Our family said goodbye last week to the best sheep dog I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. Mo, who technically belonged to my oldest daughter, Lara, was coming up on his 15th birthday. During his prime - and even past his prime - he was the finest border collie I’ve ever partnered with. Saying goodbye to a pet is difficult; saying goodbye to a working partner is beyond difficult.
Mo came to us as a pup - just 9 or 10 weeks old, as I remember. At the time, I was just beginning to understand how to work a dog - we’d returned our first older border collie to our friend Ellen (who also sold Mo to us). My working dog at the time was Taff - who was a wonderful dog in his own right. Being new to working dogs, we sent Mo for six weeks of training with Ellen before he was a year old. He came back to us with a solid foundation; we spent the next 10 years building our relationship.
He was an incredibly athletic dog - and one that we could never keep weight on (no matter how much or what we fed him). One of my earliest memories of seeing Mo and Taff together was walking across our winter pasture with them and watching them run. Taff was going flat out - as fast as he could go; Mo passed him and pulled away - all the while looking back at Taff over his shoulder. I’ve seen coyotes run the same way!
While he was a rough-coated dog, Mo was one of the more fastidious dogs I’ve ever had. Stickers and burrs didn’t seem to take hold - and if they did, he picked them out of his coat with his teeth. I suspect he did this because he hated being brushed. And unlike the rest of our dogs, he rarely rolled in shit or other stinky things. Once, when his half-brother Ernie was still a pup, Ernie rolled in a fresh, green cow pie at one of our leased ranches. We had to throw Ernie in the creek to get him clean enough to ride in the truck. Mo was disgusted - somewhere I have a photo of Mo sitting on top of Ernie on the ride home.
Shortly after Mo came back from training, I used him to gather a group of sheep that was out of sight behind a hill. For some reason, we had exposed some of the ewes in the spring with the hope of having some fall lambs (we generally lamb in March). Mo disappeared around the back side of the hill; soon, the sheep crested the hilltop - but Mo didn’t reappear. I was getting ready to curse him for becoming distracted and leaving his work when he showed up - easing a new pair (a lamb and ewe) back to the flock. This was my first lesson from Mo: trust your dogs. Mo was always trustworthy in working sheep.
In better hands, Mo might have made a competitive trialing dog. He was fast, smooth, and smart. Lara did enter him in several amateur trials (in Plymouth and Pescadero) - they made a great team. But I think he always preferred real work. Unlike some of my other dogs, Mo would take a break if he got too hot, but I only really saw him tired one time - after a full day of shipping sheep from a grazing contract in Rocklin in hot weather. I watched him fall asleep sitting up on our ride home!
In 2013-14, I went to work part-time for a big sheep outfit in Rio Vista. Taff, my old dog, was winding down. Ernie wasn’t quite ready for prime time. Mo solidified his position as my top dog. The job was our first experience working with large groups of sheep (more than a thousand at a time). Mo excelled. He loved the work - and he loved curling up in our trailer at night.
The following year, I left the sheep job because of the drought - and went to work as the beef cattle herdsman at the UC Sierra Foothill Research and Extension Center. Mo and Ernie came with me. Cattle work made hard-headed Ernie a more thoughtful sheep dog; steady Mo took the change in species in stride. Since we still had our own sheep, Mo’s work week might include gathering cattle pairs, moving heifers to fresh feed, and driving sheep up the county road. He seemed to love all of it.
All through these working years, Mo also developed several hobbies. He loved chasing bird shadows and butterflies on the far side of our shop. He barked at the lawnmower, the chainsaw, and the leaf blower - and he lost his mind if I blew leaves off the roof. And he cultivated an intense fear of gunshots, firecrackers, and thunder. On one occasion, he bolted when a neighbor at one of our leased ranches shot a shotgun - he ran across two or three other properties and waited for me at our corrals.
During the summer of Mo’s eighth year, as we were preparing to take Lara to Bozeman, Montana, for her first year of college, Mo suffered a back injury while helping me move sheep at the house. We’re still not entirely certain what happened, but he lost the ability to use both back legs. As hard as it was to send our oldest child off to college, I found leaving Mo in the care of some friends nearly as difficult. Thankfully, Mo eventually made an almost complete recovery and was able to work with me for another three years.
But the injury took its toll. In February 2019, just before we started lambing, we decided we needed to retire Mo. My friend and sheep partner, Roger Ingram, took drone video of Mo’s last job - moving sheep across the road where we graze in the wintertime. While he’d obviously slowed, he accomplished the job with his characteristic style.
In his retirement, Mo was content to pursue his hobbies. He enjoyed laying in the sun on the back step. He liked to sleep in the house during the winter, but insisted on sleeping outside the rest of the year. I suspect he was amused (or perhaps annoyed) by his offspring (we have two pups from Mo and Mae). He continued to enjoy trips to swim in the irrigation ditch at the back of our property. And he lost all interest in working sheep - he’d stand and watch when Mae and I would move sheep here at home.
I’ve written similarly about my other working dogs, but I still have difficulty expressing the difference between my relationship with my working dogs and my relationship (earlier in life) with pet dogs. The term “master” doesn’t seem to be appropriate - “partner,” to me, is more apt. Mo, I think, respected me (although I’m certain he wondered about my sheep herding abilities at times); I know I respected Mo. Every dog I’ve owned has taught me something; Mo taught me to trust my canine partners. He taught me that a sensitive dog (as he was), doesn’t need harsh words or a guilt trip (do any of us, really?!). He taught me to stop and enjoy the beauty of a dog totally committed to his work.
Mo also spanned an interesting time in my life. Mo watched (and helped) our daughters grow up - he was a companion, a guardian, and a friend to both girls, but especially to Lara. He also spanned an interesting time in my professional life. When we got Mo, I had dreams of making a living from raising my own sheep. Drought, lack of capital, and my own unrealistic expectations forced me to adjust my dreams. During Mo’s life, I went from working full-time and ranching part-time to trying to ranch full-time. I went from working for others to working for myself to working for others again. I went back to school and earned a master’s degree. I managed sheep and cows and goats. And Mo was there for all of it - a willing and uncritical partner. Perhaps that’s the greatest lesson I have learned from my dogs - unconditional love and boundless energy for the job that’s in front of us today. Mo loved his work - and always lived in the moment. Thanks, Mo - that’ll do, ol’ buddy - that’ll do.
No comments:
Post a Comment