The First Sheep Dog
Jane - also known as Jane-O, Jane dog, Jane Louis, little dog, the bub, - has been with us only two years now but I can’t recall what it was like without her. She is our first toe dipping into the vast water of working farm dogs. She is our guinea pig and more forgiving than we probably deserve.
Jane’s a registered Scotch Collie and my first purchased puppy. I grew up with rescues of every color and size without known breed origins, already years past “puppy” and I hope to again bring a rescue into our home – once our home and lifestyle can accommodate that. That someday home includes more land and more sheep which we know might very well call for a Border Collie. Or McNab or Kelpie or Huntaway or whatever we find best fits our situation. Colin and I have both worked some with hunting dogs, strictly trained for their own uncommon jobs but never with sheep dogs. The Scotch Collie of today is a formal attempt to preserve the old farm collie, descended from the regionally adapted Scottish shepherd’s dogs that went on to influence the Rough and Smooth Collie breeds. Born out of aversion to the working instincts being bred out of collies for bench shows, the association with which Jane is registered endorses a breed standard with less focus on looks and more on instincts, intelligence, and biddability. That’s what sold me – I’ve avoided the emotional investment in the breed at large (already giving up a significant amount of that energy to our sheep and their breed associations) but I was sold on the idea of a smart, trainable dog that comes wanting farm work. I might bring on a storm of dispute should the wrong person read this but, the Scotch Collie’s herding ability is poor. My hopes were higher when we first looked into these dogs but I’m quite content with our Jane dog’s desire to hunt and guard. Intelligence and biddability, off the charts as well.
What, though, has it been like bringing Jane onto our farm? And other’s – my partner on the shearing road many days. Slow at first. Our first weeks tethered always by a six foot lead to waddle through chores and shearing days together was not at my usual pace. As eager as she was, Jane’s stubby puppy legs didn’t move very fast and when she was ready for a snooze there was little one could do to rouse her. She was a joy nevertheless. Eye contact is her most defining characteristic, always watching and remembering more than I realized. She soaked up every experience and looked to learn whether or not I was trying to teach. She was uneasy around the sheep at first and my fault for ruining black-hided cattle for a while. Jane was allowed to roam free, staying close, while I worked on a fence along the neighbor’s cow pasture. She hadn’t learned yet what electric fence was and backed into a hot strand while look at a couple of cows walking towards us. She bolted, squealing the whole way, and my mind started to race. How far could she get before I caught up? How good is her recall? All that concern for nothing. She took herself back to the house, curled up on the door mat waiting for me. Cows were danger after that but we worked through it. Everything changed as I learned how to boost a small dog’s confidence and now she’s swung the other way – often too bold, at the ready to tell of all sheep, cattle, and equine that cross her path. More has changed, how much a dog can change! I am shocked and amazed watching our Jane mature and develop, never losing the essence of her but surprising me out of the blue with new behaviors.
Her lack of herding instincts does not mean she isn’t always looking for ways to be involved. She’s there to contribute her two cents working lambs, moving ewes, waiting at the gate while we feed. She knows where her sheep belong and knows what critters should be kept out. Jane is unbelievably flexible, as long as her people say it’s okay but knows the regular order of things. At five months old she alerted me to a fence charger with a low battery. They blink, our fence chargers, with a green light for full charge and alternating green and red light when it’s low. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure out what she was grumbling at. She’s watching my every move, keeping tabs on her charges. I’d be even more embarrassed if she could talk, undoubtedly full of tales telling my shortcomings. Jane is the first dog I’ve known who can roll her eyes.
Jane loves everyone and has shown me what not to do when training a dog not to jump. She’s humbled me, every time we meet someone knew I must warn, “she’ll jump” even though all she wants is to be close to your face. She’s shown me that training never ends. We are always in communication. She makes sure I am never alone. I will always be within her sight. The little dog is forever looking for a job to help her people but never acts out on the days that her job is to lay by my feet when sick, when stuck at my desk for hours, when her only stimulation is a couple of hours at the barn and talk radio on in the background.
Truthfully Jane walks her own tightrope, undecided between being the boss of us all and acting the picture of submissiveness. Truthfully, she’s prideful of knowing her responsibilities and is intensely loyal. Jane helped me find my way as her pack leader, being stern and compassionate to communicate with her effectively, make her feel comfortable enough to work with me. Our little dog is sensitive to scolding but tests you anyways. I have to tell anyone taking her for a time, sound mean. She won’t take you seriously if she thinks you’re a push over and she knows she’s pretty. She uses that to her advantage. Jane reveled to Colin and I more about our dynamic than we could have seen ourselves. She listens to me intently but loves to love Colin, even when he’s late to feed her or doesn’t throw her favorite ball after chores.
Before we got Jane, I was worried about adding more to my plate. Another creature to feed and water, to keep safe on the farm, to keep from crossing the road, to train, to babysit around the sheep. But I knew someday we might depend on a dog to manage the flock we dream of. Jane is our steppingstone. She has forced us to grow and change, to exercise another arm of focus as shepherds. Jane didn’t take to any of the training I read about for herding dogs but it’s thanks to her I read those books at all. Colin sees the excitement on my face when we meet other herding dogs or watch trials on YouTube together. Maybe there’s another passion to unlock, a bonus to the life we already love tending sheep. Jane challenged my perception of intentionally bred dogs. I’ll go to my grave advocating for rescues but there’s a place for working dogs that, just like as populations become farther removed from agriculture, many will never understand and will misunderstand. And what a thrill it is to work with a dog. Call it some mystical ancient connection or just a girl who always found comfort in animals discovering new ways to incorporate our skills and achieve something together. Our co-domestications go hand in hand. The first sheep could not be kept without the help of dogs. Those instincts don’t just disappear, as we all see in misbehaving pets without proper outlets. At the same time those instincts take careful work to select and pair and foster from generations of planned family trees to clear communication in a field full of sheep. Jane isn’t that dog for us but she’ll always be the first.