A Desperate Profession

One of the best things about this ever-improving summer has been my visit to Devon a couple of weeks back to visit larians parents and enjoy the interesting combination of County Fair and National Sheepdog Trials.

I can be a bit *shrugmeshoulders* about Devon. It's hard not to blame the county personally for inspiring R.D Blackmore's 'Lorna Doone,' the reading of which is like being smothered to death by a farmers hay-stained smock. The county fair was pretty enough, arts and crafts, local jams, gundogs, duck herding, heavy horses, hawks - the local falconer released his eagle owl for a demo, only for his showstopper to purposefully wing its way to the heights of the local mansion, and perch there in state, ignoring all attempts to coax it back. As far as I know, it's still out there. Who'd go home when the nights are so warm, and the air full of bats?

The sheepdog trials were interesting, not least for the audience, sitting on the edges of the little river. People were in various stages of floppy-hatted disarray, one old farmer eschewing any attempts at decorum by wandering around with his shirt completely open, displaying acres of sore red chest and white chest hairs bulging over his underpants hitched high and visible above unbuckled trousers. It was not pretty, but on a day where everybody spent most of their time buried in Pimms or ale when they weren't trying to keep their children, ponies, and golden retrievers out of the water, comfort was king.

The only ones not relaxing in pikey grandeur were a distinct group, each of whom carried a crook.* These were the contestants, sharp and ready. The exercises seemed simple enough, thought I have forgotten all the names for the different sections. Dog has to run to find about 700 metres uphill to find the flock. Dog must then bring herd down in a straight line, divide the flock in half, leave half the flock behind, then herd the remainder into pens excluding two of the sheep which are unmarked, then add the unmarked sheep to the marked sheep and drive them into another pen, then go back for the other sheep...I can't remember. The important thing was that neither the dog nor the shepherd should actually touch the sheep. After watching endless attempts at this all I can say is;

Bo Peep I salute you, but by god, I do not want your job.

First there was the flock who, having been settled at the top of the hill, decided that this lark was not for them, and simply buggered off site before the dog got anywhere near. The collie was quite disappointed to reach the top of the hill only to find it empty except for three officiating shepherds looking very embarrassed. That one got a retry.

The others were not so lucky. Their sheep seemed compliant until reaching the pens, at which point they would stop. I learned to recognise the stance of the desperate shepherd, arms and crook outstretched, crouching slightly and pushing upwards making pleading noises, while the dog sits there and roles its eyes, and the sheep Just Say No. Until time runs out, and then they all pile into their pen to show how easy it could have been. I have often wondered why sheep and goats are used in biblical stories as metaphors for good and evil. Now I know; it has nothing to do with their being the main food supply of ancient Canaan. They are in fact, the children of a strange god who enjoys humiliating human beings. The cult was out in force that day.

*Not that kind of crook. Though it might be more effective.