Sheepdog trials up beside the donkeys!

I’ve had Mourne ewes and a sheep dog all my life. I know we look back through rose coloured glasses but I think its fair to say Bruce and Scott and Lass in many of their reincarnations were wonderful dogs.

They had no formal training but what they did have was ingrained; even inherent; knowledge. On our Mourne hill farm the dog (often one and occasionally two; the old dog and the young dog) were by our side from first thing in the morning to last thing at night. Then they were fed and closed in the doghouse.

They were at our heels in the fields; over the river; along all the little boreens – lanes or loanins – and on the mountain. And under the table when we came in for our meals. When I was a child we milked three cows. Scott would in the evening quietly go for the cows.

When we drove our sheep to the fair in Warrenpoint or Hilltown he knew every gap in the hedge or ditch along the road. Anticipating a break-in he’d dart along the field side to guard the gap. Leckan More (The Mountain) was 880 acres of common grazing behind our house. On the mountain Bruce was such a help to me; he was a wizard. I’d often wonder did he know our individual sheep.

Dogs are individuals; I like a happy dog and a dog that knows to do nothing in the right place. Scott was a big rough haired barking dog. Both Bruce and Lass were short haired dogs. My Uncle Pat’s advice on picking a pup: “Don’t pick the pup that runs out from the litter to greet you. He has no idea who you are or what may befall him through you. Nor should you pick the pup who cowers in the corner. He will always have a faint heart. Pick the pup who steps forward a little, stands his ground and studies you. There’s a good chance that pup has brains.”

Many years ago an older shepherd also give me advice: “Did you give money for that pup?” he asked. “I did,” I said. “He’ll never be any good,” he continued. “He’ll always look at you and think ‘I’m a bought dog’.” I’m still trying to work that one out.

And now to the Sheep Dog Trials. Such an innovative idea. I was surprised there wasn’t more talk about them. Even a few posters. But nothing. We have had a long spell of dull Mizzly weather. Perhaps two weeks without a glimpse of sunshine so at least when we set off the mile or so up the valley from our holding it wasn’t raining.

And sure enough the event was starting. Twenty or so jeeps at the bottom of a seven acre fertile field that runs from the road to the rocky craigs of Sliver-Roe. (Slieve: a mountain. Roe: red. Taken from bracken in winter.)

There was a holding pen for sheep at the top and several gates set out for the four released sheep to be guided through. Then a post at the bottom for the shephard to stand at and over from that a pen. The exercise being to fetch and drive the sheep; put them in the pen; and then divide them two by two.

There was but a few spectators. Up here it is sparsely populated but I had expected more, especially when I saw the standard of the dogs. They were amazing. Their outrun; their control of the sheep; the control of the handlers of them. I couldn’t comprehend how such an event in such a quiet rural setting could be of the standard of the television programme ‘One Man and His Dog’.

Walking back I could only go over and congratulate one of the competitors who was at his jeep with his dog. It transpired that this was a ‘Nursery Event’ and many of the handlers were national competitors. In the case of the man I had ‘buttonholed’, a former national, international and world champion.

I take it a ‘Nursery Event’ is a gathering of sheepdog trialists who run their young dogs under three years old to give them experience in the wider world. All I can say is that I was so taken with the standard – these dogs are so good that in time it is they that will be driving the sophisticated jeeps into the field – and the farmer will be getting out the passenger side.