I had occasion one morning several weeks ago to drop by Jim
and Steph Barrie’s place in Thermalands (just northeast of Lincoln). Mutual friends from southeastern Oregon who
winter their cattle with Jim and Steph had left some “Shepherd’s Scarf” kits
when they dropped off bulls the week before, and I finally had time to pick
them up (I’ll be selling them at our farmers’ market). I’ve known Jim since his days as the county
trapper, and our paths have crossed now and again. After retiring from the county, Jim has
devoted his time to managing the family ranch, and to training horses and dogs.
After the typical rancher complaints about the weather and
the challenges of the livestock business, our conversation turned to dogs, horses
and people we’d known. I related that
one of things I like most about working dogs is the challenge of communication
with another species – of conveying clear direction to my dogs and
listening to what they’re trying to tell me.
In response, Jim told me a great story that illustrates this point much
better than I ever have.
A number of years ago, Jim was training a cow dog for
another rancher. She’d have Jim come
when she wasn’t around and train her dog on her cows in a large field. Jim said that one particular horned cow would
always challenge the dog at some point – and the dog would try to leave the cow
and work the rest of the herd. Jim (as I
have done) would always force the dog back onto the recalcitrant cow, which the
dog obviously didn’t like. After one
such training session, Jim asked his dad about it. “My dad said, ‘That dog’s trying to tell you
something,” Jim told me. “’Next time you
work him, just let him be and see what he does.’”
The next time they worked the cows, Jim tried his dad’s
advice. “That cow turned,” Jim said, “and I just stayed quiet. The dog pushed the rest of the cows up the
fenceline to a big willow. He got them
settled in under the tree and then went back – all on his own – and took on the
horned cow. He nipped her heals all the
way up the field until she joined the rest of the herd, and I stayed quiet the
whole time.”
When Jim got home, he told his dad what had happened. “My dad said, ‘The dog was telling you that
he was worried that the rest of the cows would get away if he dealt with the
ornery cow like you wanted him to. He
figured he needed to get the rest of the cows settled before he could deal with
her.’” As Jim said, the dog reasoned it out.
I pass this story because I think it’s an important lesson
for me (and perhaps for others) as a stockman who has realized that I’ll always
be learning. It’s also important on
several other levels, however. First, it
illustrates a way of looking at working with animals that I think is
important. To me, it suggests that the
listening part of communicating with another species (and probably with our own
species) involves using more than our ears – it requires us to use our eyes,
our brains and our intuition. It implies
that we need to have a relationship of trust with our animal partners (in my
case, with dogs and horses or mules) that gives us the confidence to try things
even if we’re afraid they might not work.
Like me, Jim has considered offering internships as a way to
pass along his experience and knowledge to a new generation of stockmen (and
women). We both lament the changes in
our community that make it more difficult for a young person to get hands-on,
real-world experience in working with livestock – most kids don’t grow up on a
ranch anymore. The changes in our
community give us less time to work together, too – stockmanship skills, I
think, are learned by working together – by sharing stories and approaches to
our work, and (most importantly) by sharing actual work.
Modern life makes us think that we’re too busy to spend an hour with a
friend in the midst of a hectic work day swapping stories. I’ve written previously about the value in
slowing down so that the work will go faster – this visit was a reminder that
slowing down helps me learn important lessons, too. Thanks, Jim!
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