An Irrepressible Beardie - Sheepish Sam (3)

Sam the irrepressible Beardie first made acquaintance with sheep at Rhossili. A sheep, I should say, since the one in question had strayed from its flock and was enjoying a gentle stroll on the beach when Sam went into action. Lacking gulls at the time, Sam saw this woolly creature and instinct at once took over. Clearly, the silly thing had no business on a beach, so it was up to him - a superior being - to direct it elsewhere.

Barking fit to burst Sam, aged one year, began to steer the sheep through the dunes toward greener pastures. He was half-way to achieving his aim when a seagull swooped low overhead, challenging him noisily to a chase. Quite incapable of resisting such a challenge, Sam abandoned the sheep on a jutting ledge and took off seawards, virtually airborne, with ne’er a backward glance. Fortunately, the sheep did not need directives from a bossy boy to complete its climb to the top, where I watched it rejoin its flock.

After this, I needed to be on my guard whenever sheep were in the vicinity, since Sam now seemed to consider it his inherent duty to boss them about, try though I might to convince him that this was not one of his roles in life. Though often (believe it or not) the star pupil at obedience classes, these were necessarily held indoors, far from the outdoor temptations that tended to send Sam’s star straight in to the descendant. Lured by wind or sea, gulls or sheep, he conveniently forgot what obedience meant. So the risk of sheep quickly became synonymous with Sam on-lead.

When crossing new territory, his lead was an absolute necessity. But one never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, as we explored cliff-walks and woods with my friend Helen and her Beardies - Hector and Sam Senior (no relation) - this golden rule was broken …

Leads, surely, were just a hardship for Beardies on that type of terrain. Helen and I walked with a false sense of security as our three boys romped and played. As we walked, we talked and, so engrossed were we in our conversation, it occurred to us only belatedly that the woods were unnaturally silent and that there wasn’t a dog in sight. Where were they? When they didn’t come in response to their names, Helen produced her whistle, blowing this authoritatively. We kept moving as she blew and, rounding a bend in the path, saw just why our trio were so preoccupied …

They were trying to find a route through a wide bramble-filled ditch to the field on its far side. Why? The field, here in the seeming heart of the wood, was full of sheep. All that lay between the rather large flock and three very determined Beardies were a hedge and this ditch straight ahead. But for the extensive brambles, there could be little doubt that the degree of determination would have won (or lost) the day by now!

Uncharacteristically, Sam and his friends were too busy to bark. Characteristically, they feigned deafness until the whistle could no longer be ignored, at which stage they came to query what their humans could possibly want. Sam Senior and Hector came close enough for Helen to snap their leads on. Not so my Sam who, an inch or two from my hand, ducked and drew back in one fluid movement before turning tail and racing sheep-wards. Throwing caution to the wind, he plunged headlong in to that brambly ditch, then somehow extricated himself. Trailing brambles from his fur like some weird camouflage and deaf to entreaties and threats, Sam tackled his next obstacle with relish. The hedge appeared to lack any Beardie-sized gaps so, if he couldn’t go through, he would go over. Over it, in a leap that would have awed me had I not been so appalled, Sam went.

He now had a new problem: having reached the sheep, using all his skill and ingenuity, what should he do with them?

A bark soon had his charges sitting up and taking notice. Encouraged by this, Sam barked again … and again, while back on the woodland path I was at my wits’ end. Welsh farmers tend to shoot first and ask questions afterwards - and who can blame them, when irresponsible owners allowed their dogs to behave as mine was behaving?

At least it wasn’t the lambing season. That was something. But all the same a shot could ring out at any second and my beloved boy’s life could be over, thanks to my irresponsibility. How on earth could I prevent such a tragedy?

Leaving Helen far behind, I ran along the path seeking some way in to the field. Sam meanwhile was shepherding the sheep out of that field and in to a neighboring one. He was doing this as to the manner born and I could only wish that he were doing it with the farmer’s blessing, for even in my panic I couldn’t fault his technique. But I had a strong feeling that he could not be heading in a worse direction.

This feeling was compounded as I finally reached a road and saw, to my mounting horror, exactly where Sam was for some reason headed.

He was bringing the sheep home - home to the farmhouse that I was currently passing at record speed! Yes, my boy was coming toward me, preceded by a fairly orderly bunch of sheep.

Reaching the farm-gate, I was temporarily seized by fresh panic as I faced a large Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted notice. So here we were, in full view of the farmhouse and whoever might be within - Sam with ‘his’ flock, keeping anything but a low profile, and me about to trespass through dire necessity.

Seeing me, suddenly, Sam saved me from having to climb the gate. As he saw me, it was as if he came with some surprise to his senses … and his expression distinctly said ‘Mum, quick, get me out of this mess’. His job done and the sheep safely home he came, tongue lolling, and flopped within reach.

Grabbing his collar, I almost throttled him as I yanked him through a gap created by a bent bar in the gate. Then, to my dizzying relief, his lead was on and we were making a mad dash back to Helen, who had remained with her better behaved Beardies within the shelter of the woods, whistling and calling the errant Sam in vain.

When I regained some breath and my heart had slowed down, I asked my friend whether she thought I should find the farmer and apologize to him, or alternatively volunteer Sam as a bona fide farm worker. Giving these ideas short shrift, Helen recommended a disappearing trick - a recommendation which we all swiftly acted upon.

Another valuable Beardie lesson learned … another adventure over.

As well as this series of stories about Sam I have written a number of novels, often dealing with the spiritual side of life and the mystical nature of time. Recently, I’ve produced 2 e-books - one, Dusty’s Journey, following a baby bird along his unusual path to maturity. 10% of the proceeds from sales of this e-book will support animal charities worldwide. It can be viewed via the link:

dustysjourney.com dustysjourney.com

Copyright: Pamela Glynn

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