HERD IT ON THE FENCE LINE

If you have watched herding trials, you’ve seen Border Collies and Australian Shepherds at work. They run fast, drop to their bellies and wait for a signal from their master. They run around the herd in tighter and tighter circles until the cows or sheep are all bunched up in the center, then they drive the whole wad toward and through a gate.

These dogs live to do this work. One of our Aussies, Hannah, drove both our cats into the corner of our kitchen the day she arrived at our house. She was 6 weeks old. In a few days we both had scabbed-up elbows, because Hannah kept pushing us to the side of the staircase when we went up or downstairs, causing us to scrape along the rough plaster. She wanted us in a confined, manageable space.

Our current Aussies always find a way to lie down touching both of us. They put a foot on Bruce’s shoe and a hip against my leg. They need to know where all their charges are. You can’t teach this instinct, and you can’t remove it. If you don’t want to be herded, get a little yippy dog.

One morning  our girls were on high alert, staring out the window, ears rotating like the radar towers at the airport. Someone was threatening their human herd. Usually it's just a bird or squirrel that gets them fired up and ready to go. Not this time. Cows were looking in our French doors at our dogs.

We don't have cows.

Our neighbor’s small herd of about a dozen cows was grazing in our south field. I went outside but approached them gingerly. Cows up close are far bigger than those out in the pasture. A cow head would fill your Mini Cooper, so you don’t want to get butted sideways by one.

Down the lane came our exasperated neighbor. Compared to Don, Pavarotti was a castrati––Don has a very low voice. And loud. When he calls his cows, it’s like those Alpine horns: “Come, bahhhhhh! Come, bahhhhhh!” It was amazing to hear––for us, anyway; the cows paid no attention whatsoever.

My husband and I tried to help, but 12 cows scattered around 20 acres are not easy to round up. And there is only one way out––back down the lane and out the gate. You get one cow headed that way and the others go toward the four corners of the field. Near as I can tell, there is only one thing you can get two bovines to do together.

But wait! Duh! We have herding dogs. Cats, cows, what’s the difference? (Yeah, yeah, I know––harder to milk, takes a lot of cats to make a leather saddle.) I let the dogs out, and they flew toward those cows. It was beautiful to see their DNA kick in. When they got within 15 feet of the first cow, however, they stopped, sat down, and stared at her. “What the hell is that?” said Hannah. “Nothing I’m messing with,” Ellie replied. They went back to the house.

We three humans eventually got the cows moving through the gate and on their way down the hill toward home. We did this by waiting until the cows decided to do that on their own. Our Aussies were not the least bit embarrassed, except by watching us run around flapping our arms and mooing. The cows didn’t cause any damage, and it was mighty handy to go out a grab a chunk of fertilizer whenever we needed one that summer. Made the strawberries grow big and fat for the chiggers to enjoy. (see entry for February 28)