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Today was sunny. It is supposed to start clouding up and heading for rain again tomorrow, but today, I took Ty out to the ranch. No one was home. Every new working environment is an adventure just getting the hang of where things can go wrong. I have gotten much more interested in trying to do this by predicting and preventing, instead the other way, with which I have had a good deal of practice. So the first thing I did was put the loose dogs in their kennels. I knew some were shy of strangers so I had brought dog treats, which I tossed into the kennels. They all popped into their boxes and I shut the doors, feeling sure that the next time would be even easier.
Then I scoped out the corrals, without my dog. There was only one nasty pool of rainwater-manure soup, and if I stayed out of the small paddocks, the boot-sucking goo was quite minimal. The first lambs had arrived. Kam's black Katahdin cross, a funnylooking horned sheep she'd bought at auction on a whim, was in a small pen witha pair of black, white-spotted brand new lambs, sort of like Dalmatians in reverse. I checked the udders on the rest of the flock. Two of mine were definitely bagging up, and a couple others were getting broad. I decided that I would work them with the others, as my goal was to get them to simply walk quietly between me and Ty the length of this small corral. I didn't believe Ty would harrass them, and there was nowhere to go.
Next, I got my dog and my stock stick out of the car. There is a right and wrong way to do even this. I fastened my leash over my shoulder like a sash, which has proved to be the best way to carry it without it getting in my way or getting lost. I didn't intend to need it, but I have been wrong about this. I had Ty wait in the car until I told him he could get out. I didn't try to block him, which would have diminished the chance for him to demonstrate self-control.
Ty followed me, leashless, to the gate, lay down and waited for me to open it, waited for me to invite him in, lay down and waited for me to close it. It was a big heavy gate which, like most farm gates I have met, had some tricks up its sleeve. I had to stand on the lowest bar and simultaneously jerk the latch handle to the right. Meanwhile, yet another dog in a run with a clear view of all these proceedings began to bark deafeningly while racing back and forth, and the sheep pelted to the other side of the corral.
Ty lay there patiently in a less-muddy spot, ignoring the barking dog and observing the sheep pelt, a perfect demonstration of why you practice the whole lie down and wait, go through when I ask you, lie down and wait, on every single gate from the very first time you take your dog to stock. Eventually, you will get a dog who doesn't make a unholy mess of things when you have to put your attention elsewhere. At least, that is the concept. When he's being so obedient, it's hard for me to remember how he used to take off like a rocket every time I turned my back.
As we had the previous times, I had Ty ease them out of corners, and tried to get a steady flat-footed fetch to me without running past. I wanted the sheep to start thinking of me as a draw and focus point. I was very pleased, once more, with how Ty did. He had to turn back a single a few times. But the sheep were noticeably calmer and much more of a cohesive group than they had been. We got some nice slow fetches down the middle of the corral, and Ty was really getting the hang of the corners.
By the end of the second work, I could see Ty was getting weary or overloaded with all the drill. Before he started getting sloppy, I called it a day. I rinsed off my dog and put him in the car. Kam had told me to "let them all out" when I'd finished, into the big field. So I did. Which turned out to be one of those good-faith decisions that I have so often made that turned out to be exactly wrong.