LITTLE ROCK — Sheep need shepherds and when the shepherd can’t be there, they need guardians. With the passing of our oldest farm dog last year, our team of four-legged guardians dwindled to two: Bella, who mostly barks at birds, and Boo, the best guard dog ever.
Nine months into our marriage, I’m learning a lot about farm life from my husband. This summer, it was time to learn about flock-guarding dogs, because finding the right dog for our needs is a complicated proposition. Only a handful of breeds are suitable for guarding (not herding) sheep, and our latest rescue dogs have been great dogs, but not good flock guardians. Given the predators who stalk our sheep, we need a dog who’s already flock-trained before she comes to us.
In the past, Marc’s guardian dogs have been Great Pyrenees, whose centuries of breeding drive them to find and curl up protectively around a newborn lamb on a snowy January night and then patrol the perimeter of the farm barking ferociously at marauding coyotes - or worse - the next evening. That “protect the flock” instinct is crucial to a shepherd, because even though we’re vigilant, we too must sleep.
One bit of research led to another and, eventually we found Cindy, who requires the new owners of her guard dogs to be knowledgeable and mindful of their needs. So she and Marc spoke at length over the phone before we were invited to go and see her puppies. That’s how Marc and I found ourselves way out in the middle of nowhere on a recent Saturday afternoon, standing at Cindy’s gate waiting for her to come and open it.
Cindy raises Great Pyrenees and Anatolian shepherds. The dogs-in-training we came to see were mixes of these two breeds, a bit bigger and rangier than Bella and Boo, but of the same protective temperament. Our plan was to find one more female to add to the pack, but as we walked way out to Cindy’s training pen my mind was onthe long drive and the large soda I’d consumed along the way. At the first opportunity, I asked Cindy if I could use her restroom when we got back to her house. She barely hesitated.
“No,” she replied slowly. “I’m not much of a housekeeper. You’d best just squat over there by that hay bale. That’s what I do.”
I froze. Marc stared at the ground, barely suppressing a grin.
“Beg pardon?” I asked.
“Or that one over there,” she replied, gesturing in the other direction. “That there’s even better. Can’t nobody see you from the road if youget behind that one.”
“Right,” I replied, not looking at my husband, whose shoulders were now shaking. “OK. You two walk on and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
They did, and I walked slowly to the large round hay bale in question. I stared down at the spot she’d indicated, where tiny little bugs hopped out of the grass. “I can do this,” I thought to myself, but in the hope of maybe getting those little bugs to move on, I ran my foot across the designated area. As my shoe passed across the 4-inch long grass, it parted just enough to reveal the small, cream-colored patterned snake that had been lying hidden underneath it. Being a sensible shepherdess, I screamed and jumped at least a yard back. Then I kept moving.
“What’d she scream for?” I heard Cindy ask Marc, as I caught up with them.
“That’s her snake scream,” he answered.
“Small snake,” I gasped as I reached them. Then I added, as calmly as possible, “Let’s go see the other puppies. I don’t really need to go anymore.” E-mail:
Family, Pages 34 on 06/27/2012