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Border collies by nature are intelligent and moody
-– one woman fondly describes hers as a habitual sulker —
and as many an owner will attest, they’re notoriously
high-maintenance. A collie’s obsessive-compulsive herding
instinct means that it will round up not just sheep or cattle, but
practically anything with legs, be it children, chickens, or other
dogs.
But it is the magical pairing of herder and collie
that turns obsession into a well-timed dance of fulfilled purpose.
Collies have helped shepherds keep track of their flocks for
centuries, and in 1873, the tiny town of Bala, Wales, hosted the
first-ever sheepherding competition. Since then the sport has
become an international celebration of cross-species communication.
In this country, more than 9,000 people are part of the American
Border Collie Association, a network of collie owners who compete
in trials all over the West.
This weekend, one such sheep
dog trial has taken over Hotchkiss, a tiny town of just over a
thousand people in western Colorado. One cowboy outfitter across
the street from the fairground entrance displays life-size horse
statues in various poses and colors, including, inexplicably, a
bright shade of turquoise. To take advantage of the event’s
magnitude, townsfolk have set up yard sales on every block.
On this bright May morning at the fairgrounds, the course
is set. More than a hundred spectators have shown up. Dozens of
dogs — some of them pets, some competitors awaiting their turn —
join the humans to watch the event unfold. White gates gleam in a
sea of grass under the already high sun. A tiny cluster of fluff at
least a quarter of a mile away signifies the sheep, waiting to fill
their role in today’s competition.
With a subtle hand signal from his
handler, Rocket, a young border collie, launches across the field,
black-and-white fur glistening. With shoulders hunched and pink
tongue lolling crazily, he speeds in a wide arc towards the four
sheep huddled at the far end of the field.
A piercing
whistle splits the air, and the dog slams to a stop. He crouches,
fixing the apprehensive sheep with a paralyzing stare. They stand
frozen. Everything is still; everything is quiet. Through some
ancient predator-prey communication, the dog through his gaze alone
gains control over the sheep. This crucial moment is called the
lift.
Responding to a cryptic series of whistles and
commands from the distant handler, the dog begins to maneuver the
sheep through the course.
“Twir twir
ta-ta-ta,” whistles the handler, two fingers pressed between
his teeth. He’s middle-aged, dressed in what appears to be
standard attire for all Western sports: cowboy hat, buttoned shirt
tucked into jeans. But he also carries the herder’s hallmark,
the elongated question mark of a shepherd’s cane.
“Walk up,” he shouts. “Away! Away! Away!”
Rocket darts, stalks and circles, driving the sheep
through the designated gates and into a ring of flags called the
shedding circle, where the herd is split and rejoined. “Come
by,” says the handler, and the collie arcs to the right,
guiding the sheep toward the pen.
This complex communication between man, dog and sheep
must all take place within a nine-minute time limit. Only when the
pen gate has closed does the audience break into applause and
hollers at Rocket’s successful run.
“That was
Bill Money and Rocket,” says the announcer. “Bill is
someone who still uses the traditional commands and
whistles.” As the pair exits the field, it’s on to the
next team of handler and collie.
About 60 border collies
and 40 people are here to compete in the fourth annual Hotchkiss
Sheep Camp Stock Dog Trials. This event is one of hundreds of
nationwide trials that are part of the U.S. Border Collie Handlers
Association circuit. While this trial is small, larger meets within
the circuit serve as qualifiers for the National Finals in
Gettysburg, Penn.
Since its inception in 2004, the trial
has continued to grow, says Richard Bailey, the president and
creator of the competition. This year, he received calls from as
far away as Denver, and one person has even traveled from Wisconsin
to compete in the trials today.
Bailey himself is a
veteran of the sport. He stands close to 6 feet tall, and wears a
brilliant white cowboy hat. He leans in when he talks, a
flesh-colored hearing aid barely visible in his right ear. A love
of border collies and sheep dog trials has been in his blood for
generations, he says.
According to Bailey, sheep dog
trials are an age-friendly sport, with both young and old able to
compete. His son and grandson participate in the circuit, and a few
years back even a 6-year-old boy ran his dog in the trials.
The day is a bustle of activity as people mingle,
catching up with friends on the circuit and watching the dogs
compete. Like any sporting event, the day has its share of friendly
rivalry.
“Come on, Nieder!” shouts one
handler. “Go, Needless!” she teases. Libby Nieder
smiles good-naturedly as she leads her dog, Rex, towards the
course. Nieder has already competed once today with her other dog
and “best friend,” Lyn. The pair currently holds the
lead.
Nieder is having a near-flawless run. The woman who
goaded her earlier leans over the back of the bleachers to get a
better view. “Be the sheep,” she whispers. It’s
unclear whether the remark is intended for collie or handler.
Despite Nieder’s clear technique, the sheep move
too slowly, and the horn sounds just as they’re approaching
the pen. Fewer teams are completing the circuit as the afternoon
approaches.
The day’s growing heat makes both
humans and animals cranky. The sheep have had enough. Occasionally
a few make a break for freedom, only to stop short and give the
audience a bewildered look. “Why was I running?” the
sheep seems to ask.
Apparently, some of the dogs too
dream of freedom. For at least five minutes one border collie
methodically works its teeth, trying to pinch the clasp on its
kennel.
Another dog, obviously unhappy with the
judge’s decision, lifts a leg to the scoreboard in silent
protest. Despite a few canine malcontents, the day has its heroes.
One includes Rocket. Another is Lyn, who won today’s Open Run
class.
For the handlers, the event’s
reward includes a small cash prize. For the dogs, whether they win
or lose, it’s the thrill of the chase and a dip in the
“Collie Cooler.” One collie jumps in, splashes a 360
and sits down. She rests her chin on the edge of the wooden tub,
half-closing her eyes and lolling out her tongue. Water drips from
her floppy ears. It’s a moment of pure bliss.
PHOTOS BY MORGAN HEIM
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