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Back to Menu Sheepdog Trials Playing host to the New Luce Sheepdog trial is something that I take pleasure from every year but the responsibility of providing the field and the sheep is not one that I take lightly. The realisation that 200 blackfaced ewes will soon be needed to run the course without lying down and taking the huff usually grips me with panic about a week before the trial is set to take place. My sheep are used to the attentions of a collie dog but the worry is that it is never in the calm and controlled atmosphere which abounds at a sheepdog trial. Most of the time when my ewes see a dog it is usually accompanied by at least one and often two quad bikes. Their horns will be blaring, plastic bags will be flapping and sometimes, dare I say it, language will be used that would be more suitable for a football match than a sewing bee. Venting your anger at a collie dog by shouting and swearing at it does no good at all as far as gaining the control over the sheep or the dog is concerned. However, it does act as a pressure relief valve in what is often a stressful situation. And, anyway, if you’re miles away from the nearest habitation and there’s only the odd Whaup to hear you what harm can it do to let go of the odd wee expletive. A friend of mine, who farms on the outskirts of a fairly large town, was not so lucky when, a number of years ago, he went to gather his flock in a field beside the town’s secondary school. The fact that the music festival was being held in the town that week must have slipped his mind. Picture the scene as the applause from the gentlefolk in the audience dies away after the fifteenth contestant in the grade 2 piano solos. Then, the silence, that follows every performance whilst the adjudicators write their remarks and scores, is broken by the approaching rumble of a quad bike. It’s a warm spring day so the windows were open enabling the mums, dads, grannies and grandpas to hear the clear and concise commands that the shepherd issued to his dog on that fine spring day. Lie doon! Lie doon! Lie doon Ya B******! Get hame! Get hame! Get hame ya B******! It was bad enough but what made it worse was that the shepherd’s wife had been sitting in the audience. Needless to say conditions were crowded in the doghouse that evening. As for this year’s trial, I’m pleased to report; my ewes had behaved themselves very well. None of the old girls had lain down before they reached the end of the course and any contestant that never finished was quicker to blame his dog rather than my sheep. Finally, I decided that my dog Alfie was still not ready to take part in the local trial this year. His odd moments of sheer brilliance are still overshadowed by his erratic behaviour which I can only put down to him hearing voices in his head. Luckily, I’m quite prepared to overlook these wee imperfections because I really like him. He follows me round all day and never takes his eyes off me. Best of all he looks at me the way that Janet used to before we got married and the same way as my daughter does now that she’ll soon need a car.
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