Jolene Gets a Job. Not the One You Think.

We were in a different pen than usual, and it was horribly windy. That’s the excuse you might make if you were on a horse and had an uneasy feeling. We are facing four pregnant ewes, and a tornado would be no distraction. Jolene was working. Sometimes there are four boy dogs running the fence and catcalling her. Jolene was immune. 

 When I see Jolene like this, a mental distancing happens. I see her impersonally, like a unknown horse in a field. Some other dog, small but powerful, covering ground effortlessly, in control of her surroundings. Where did she get this quiet confidence? In the heat of a beautiful curve, Jolene regulates her position, few feet behind the sheep. But moving with brilliant focus, so the sheep don’t panic, but move together as a unit. When it was time to call her off, she ran to my side. I crumple with praise for her. I have no shame.

I am flooded with awe. She is beautiful. And it’s all I could do not to poke my own eye out with the herding stick. I totally lose Jolene until I look at the sheep and figure her position from their movement. Everything happens so fast. I don’t know the right words, but at least I say them at the wrong times. 

Our herding instructor looked at me with pity and said, “If you brought the best dressage horse and put me on him…” and here she paused.

I filled in for her, “You would ride about like the horse you have at home?” and we both laughed. She told me to be patient. That I had no muscle memory at all. That was the blunt truth and a relief to hear. It was why I felt like a three-legged chicken, all flap and no forward. So, I cackled.     

Our instructor wanted Jolene to end the lesson on a good note, so she came into the pen and I shadowed her as she moved with Jolene. Jolene altered her speed, her eyes darting from the sheep to the instructor, whom she worships. Two sheep separate and the instructor says, “Look back.” I haven’t heard this cue before, but Jolene sees the strays and goes for them, quickly returning them to the others. I’m dizzy, paddling along behind. Timing is crucial, and I don’t know what year it is. I might as well be wearing a pencil skirt and suede pumps. 

Then our instructor asked her to hold the sheep, and somehow she did. Jolene clearly knows the job, but I need help. Of course, I’m thrilled. I couldn’t be happier at my failure, because I’ll catch up. There are few things I love as much as working with an instructor. It’s a perfect threesome because we’re all on the same side.   

Jolene’s ancestors were moving cattle for Vikings 1000 years ago. But I am not without history. We raised sheep on my family’s failed farm, and I know exactly what happens to dogs who draw blood on a sheep. So one of us has hereditary confidence and one of us worries the other will lose control. 

Why do this if it causes me anxiety and makes me feel clumsy? Too often we change our dog’s behavior for our own convenience. I want to do things that dogs want to do. Rather than cripple their instincts, I want to let them shine. Mister nods sagely and hopes he won’t be drafted into service.

So, Jolene gets to face off with big woolies. Using her natural skills to build a world where Jolene not only belongs, but is good at her job. The kind of confidence that is a miracle cure for all ills. And I get to learn new things that require a finesse that I do not yet have. 

After Jolene drinks a liter of water, we start for home. She drops into dreamless sleep. Because she counts sheep in broad daylight.

Mister tilts his nose up as if he’s above it all, honest to admit that he has lost his desire to listen to people. I take his point. He is unimpressed with Jolene’s mundane work. As if counter surfing isn’t a sport, he snorts and looks down his aristocratic snout at Jolene, who is all puffed up. Sometimes I think he might be more like a cat than a herding dog. Mister flashes me a death stare, and I stop right there. 

Then he holds his left forefoot up. He isn’t faking it. He has had recurring soft tissue injuries, with trips to the vet and extra supplements to prove it. It’s why we stopped doing agility. But could he be manipulating me? He gets a who me? twinkle in his eye and I wonder if he is doing the herding thing, but I’m the sheep.

I confess. Jolene doesn’t hold a gun to my head. I love working with trainers in the same way I loved teachers at school. It seems the older I get, the more passion I have for learning. So this horse trainer is off floundering like a rank beginner, smiling hard with my lips stuck on my big teeth.

It starts innocently. You see someone do something and you let yourself be curious. How do horses dance? From the outside, it looks as magical. As impossible to train as a dog herding sheep a field away. But how to start? My riding mentor said the same thing forty years ago as my current instructors say. It doesn’t matter how much I flounder as long as my dog (or horse) is having fun.

My trainers all had similar traits, whether horses or dogs. The willingness to dive deep into my questions, support my goals, and keep me chuckling through the sticky parts. So, instead of complaining to my friends and then getting free bad advice, I paid money to a professional to help me fix what I needed to change. About myself.

What if our greatest strength is vulnerability? Being able to say we don’t know everything. Again, Mister sagely nods and then asks me to clean his eye snot.

I meant to be a student forever and never a trainer. But if you live long enough, the puzzle finally fits together. I became a trainer because of my mentors. Perhaps obvious to anyone but me. What if trainers are my true ancestors? Jolene looks at me, pondering the idea that I even had ancestors.

I don’t train just like them. I take what they taught me and push it just a little farther. It’s our responsibility after our sad history with animals. Getting to this place in my life, I wanna leave things a little better than I found them. I think I got that from my mentors, too.

Over the years, I’ve heard endless complaints about trainers. As if I don’t know the world is full of charlatans. But there are many more of us passing down the inspiration of those who came before. Trainers who truly care about animals and take pride in their clients. Who love the threesome where we are all on the same side. 

Jolene ponders the idea of trainers. She thought we were all friends.

But she understands the world differently since herding lessons. Call it more collateral learning. Jolene watches birds that fly together, herding them with her eyes. She follows small movements out of the truck window with precise focus. She’s started watching the TV. In my world, that means horses in Zoom lessons. She perches on my lap, ears up and alert. She has a good eye for detail, just like me. 

Mister frowns. He thinks I anthropomorphize. Yes, he knows that word, and he is not happy about Jolene giving herself a promotion.  

With gratitude to my mentors and clients, a gentle reminder. If you want to talk to me, you know where to find me. And I don’t charge extra for Jolene.

… to be continued.

…

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