What Kind of Poo Am I Standing In Now?

My friend, Cha Cha, is an extremely proud owner of 2 Corgi dogs. She takes them to a local working dog club for sheep herding lessons. Last weekend, I got the chance to tag along with her and attend a sheep trial where local dogs get to show their herding prowess.

Cha Cha did not enter her dogs in the trial, but her friend had a dog entered in the event. Before they came to pick me up, I asked Cha Cha what I should bring to the trial. She said to wear junky shoes, "ones that you don't care if you ever wear them again." I wore my rubber boots, and I'm glad I did.

Cha Cha also warned me that there'd be freaks aplenty at the trial. They were mostly women (about half with the short haircut some associate with women who are really really into dogs. At first, these dog people didn't seem any stranger than other enthusiasts. Sure, not everyone walks around sporting sweatshirts, jackets, or caps with pictures of German Sheperds intricately embroidered on the front. Most people don't have airbrushed portraits of their pets painted on the back of their van. Most people I know express concern when stepping in all sorts of poo.

"Am I standing in poo?" I asked.
"Yeh." a large woman answered.
"What kind of poo am I standing in now?" I asked. No reply.

But the complete freakiness of these people didn't come out until the duck controversy later in the day.

Cha Cha's friend's dog wasn't exactly in competition. This newbie dog, a Corgi with tawny eyes and golden spots, was in some kind of test for dogs in training. Just like in the movie, Babe, the dogs and their humans had to lead a small flock of sheep around some traffic cones, fences, and back into their pen. This takes all the newbie dogs' concentration, for the test field is full of distracting smells, and the sheep are so exciting. Staying just the right distance from the sheep to keep them going in the right direction without freaking them out is the big challenge.

In spite of some wandering off course and excessive barking, all the dogs in the test passed, except for a German Shepard who got a little too primal. The second time the German Shepard bit a sheep, the judge said, "Thank you." and it was over. There was much murmuring about the dog owner's threatening use of his stick. All the humans who participate in the trial carry special sticks--strait, fiberglass versions of Bo Peep's crook. The proper thing is to use the stick to indicate where the dogs and sheep needs to be, but not to whack any living thing with it.

After the beginner test, I watched an intermediate sheep trial. At this level, the human does not walk around with the dog and the sheep. Instead, the dogs work alone, guided by orders from the stationary human in the corner of the field. This was pretty cool. The dogs were so smart. The best humans were firm and loud, but didn't sound like they were yelling. The eye contact. The timing. I'm not doing it any justice here. It was just cool.

Then came the really weird part. The duck herding competition. I guess because sheep and their poops are so large, there aren't enough flocks of them to go around for all the pet working dogs who need exercise. So sometimes, the dogs herd ducks. No, it doesn't have any of the timeless majesty of sheep herding. It serves no purpose beyond sport.

Anyway, a small controversy broke out over the ducks. One of the competitors demanded that the ducks be lead through the course by humans in advance of her dog's trial. It was absurd.

Cha Cha and her friend had had enough, so we drove back to the city with a shiny test passing ribbon for the golden-spotted Corgi.