Lessons on the wrong days and this stuff is actually handy.

So I checked my calendar and found that I had a lesson this week on a Saturday. That is pretty stupid, I thought. Why would I ask for a Saturday? I specifically like the Thursday and Friday lessons because it’s low key, and a little less “make a day of it.” And, well, because I can. A lot of the stock dog folks bring trailers and this is their vacation, but I’m very single-minded about stockdogging. It’s the means to an end.

It turns out I was looking at an email from 2010. Oooops. And Kathy had been counting on my virile post-surgery strength to help with lamb chores (like castration), which, so long as you don’t do it every day, is actually pretty fun. You feel legit. You feel accomplished.

At first, I really would relish spending all day at the ranch, whether it was blazing hot or freezing cold, sitting as close to the action as I could, soaking it all in. But lately I find myself up on the hill, overlooking everything, simply waiting my turn. I think it’s because I’ve been around enough that everything isn’t totally new and that I’m not learning as much by observing at this point. Most people are working on driving and I’m just about there, but not quite.

Kathy started us back in the duck pen, where we stayed for both works. I thought this was an important lesson. Though Rippa can probably very successfully trial with me in started on sheep right now, it’s best to keep those good habits. Go back a few steps if you’ve had time off. Make sure you have the fundamentals down.

And we do. But the duck pen slows Rippa down and lets me handle my sheep better. Really read them.

But one thing that has been bugging me and REALLY bugged me this last time was that Rippa WILL NOT DOWN on sheep. She will down off sheep. She will. She does it for cookies, in the middle of running after Fury (who is fetching a ball), I can even make her do it when she’s after deer. She’s called off a bear before. She’s great. Just not on sheep.

So there I am, I have Rippa looking cute on sheep and I go, “Rippa, down.”

And what does she do, but dive in for a nip. Seriously? Seriously?

So then Kathy suggests I not use her name. Okay. The first go round, I use her name, catch myself, but don’t say “down.” Set it back up again (by this, I mean I watch her little yellow eyes to see if she is relaxed enough to take my down and not ignore it – this might mean a few laps around the duck pen to settle her), and “Down.”

And I swear to God, Rippa looks at me, gives me snarly-face (which, btw, is her half-smile thing she does that I encourage – it’s not actually being aggressive) and gives me the finger, diving into the sheep. Ooooh, she got a correction that time. People who think you can only train a dog using positive reinforcement have never tried working stock. Rippa so clearly gave me the, “No way, I’m gonna make this fun” face, and no amount of liver is going to stop that.

So the next time we’re doing this, you bet your life she lies down. I think it’s mostly due to me. I think my tone is a little tougher than it should be and that Rips has gotten away with it. It’s frustrating. I can’t start driving unless she downs. We tried teaching stand-stays but that wasn’t happening. Just need miles.

Which means I need to get the guts up to call my CattleMaster contact. After this blog entry. I promise. I told Kathy I hadn’t called him yet and she was like, “I understand. Just go and see what he does, without the dogs. It can be scary to get on something with a green dog.” Yeah, it is. I am respectful of people’s stock. Of the stock themselves. I don’t really want this to be a disaster, and I also think I am funny to be calling up a rancher and ask to work on his goats. But, she adds, “You know, keep it under control, or else Rippa is going to go! AIIEEE!! EAT ALL THE SHEEP!” Or something like that. Her wild gesticulation was about perfect. Not that Rippy is an alligator, but she has bite and if not handled right, yeah.

Anyway, so I would be more frustrated than I am if not for watching lessons all day. Lots of people with more experience than me being frustrated with their dogs and Kathy repeating this mantra about how you just have to chip away at bad habits over time. If they get like that, and their dogs are like that, I’m in good company.

So I get home after a solid day at the ranch and Yishai tells me he taught Fury a trick.

Apparently, our backyard chickens were out perusing the yard and one got under the house through a loose vent. We recently had to undertake a serious rat extermination project, and under the house was nasty. Y was not going under there. So, thinking it through, he decides that Fury has had her time on poultry, maybe he can send her in after the chicken.

So, I can only imagine him pushing Fury through this dark hole under the house and saying “Get around” while she’s fighting him, confused and probably freaked. He said it took him getting a flashlight and showing her the chicken to get her to willingly do it.

So Fury goes under the house, and moments later, while Y is standing there, a chicken pops out and flies into his arms, followed by a self-satisfied Fury.

And that made him spend the afternoon herding the chickens. These little feather-foot cochins are pretty gregarious so they just need to feel comfortable with the mover to, well, move.  So now Fury has the daily chore of going in, and herding the chickens out. She also now knows how to pop them into the air and into our arms so no more chicken-chasing. They don’t mind us, but they’re not exactly looking for love.

Pretty fun. I’m proud of the Fury for being useful. All that training wasn’t for naught. Funny, she’s got her started cattle title, and a leg of a sheep title, but nothing on poultry. Maybe she’s still got a future.