What Jolene Knows That I Don’t

Mister has a big all-day chewy and doesn’t even come out to wave goodbye. Mister would like you to know that he is a dog that knows things that are not visible. Don’t hurry back on my account, he says. Half of my heart stays with him. I would prefer to hide out on our little farm. Jolene says she has places to be.

We are going to another herding trial. We got to the site plenty early so that I could give Jolene a walk-about before the handler’s meeting. Lots of border collies and Aussies, no surprise. There was a beautiful German Shepherd and the largest Bernese Mountain Dog I’ve ever seen. We recognized some of the Swiss Mountain Dogs from the last trial. If Jolene noticed her size difference, she doesn’t care. One of us has the steely confidence of a Viking.

I’m thinking of a dressage rider who has been competing forever and is always near the top internationally. She gets a fair dose of railbird criticism because it’s easy to envy someone so eternally successful. What I appreciate most about her riding is that consistently, over many horses, she has managed to bring out a unique brilliance in each one’s movement. She rides them at the crest of the wave. It’s not a conservative place. It’s not a controllable place. She trusts her horses and gives them amazing autonomy in a dressage test that is as structured as a sonnet. Her horses have free-spirited brilliance rather than ham-fisted control. 

But this is me. I had my hearing aids turned up, but I still missed the first part. Everybody else was walking with the judge, so I followed along. A quick reminder. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I don’t even know that we’re ready for a trial. It’s just that the instructor said sign up. Now we’re out walking around a pasture with fence panels set up in different arrangements. It’s like an agility course with way too much open ground. But instead of a person and a dog, there is an unpredictable third element. Theoretically, I’d ask Jolene, who would then translate for the sheep. And we all know sheep are notoriously obedient. Finally, I ask because it’s crucial that someone ask a stupid question. Not our pen. Relief.

Jolene and I watched the advanced dogs move a group of five sheep through that course. My instructor brought her advanced dog in. She stood in the middle and gave hand signals to her dog. She may have spoken in a low voice. Her dog was so quiet that it looked like he was taking the sheep for a walk. I have no business being here except to learn, which is probably the best reason to be here. We are green as grass.

I have prepared for this day, knowing that I was the weak link. Jolene understands her job, and I was still tripping over my herding staff. I had to fake confidence I didn’t have. Instead of the body of a confused old woman, today I stood in the posture of a dressage rider who knew what she was doing. And I came armed. I know that the habit of taking tail hair from a deceased horse is like grave robbing to some people, but this is just the sort of occasion when you’re glad you did. I put the bracelets of my ghost herd on. Think Wonder Woman bracelets. Jolene, of course, wore her tiny wolf suit. 

When they called us to go in, I stood tall. Then three ewes burst into the pen like scattershot. At a dead run, split in three directions. Like they were hyped-up on spring grass. Then I blacked out. When I came to, the judge asked me to recall my dog.

I called Jolene. She stopped one foot away from me and looked at me with her deep brown eyes. Those soft eyes that stare at me as she falls asleep. Then she took off for the sheep again. Damn. That recall was what we had. I called her again, but this time she stopped three feet away, looking dubious. I gave her time, the only thing I had. Jolene pretended she didn’t know me. As I felt my bones begin to liquefy, she walked over and I put the leash on. I praised her as always. Anything she does is good. But I didn’t go to look at my score sheet. 

A few minutes later, I passed the woman with her German Shepherd. I’d seen one of their runs. Each breed of dog herds differently, and this big black dog was so peaceful. If a sheep separated, he instantaneously glided out ahead and circled the stray back with such ease. He and his human were so in sync. I complimented her dog. She asked me if we’d gone yet, so I told her I’d blacked out. She chuckled and said, yeah, it takes a lot of those blackouts to get a good run. It was oddly comforting to hear.

Finally, I went to get my score sheet to see if there was anything I could improve for the afternoon run. The secretary handed me my paper with a qualifying ribbon on it. Along with a big purple ribbon with the words New Title. Was the judge blind? Jolene herds sheep like frat boys drink beer.

Jolene and I stepped away to read the judge’s comments. Our scores were even higher than before, but I was even more confused. It was like I didn’t know the difference between champagne and ginger ale. Between ballet and a mixed martial arts cage fight. At least with horses, I know what is supposed to happen. 

Then, because I just love this dog. And because my breeder asked me to get a picture. And I’m getting used to acting like a total sap at dog events, I went back inside and asked one of the show secretaries to take a picture. Even though I hate having my picture taken. Whether people or landscapes, photos always seem to shrink memories. But I try to look at the photos objectively and not be a whiner. I squinted at the image on my phone, and we are both undeniably beautiful. We just are.

An hour later, Jolene was asleep at my feet. This was the miraculous thing. She hadn’t blinked in six hours. I was chatting with a woman who was kindly trying to explain the herding levels to me, when the dog working sat down, scratched himself, and then got up and continued. I muttered that I wished my dog would do that, just to give me a chance to catch up. The woman positively cackled and said your dog is never gonna do that. That was when I understood. Jolene wants this more that half the dogs here. 

It doesn’t matter if I make mistakes. In the beginning, there is equality. Everyone flounders. I’m so very not special. 

When we went in for our final run, I told the judge that we had qualified and asked if we could do a practice run. She shadowed me, gave us some great pointers, and this scoresheet was just as flattering. How can I be so in love with this sport that I am so ridiculously bad at? My Grandfather Horse would like you to know I was just like this when I found dressage.

It takes a dog with a high prey drive to herd sheep, but it has to be very controlled. There has to be a precise balance of herding but not chasing. The dog spontaneous, yet responsive to any gesture from their human. It’s riding the crest of the wave.

…

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Women Aging Cantankerously