Scout contemplates existential angst and the absurdity of Pat's rolling in poop
When I worked setout last weekend with P*trick, I got on the subject of Scout. I was telling him of the few times recently she escaped my car in the midst of my working another dog, and began to chase the living shit out of sheep until she decided on her own to lie down somewhere as if this place she chose and this time she chose it were logical and preordained. Only an idiot would think all that screaming and flailing were necessary or effective. Why wouldn't she bark at such a distracting display of buffoonery? Or maybe she thought we were both doing the same thing; chasing the living shit out of moving obstacles and making noise.
P*trick commented that it must be rough to have so much drive and desire without, basically, the ability to channel it successfully.
It seemed obvious, but I'd never thought of that before; from her perspective. It made me sad for her. I love this crazy little dog. I would do anything to give her more happiness. I've tried to work her and we both revert to this primal little display of comedic quality savagery. Every time. I don't think I've ever had a moment of connection with her on sheep.
Sharp tones bring barking; the cracking of a whip incites fury and biting; anything less is ignored.
I cannot get into her head. I don't know what motivates her and I don't know what manifests as a correction in her odd little brain. I've tried everything short of clicking and treating, shooting and shoveling.
Then today I thought, shit! Maybe P*trick was talking about ME.