will tell me what music to like?

I don't really want to go home. I'd rather fill this small shack with dogs and stop bathing.   And shaving. And waxing.  Just be that creepy woman who lives on the edge of town and communicates only through whistling. Strange off key whistle tones.

I'm going back though; E called and told me he just bought "us" a new vacuum.  Hopefully he'll have it dressed in baggy black Dickeys(tm) and a plain white t-shirt; slouching on the couch in the family room.  Hopefully it likes tamales. 

Otherwise…

Yesterday morning I worked Pat at Dianne's in her horse arena.  (Her alfalfa fields are completely overrun with alfalfa.)

We're still working on slowing down, lying down when I whistle it…which we're working on being calmly….and, of course, my timing.  I tend to *FREAK OUT* when the sheep approach an obstacle and the realization hits, like in one of those I Forgot My Pants dreams, that they aren't there where they should be.  They will *miss* the obstacle.

"OHMYGODNO! LIE DOWN, AWAY! AWAYAWAYAW…COMEBY!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALLTHATISHOLY LIEDOWNCOMEBYAWAY!"

Yes, there is a whistle for that. It's illegal in most states, EXCEPT Idaho.  It throws birds off their migration.

I need to remember to lie Pat down and let the sheep drift, using the draw to help place them, before re-engaging Pat.  I need to remember to be calm because aside from the frantic whistle/command screeching…I also flail and dance around on limbs akimbo.  It's HUGELY amusing for Dianne, which is really WHY I think she continues to encourage me in this sport. 

Sometimes I wonder why she and P*trick don't ask me to wear a giant ram costume and sell snacks at their trials and clinics instead.  I'd be really good at that….

But I do know how to whistle.  In several languages.

Tonight I worked Pat at Dianne's weekly group lesson organized through Gem State Herding.  Pat and I have 2 weeks to get our shit together, instead of just eating it. Literally and figuratively, respectively. 

Pat and I have worked set-out at a few events (a clinic and Big Willow), but we haven't worked on a field course in a very long time. We haven't really been working on many things, other than our boundless love for one another.  I love Pat and he loves me – for all the wrong reasons.  I love his sweet intense goofyness; the way he throws around a plush toy and watches me bathe like its the most insane thing he's ever seen. His big floppy feet. He loves me for chicken dinners and plush toys that he can throw around until I get sick of it. IN A HOUSE!  Our love tends to forget a purpose that brought us together.

SO: We're on our path to fixing that. We're running on the path to fixing that.  We both need to slow the F*CK down.

During our first lesson,  I sent Pat on his outrun, blew a "LIE DOWN" whistle, shrilly and continually, as I tend to do. Off-key. Pat ignored it because the sheep were running, toward me, and this seemed okay with Pat.  It was part of the Pat Program.

"RUN DOWN THE FIELD AT HIM!" Dianne commanded from somewhere behind me. 

Fashion Detail: I was wearing calf length rubber boots.  Because I thought it would rain and because I thought the field would be muddy and for just ONCE in my goddamned life I was going to be PREPARED for it.  No t-shirt and running shoes for me.  Not this time.   
In fact it turned out to be 70 degrees and dry like my throat.  

Dry like my whistle.

"RUN!" Dianne repeated.  "DON'T STOP UNTIL HE LIES DOWN! DO NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD!…"

Because I do like to explain myself. Even to dogs. 

"….JUST RUN!"

So I ran …..almost all the way to Pat before he saw me and figured out that bringing the sheep at a dead run maybe wasn't the Thing to Do…that my shrill Lie Down whistle meant something.  He lied down.  He looked away.  Good. 

I caught my breath.  I may have uttered a few obscenities.  Sweat pooled in the bottom of my big ass rubber boots. I trudged back to the other end of the field, called Pat back, and did it again. 

Same thing. 

3 times.  By the end of our second work Pat was lying down every time I blew a whistle EXCEPT at the top.  We still need to get it there.  We have 2 weeks.

"You have created this," Dianne told me with a slight smile, as Pat leaned adoringly against my sweaty booted leg, "And now you have to fix it."

It was raining as I drove away. Gentle fat drops.  You can't trust the weather. 

Derek proof reads all my Derek Stripper Journal Manuscripts. I'm his Official Biographer.  Next time we'll explore his Grinding To, and On, the Oldies at the Convalescent Center in downtown Greenleaf. He's an Equal Opportunity dancer.

Correction:  Rage Hardwood just texted me that Rose is by BRAD and Reba (Brad might not work at NASA. Rage didn't say.  Brad sounds like the name of someone who wouldn't, though. Brad is the name of someone whom you BLAME for things,

"Thanks for the ROUNDWORMS, BRAD…." or

"Thanks a lot, BRAD…you said you were NEUTERED."

Anyway. Brad. I have NO IDEA whether John Glenn was EVER involved. I'm beginning to suspect that was all MADE UP.  You can't trust anybody anymore.)

Reba is out of Glyn, who never went to the moon, AS FAR AS WE KNOW. BUT, these were the Y2K year(s).  A lot happened.  And didn't happen. 

Anyway! 'Fact' is just another word for 'Nothing Left too loose'.  

(Could not be reached for comment)

I worked setout this last weekend at Big Willow with Ray and Gladys Crabtree, Amy Coapland and Angie Untisz.  Aside from the fact that I didn't actually SEE a willow, let alone a big one, so thank god I wasn't in it for the botany, it was a great event and I had a lot of fun working with interesting, hilarious, and good people. 

Ellen Skillings won and her final run was especially beautiful from start to finish, at which point she had well over a minute to spare. Next year I hope she'll use this time to make a little speech about the Vanishing Willow. I'll remember to suggest it.

I think that Lavon Calzacorta came in 2nd and 3rd was Libby Nieder.  (I think I FINALLY have this right…based on the posting of the results) Patrick came in 4th. 

Now, I have to admit that because I was working and not just spectating I did NOT see all or most of many runs.  I made it a point to watch when I could,  but it wasn't often that I saw an entire run and anyway I'm not really made of the stuff that can do a credible blow by blow rundown of each run…or any run. Suffice it to say that it was fun, as always, being at the top. I think that it's especially cool to be where the dog is having to make some of his own decisions.  Yeah, you have a handler several hundred yards away whistling, but with these sheep, and the topography…you had to trust your dog to read the sheep and the dogs that did really well were clearly the ones who are more than just well trained on whistles.  

But enough about the people who KNOW what they are doing. Let's get back to ME.

I used Pat (my soul mate, and a known perv) and Rose (another dog of Patrick's) to help with the setout.  Rose is a little thing of Derek Fisher breeding (Reba and …I want to say John Glenn, the astronaut, but I think that isn't true.  If it turns out that it IS, you heard it here first! SCANDAL at NASA!…anyway…the Glen part is right). Reba is owned by Robin Nueffer (sp?) and Ray had her working with him at setout.  Reba and Rose refused to acknowledge one another, but seemed to share a love of The Poptart. A forbidden love that hasn't served Reba well.  I suspect that Rose eats grass to save her figure. She's perfect.

Working Rose was really fun. I hadn't so much as petted her prior to P*trick handing her over Saturday morning, but she likes to work so much that she didn't care that I was Not Patrick.  She is fast and stops on a canadian dime.  (They're worth more!)  She is sweet and small and intelligent.   I've seen Riggs x Rose pups and I want one.  Just like everyone else on the planet, probably including John Glenn. That cad.

In closing (almost), because of all that Dianne and Patrick do to contribute constantly to my stockdog training development, lending me dogs, giving me advice, reminding me to put in for trials ON TIME….I feel that I should change my name to either Red Top Katy or Red Run Katy (Dianne's kennel name is Orchard Run).

Oh, and this post is dedicated to Lora Withnell, who is a nag. But a nice one.  Thanks for letting me use your sheep whacker…uh, stock wand.  It was VERY HELPFUL. It helped turn 'ewes' into 'used'. 

AND! I promise to update more.  Really, this time!

LATE BREAKING NEWS: Amy says that Rose is out of Glyn, not Glenn…so apparently NASA has that base covered. I know that Derek Fisher goes by the name Rage Hardwood when he's stripping….so, it's not uncommon in the stockdog world to have pseudonyms.