Today we worked on refining what we learned yesterday. 

Pat worked well for me.  He was pretty consistent in taking 'lie down'…often right away, but with a correction for sure.  Our biggest issue is still timing. Don feels that it is not my timing as much as the lag between my direction to Pat and his taking it. He thinks it will improve for both of us with practice and time together. One thing is certain: Pat works best with a good hump under his pelt, so to speak. 

Right before our first time out this morning, Pat sidled up to a young woman and did his lean-into-body-gaze-with-soulful-eyes routine. She fell for it, of course; we all do.  And as soon as she reached out, began petting him, telling him what a good and handsome boy he is…Pat latched on and rode her leg for at least 8 seconds. 

Then I called him off and we walked with Don out onto the field.  The outrun was nice, we made the panels and penned. 

Our second time out highlighted the issue with timing.  Don had me send Pat on an outrun and bring the sheep around me and then drive off toward the panels.  Don reminded me to use the draw to straighten the
drive/fetch. Lie the dog down and let the sheep correct themselves into the draw. The outrun, lift and fetch was great.  We did okay getting the sheep around me, but it was clumsy. Pat seemed to fall apart consistently on the away side. I don't know if that is usual for him, or whether it was all about this field and the location of the draw, his response to pressure; but he would cut in and loose his head and then I'd lose mine and yell the wrong command which he'd take.  Then we'd lose the sheep. Then I would utter extremely foul language not endorsed by the USBCHA, Don would fumble to turn the mic off on the radio, not in time, women would faint and I,finally, collapsed in tears, and a deep furrow; I cried like a baby, in a heap of my own leavings… and eventually, inevitably, I turned to drugs and prostitution.   During rehab I claimed to prefer goats or animals that climb things and don't stick together. I'm more of a cat person. Or dogs that wear jackets.

Not really. This paragraph was starting to bore even me.  I'm tired. Does this suck? I'll fix it tomorrow.

So, basically, I have a lot to work on with Pat.  Still, we did get our second pen.  I have to say, though: It was luck.  Really. It wasn't about me or Pat. It was just a little about me and Pat. Mostly, blind dithering luck.

One other thing I learned from this experience:

I love setout.  I know most people focus on trialing, and I'd like to trial, no doubt.  I could be happy shooting for being a decent setout person, though. I like the task.  Pat did a great job. I think the simple, close work made our efforts on the field together much better as well.   

The two things Don had to repeat to all of us yesterday seemed to be:

1) "When you tell your dog to lie down, you need to make him LIE DOWN. Your goal is to only say it once."

Not, apparently, six or seven times with different modulations and often different commands strung together, "LIE DOWNWHATAREYOUDOING?GETOUTOFTHATLIEDOWN…ETC ETC"

I thought the ETC ETC captured my thoughts perfectly and Pat is a smart enough dog to figure out that I'm just running out of wind.

and,

2) "You have to turn the sheep's heads. That is the key to everything."

Intellectually I know that my time is better spent watching the sheep and not the dog.  Flanking until the heads have turned, not just to where the dog appears to be in the right spot. This falls apart when things are moving; and it really caves in when I'm being watched.  I'm better when I'm working alone because I have one less thing to think about. When anyone else is watching, let alone several anyone elses, I'm very conscious of scrutiny, real or imagined.  I go to that perfect Zen state of Nothingness.  Where I get hungry and thirsty and feel sad for Darfur, maybe…but the dog? Huh? Oh, yeah, he is still moving…and too close! I need to get past that as much as I need to get timing.

Pat is sensitive and he knows what he is doing.  If I can watch him more and get a good down on him, I'll learn from it and we'll work much better together.  He doesn't need too much more from me, really.  Don had me watch him bring the sheep to me on a fetch without saying a word.  Pat adjusted his distance perfectly by watching the sheep and feeling the draw.  He moved them in a relatively straight line with no input from me.  

Not the first time a trainer has suggested I shut up more. 

Today I will use my whistle and see if Don is not too big a man to cry.

This being in the house business is confusing for Pat.  He sits and stares at me.  I'm either going to get him some good wrap-around shades, and a piano, or its going to stop.

This morning I fed them all chicken thighs and it took Pat about 15 minutes to eat his. He moved it around, licked at the skin, dropped it, drug it all over the floor, tentative corner bite… It was almost as if he would have benefitted from an instructional video. 

He's finished now and its back to staring.  I hope this signifies a new reflective side emerging from Pat, but he's probably just trying to bend me.

PS: A few people have asked me about my deleted post. I forgot that once I post something it remains a link off of anyone's site that has me on their blog roll. A dead link.  Sorry.  I'm going to try to make this blog more about Dogs and less about me. I'll do the weirder posts elsewhere.  Mostly….

All Dianne ever talks about is how she can hardly wait to have a dog good enough to run on ducks,

"If I could JUST get a couple of duck legs under my belt," she's said at least a dozen times. 

At least I assumed she meant trialing.  Maybe not.  I wouldn't trust her around my water fowl, just in case, because she had her chance this weekend to trial on ducks at the GSH Ranch Trial and she blew it.  Her dog Zorro could have really stepped up.  Jaenne and I both offered to pay for the entry fees….and throw in a tank of l'orange…. but it's like she didn't hear us.  Maybe she's not ready.  I think she's almost good enough, though, and I told her so.  She just stared at me like she didn't know what to say. 

"It's okay," I patted her, "You don't have to say anything." 

Sometimes I prefer that as a response.

She did really well with Annie and Pat and Zorro on SHEEP. Yawn. Whatever.  

I don't want to talk about how *I* did, except to say that Jen did great on the ranch course; I opened and closed gates for her and kept my mouth shut for the most part.  Unfortunately, I wasn't as useful on the field trial.  Pat looks at my leg now like its just a part of some really tacky display or a prop to hold up some awkward sound system whose purpose seems to be in yelling one command. Alot.  I think he faked his wag at the end. 

Sheep camp couldn't come at a better time.  I wish I could say the same of migration.

Yesterday I was one of three fairly novice handlers out at Dianne's for training.   We seemed to be at a similar level in our training. Regardless, as relative beginners, we all make the same mistakes. 

"Why are you bending down?"
"QUIT POINTING with that stock stick…its NOT A POINTER"
"QUIT GOING TO YOUR SHEEP.  That is your DOG'S JOB!"

Over and over. Until our body's assimilate some sort of muscle memory and natural timing and we naturally react the right way to our dog's mistakes, we are in for a long bent over trek down wrong flank road.  In an effort to simplify the training process and save Dianne from turning to strong drink or…drugs, I was thinking that there should be a line of Novice Stock Handler tools.  

The Get Back Dog Tongs – instead of 2 stock sticks, try something more clackier and capable of not just gentle smacking, but grabbing and tossing when needed.  These long handled Salad Tongs are perfect for Mixed Green Handlers.  Comes in 2 sizes, Get Back and I SAID GET OUT OF IT.

The Upright Truss -  This stiff torso suit encorporates old-fashioned sanitarium functionality with dignified posture. The metal-enforced straight-jacket design insists that the handler remain upright while not waving his/her arms in any sort of useless scooping motion. Comes in off-white and beige.

The Talking Stock Wand – Screams 'Throw me!' when sensors indicate that a dog is getting too close to the sheep and  'I AM NOT A POINTER' when held at an angle useless for blocking.  Also available in 'SMACK YOUR DOG ON THE NOSE!' and 'WHERE IS MY SALAD TONG?" 

Sheep Be Gone – Coyote Urine mixed with the yummie smell of roasting leg of lamb deters even the stickiest of sheep from hanging out at your flanks. 

Directional Shoes – These stylish oxfords have 'Come bye' and 'Away' printed on the toes to keep novice handlers from getting confused and reinforcing their dogs natural inclination to think them untrustworthy for repeatedly screeching one direction while indicating another with their body.  Synchronized motion and voice activations take things a bit further when necessary, prompting these slip on footwear to issue gentle electric 'corrections' to an especially oblivious handler; one screaming 'COME BY' three times while stepping with potty dance consistency to the right. 

Yes, I was drinking when I wrote this.

(Merle Sisters – Photo by Jodi Darling)

Yesterday I saw how different two sisters can be.

(No, not me and the Original Judy, though we, too, are very different in that I am relatively social and sane, middleclass and employed – OJ is cloistered and crazy, wealthy and employed mostly with just chewing her own food. Unless she has her husband doing that, too, now…MEOW!)

Jaenne and I had our dogs out at Dianne's.  Scout and her littermate Mo are opposites in almost every way.  Mo is a merle, scout is black and white.  Mo is outgoing and friendly, Scout is furtive and shy, Mo has eye, Scout has none.   

Scout and I continued to work on her getting off the sheep and me figuring out timing (I'm consistently about 2-5 seconds too late on everything). I did time one thwap on Scout's nose with my stock stick just right and that really seemed to be effective in emphasizing the seriousness of my GET BACK command and respect of my body pressure.  Scout got back after that.  I felt bad, afterward, but it really changed things.  Anyway, I bought her ice cream and a pony on the way home and let her drive (just steer, really. She can't quite reach the pedals).

Not really. Though I'm sure Jodi and Dianne both had to think about it for a sec.  And worry.  Scout is not ready to drive.  

On the other side of the genetic map, Jaenne and Mo worked on breaking down Mo's eye, keeping Mo on her feet.  They worked in much slower motion than Scout and I.  They had more luck in the big alfalfa field than in the arena, which was too much pressure for Mo.  Scout and I have worked in the field and have had good and bad days, but we needed the confines of the arena to establish some pressure sensitivity in Scout and some sense of timing in me. 

Dianne talked about Mo being more mature than Scout, and that Mo's
position in her pack of 2 dogs is one of responsibility (Jaenne's other
dog, Kip, has seperation anxiety and leans on Mo) which has a big
effect on a dog's rate of maturity and confidence. Scout is at the bottom end of her pack of 4 in my house.  Maybe 5, if you count the cat.  Thank god the hamster died.  My position is slightly above the cat's.

Jaenne and Mo are advancing faster than Scout and I.  Initially I envied that, but I believe that Scout is teaching me what I need to learn.  Scouts issues are very complimentary to my own.   Plus I love this peculiar little misanthropic dog.

(Scout Contemplates Murder – Photo by Cienna Madrid)

Yesterday I drove out to the desert to spectate a day of Sheep Camp, where Dianne and Patrick were working with about 9 people and their dogs on some BLM land south of Homedale. I'm guessing it was south, though I'm notoriously dizzy when it comes to directions; despite having spent about 8 years of my life mapping BLM land including this area I had no idea where I was in relation to anything broader than me and my backseat.  I prefer that someone say 'right' or 'left' when telling me how to get somewhere.  In this case the location was left of Homedale, if you were looking toward the gas station from whence I bought our Chelatas.  Places that serve or sell alcohol are a favorite north arrow of mine.

Watching other people work their dogs sometimes makes me feel like I'm doing something else entirely.  Like catalog work. Or loitering. 
As if somehow, despite all the direction and encouragement, training me is not unlike trying to train a goat, or a feisty end table to herd sheep using a dog.  I'm sort of in the middle and in the way and the sheep and the dog seem to know this and possibly resent it.  Who brought the goat? Why an end table?   
I have access to the part of my brain that understands what is being asked of me and why, but my body prefers to simply stand there and, if possible, chew, or, on a good day, sidle slightly one way or another, too slowly and often in the wrong direction.  

Patrick talked about communication being the key factor in herding.  That your dog knows everything it needs to know already about herding sheep, the rest is about you learning to communicate your expectations or direction to your dog. 

For me, communication has always been a struggle.  I communicate best through writing.  I jabber when I talk.  I wander aimlessly mid-topic. I miss cues.  My mind races ahead and my mouth crashes… My thoughts are disorganized and the way I organize is through the process of writing.  It forces me to be deliberate.  Interestingly I feel like last week when Dianne had me silently work with Scout in the arena using just body pressure I made the most progress yet. I think removing the pressure of verbal communication, which was always out of sync anyway, helped me to focus on the physical part and finally begin to get it. 

Lastly, today I drove out to deliver lunch to the other end of the Sheep Camp at Don and Jeanie's place left of the Sand Hollow Store. 

I used the restroom at the Sand Hollow Store and Cafe.  To the casual observer, the establishment appears normal, if not a little seedy.  The store is sparse and a tad run down.  The cafe quiet and smelling slightly of ham and old men.  Scratch the surface, my friend, and you find Temptation Toilet.

Yes, in the tiny little Women's Room, nailed to the wall, probably sometime in the 1960s, are twin FLAVORED CONDOM and ORIENTAL PLEASURE KIT dispensers.  Fifty cents will buy you a banana, cherry, or grape flavored condom or an entire supply of gratification tools from the Far East.  A dollar for a fist full of candified, asian scented, international lust gone wild. 

Leaving the restroom I looked around, trying to determine what sort of quickie mart/cafe activities might lead to a furtive trip to yon vending boxes.   I saw nothing.  Cranky girl at the register checking her split ends, old men drinking coffee at the counter reading the paper, a young couple with a child buying milk ….

I don't get it.  I like the possibilities, though.

Employees are reminded to wash their hands.

Last evening I took the three of my dogs who weren't at the vet being old and sick (poor Hank) for their nightly walk/run/roll in something dead or digested.  Very recently I've noticed a change in Scout on these outtings.  She used to stick at my heel, except when we first started out, when she'd blast as fast as possible for a long enough stretch to prove that she could out run Zeke. 

She's gone through a few stages actually. Months ago, she'd bark and bite at my feet, which annoyed the absolute F*CK out of me, for the first 1/2 mile of the run. I'd scream, I'd threaten, I'd throw shit at her. FINALLY, she got off that kick.

She went through a relatively normal phase of following Zeke everywhere, alternating with crouching down and stalking him, pouncing on him and then racing off to do it again.  This Zeke tended to ignore, although for awhile he, too, seemed irritated by it.  When I started working with her on her "lie down" and "stay" on the trail this phase ended.  That was not my intention, but it coincided with the training.

Then Scout went through the longest phase of just following calmly and quietly at my heel. This, too, annoyed me. (Proving that I'm a thankless bitch who will never be satisfied? Perhaps.)  I worried that this indicated some sort of insecurity. 

Ever since Dianne and Jodi called me the Appendages of Yammering Ruin (not their words, exactly) I've been trying to be more aware of my vocal presence, as well as my physical.  I've been trying to lay off calling the dogs back on walks/runs unless its necessary for their safety or my photo op.  No training on the trails. This is recreation time.  Scout is back to ranging out and pouncing on Zeke.  I'm shutting up for Olympic qualifying stretches of time.  I think its healthier for everyone. 

Last night, on our way back to the car, Zeke rolled in something so foul and frothy, dead just long enough to be at maximum putrid level without having lost that juicy cadaver quality….I screamed obscenities all the way home.  All the way home.  I waved my arms and screamed.

Okay…I couldn't come up with a better title. Whisperer was taken. 

Today Scout and I went out to Dianne's to try something new that she came up with to make Scout feel and respond to my body pressure. 

I spent the drive out to Caldwell listening to Estrogen Tunes, compliments of my husband, who made me a cd of Alanis Morrissette (Is it a hint? Like, 'Maybe if Katy listens to the same stuff my friend's wives listen to, she, too, will vacuum and make healthy soups and stews, instead of spreading bacon bits on the carpet every few weeks, calling it bio-shag,  and buying beer and chips by the Costco caseload'….) 

I like Alanis Morrissette okay.  After 30 miles I started to wonder if she ever keeps anything to herself, though.  Does she let any small slight go unsung?  She seems to have catchy tunes backing up a lot of whining.  She's like a melodic nag.
I can't imagine coming home to,

Anyway, I'm sure she's not The Soundtrack to my working/training relationship with Scout.   Jodi tried Carol King for behind our last working video and it was nice…but I still picture Tom Waits or L7, personally. At least for now.  Today was better.

Dianne had Scout and I work in the not-round round pen.  She had me use *2* stock wands to block Scout's access to the sheep while I forced her to back up off my body pressure.   Then I'd lie her down and make her wait until I released her.  At first it was all about Scout trying desperately to get around me to the sheep, barking and circling, lunging— while I tried to stay on my feet and ahead of her.  Gradually, though, she slowed down and did back up.  When I released her she was much calmer in getting around the sheep.  She began to respond to my pressure.  

Dianne worked an 8 month old pup, Teal,  using the same method.  It was really fascinating to stand back and watch her work with him.  Initially he was all shaking adrenalin and drive.  There was a pretty dramatic difference in the behavior of the dog after just a few times with Dianne calmly backing him up and making him lay down and think a moment, process, before getting his sheep.  I think the coolest part of stock dog training is the psychology behind maximizing your dog's potential.  And that much of this transfers to human relationships. For instance, I bought more beer and chips than ever on the way home.  PLUS a case of Fakin Bits(tm?).  (no pork killed in the cleaning of this carpet!)

I listened to NPR on the way home.   I was afraid I'd ovulate if I didn't.

PHOTO CREDIT: Jodi Darling

Saturday we (I, Jodi, Colleen, and Jaenne) went out to work at Janies on setting up the course for the Halloween trial.  It's been blogged about in better places (hayewe) and I won't go over the parts that Doll already covered since I believe the 3 people that read this blog also read her's.  Suffice it to say that normally when a man calls me 'blondie', I'd take a shovel to his head – but I never actually heard it applied to me this weekend, until one time towards the end of the afternoon.   I suspect that it was the Keystone Light and ridiculously tight wranglers talking.  Regardless, I wouldn't have taken anything those guys said or did more seriously than Pat humping my leg a few days prior out at Dianne's house.  Except that it is worth noting that I find Pat much more attractive.  We have more in common. He 'gets' me.

Sunday we went out to Dianne's house to see Pat…uh, I mean take lessons.  Jodi, Jaenne and I.  This time the Tip was for me to perhaps amputate my arms since I apparently can't keep from flailing them around like tenticals on some crazed sea creature, which my dog seemingly deciphers to mean, Play Time, since what else can all that random motion mean?   Scout was laying down for me, she was staying down, with some reminders, and she was slowing down…but we still have cutting in on the stock issues when I send her, which I know is my timing in part…and perhaps my….gesturing.

Its been suggested before that I put my hands in my pockets.  I'm not even aware that I'm doing it.  I gesture, I wave, I scoop.  I need my arms for hugging nuclear children (saw it on a bumper sticker) and I'm sure they'll come in handy later in my stock dog education but for now they seem to be …tentacles of doom.   This week I will attempt to curb my gesturing as well as my vocal outbursts.  Which will not only make me a better handler but please my family in general, I'm sure.