When my dog is working really well for me; when everything is going at that perfect pace and he is listening to every whistle, every command and sheep are hitting the obstacles perfectly at a relaxed and lovely pace…I naturally assume that my dog is dying of some hideous internal parasite or rare disease. 

"There is NO WAY that a healthy Pat would lie down like that!" I say.

"LOOK AT HIM! Shit, it's worse than I thought! HE IS TAKING A 'STEADY' EVERY TIME!! He isn't blowing out when I correct him….He's thinking way too much.  This is bad. Really bad.  I'm not a vet, but I can see that he is riddled with spleen mites! Or some wasting disease…he will have to have every movable part amputated in order to save his beautiful kind head…which, though I love, will be useless to me in a few weeks at Wessels."

Or…will it?  I start daydreaming about transplanting Pat's head on Scout's body…could it be done? Scout's head could, in turn, go….onto…a squirrel! Or magpie!! I love Scout, and I can see her really shining as some sort of censuring rodent with a really cute tail.  Or a disagreeable yet lovable bird who feasts on carrion and recognizes which faces she wants to poo on from aloft.  She could still use her crate at night! 

People accuse me of being hysterical.  They say useless things like,

"Pat is really listening to you!"

"Pat trusts you now because you don't cry so much."

"Maybe it's easier for Pat to work for someone who isn't flailing and screeching at every ill-timed moment possible? Making him lie down only to lose his sheep. And then whine his name in chronic disappointment."

Maybe.  I don't know.  I'm not ruling out a squirrel for Scout's head, though. Just in case.