Yet another new practice possibility to visit. Not too far this time, just through a southern pass to one of the lovely interior coastal valleys of central California. This is the topography of my childhood—big grassy hills dotted with graygreen live oaks. I could happily live the rest of my life on a ranch in this part of the world, if only I had the money and a few hundred thousand people moved away.

The man who invited me out here was starting up a new trialing facility as a business venture with the ranch owners. Bob said he'd meet me, but he was nowhere in sight as I pulled up in front of a raw-looking house and a lot of animal pens and sheds. I leashed my dog, picked up my training pole, and ventured out. I glimpsed something like a training arena, far away at the end of a very big field, with probably a person in it, so I threaded my way past a tied-out terrier, guinea hens, geese, rabbits, ducks, goats, and an elderly horse, and traversed the field. I remembered that Bob had cautioned me not to do this, because my dog might get too excited by the animals. It made me wonder a bit what kind of dogs came out there. In any case, I ignored his warning and my dog turned not a hair, even at the guinea hens.

Bob was indeed out there in the training pen, which was designed to be a future duck trialing arena. A bit small for sheep, of course. Bob is an AKC and AHBA judge, who is devoted to trialing. He has Aussies and Border Collies himself. This new trialing place was his dream project, but a lot of his project was still lying on the ground waiting to be welded together. It's a lot of work, assembling a dream.

We tried out on a handful of sheep. Bonnie was about as pushy as she usually is with new sheep, but I pushed back, and I suppose she looked no worse than many another dog. "Can she put them back in the take pen?" Bob wanted to know. I couldn't see how that was difficult--they went right in--but apparently it was a difficulty for some dogs.

Bob had the idea of fetching some cattle for me to work, and while he went off to get them, the owner of the ranch, a lady named Kam, let the sheep out, which was, it turned out, a mistake. Once in the open field, which looked to be at least fifty acres, apparently they could not be gathered again. Bob came back and tried with his two dogs, but no. Kam asked if I wanted to try my hand at it. I considered.

From previous experiences, I guessed that we would get the sheep, eventually, but it would be messy and arduous, hard on the sheep and on my dog. They had already been run and harassed, and Bonnie didn't know the terrain, and if a Border Collie couldn't get around them, my dog was going to have a tough time. I was trying to make a good impression, and weighing all things together, I decided that when the sheep got hungry they would probably come in on their own.

The cows turned out to be three scrawny, frowsty-looking scoured Jersey calves. Instead of gradually pulling them off the fence like a good stock handler, I sent Bonnie straight at them to bring them to the center, and she riled them up all over the place, poor things. When I subsequently watched Bob work them, I saw that they had been trained to slowly walk around along the fence line, like a pony kiddie ride. That's what I should have done, and Bonnie would have looked perfect, as she can follow along behind a cow with the best of them.

Then we moved on to the goats in the pens. One thing about this place, it had a lot of variety. The goats were fun. There was a baby buck in there though, who gave Bonnie to understand that he was not going to be pushed about by a mere dog. When she persisted, he caught her against the fence and butted her hard enough to make her yelp. He was so small I could have picked him up, the little punk. Kam shoved him into a pen with some grown up lady goats who, after he made improper advances, proceeded to push him down and ram him, while he bleated piteously for mercy. We ignored him.

The other goats were pleasant enough. Bob came over to watch Bonnie calmly walking them in and out of pens. If she has a strength, it is her pen work. "Want a job?" he said. He was looking for someone with a steady dog to be set-out crew for the trials. We agreed that Bonnie and I could work trial weekends in exchange for practice time during the week. All this was a bit theoretical since the facility was mostly still unbuilt. But it was flattering.