a peculiar shape at the edge of the
field
silent, unmoving, but for a lift of
its hand
the scent unfamiliar, a danger alert
a nip at my heel, then the leash in
her teeth
a punch in the chest and a bite on
the chin
pushing me onward, away from this
fear
until safe once again under cover of
wood,
she falls into step at my side.
she is my shepherd and I am her sheep
The
relationship I have with Ethel is vastly different than what I’ve had with any
other dog. Maybe some of this is because
she is the only herding breed I’ve ever lived with, but I suspect her medical
issues as a pup also shaped our connection.
Ethel was just over three weeks old when she came to live with me and
she probably doesn’t remember a time before we were…whatever we are.
As an empty nester,
I like to think of myself as her mother.
As a trainer, I like to think of myself as her benevolent leader. As the recipient of more than a few out of
control herding dog bites, I tend to think of myself as her victim (and the
emergency room doctors who stitched me together and glued a certain part of my
anatomy back in place would certainly agree).
As a realist, I think of myself her owner. After all, I buy her food, clean up her poop,
and am responsible for her veterinary bills.
In Ethel’s mind, I’m sure things are different.
Now that she has
four good legs and I am progressing in my physical therapy, we like to go
walking. One of our favorite sites is
Kimberly Run Natural Area, where well behaved dogs are allowed to walk off
leash. It’s a great place for exercise,
both physical and cerebral. Recently,
I’ve committed to writing outside my comfort zone and have been trying my hand
at poetry. Virtually all of my poems
have been born while walking through forest and field with my dogs. This one came about when I tried to imagine
one of our walks from Ethel’s perspective.
It was during
archery season, so Ethel and I were both wearing blaze orange. During deer season, I choose to walk at
midday when fewer hunters are about and only when there are no vehicles in the
parking area. Since the coast was clear
that day, Ethel was off leash. Besides
having a reliable recall, my girl never wanders far enough to lose sight of me,
and basically trots along at heel or a few paces ahead. We had reached the top of the trails and were
walking the loop through the field where the bluebird houses are when I was
surprised to see a hunter in the tree line at the far edge of the field. We raised our hands to acknowledge one
another and I moved on. Ethel raised her
head to scent the air, stopped just a moment to stare in the direction of the orange
and camouflage figure, and then went into full-fledged herding dog mode.
At first, she just
bounced out in front of me and nipped at my feet but, when I continued forward
instead of back, she began to jump and gave me a few punches to the chest. Still, I refused her direction so she grabbed
the leash that I had looped around my shoulders and pulled it tight against my
throat. Needless to say, I was not pleased
and gave her a stern verbal reprimand.
She returned the gesture in a warbling whine followed by a yap and a
bite on the chin. We must have made
quite the show for the hunter as we battled to see whose will was
stronger.
I’d like to think I
won because we left the field in the direction I chose. Ethel probably thought she was the victor
because we left the field, period.
Either way, once we were under the cover of trees, Ethel relaxed her
hackles and fell back into heel position, I wiped the blood from my chin, and the
mêlée came to an end just as quickly as it had begun. Living with this dog is always an adventure.
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