Where Have All the Sheepdogs Gone?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

Wow…has it been two months already? I promised - pandemic or no pandemic - that I would return once I had more to report on than simply busting under-bed dust bunnies (Spoiler alert: the dust bunnies are winning despite my valiant dust bunny alert efforts – hey, upright, did you check under your bed this morning? It’s bad. Real bad. What have you been doing with your time??? But I digress.)

I’m still not 100% sure what a pandemic is, and I’m told we’re all experiencing it differently. But I think we can agree that pandemics are bad.

Why are they bad? Well, for me, they apparently mean no more formal dog training classes. No dog shows. Even our national (OESCA) and regional (OESCSEW) specialties were cancelled. Rarely seeing my friends. Highlight of days being stomping fledgling seedlings in garden beds and escorting upright when she mows.

I mean - desperate times calling for desperate measures and all - it turns out you can practice your heeling with a moving mower. And also herd it faithfully up and down the yard in a calm and measured way. But I confess it’s getting a little old. And I really, really do NOT recommend it as a stand in for agility equipment. Upright’s screaming in this scenario is off-putting, to say the least.

Always Practice Safe mowing

So, with mowing getting a little old, thankfully a couple of bright spots emerged. For one, my bestie, Una, was in the neighborhood one day last week and we got to go for a walk together and then play in the yard while our uprights practiced their social distancing.

Life is better with a fuzzy friend

SPRING. IT’S A GOOD THING.

Now, there are two things you need to know about social distancing: 1. OES do not social distance. We never have, and we never will, so put that thought right out of your mind, OK? And, 2. Uprights are not very good at it either.

Let me see if I can help you out.

If you have trouble figuring out what six foot is, grab a six-foot leash, attach one of us to it and - voila! – we can demonstrate for you. Please note: if you put our leash on, be prepared to follow up and actually take us somewhere on it.

Please Practice Responsible Dog Ownership

Responsible Dog Ownership in the Age of Pandemics - An Illustration

Also, I would like to illustrate proper mask-wearing. Uprights put them over their entire lower face, from the bridge of their nose to under their chin. How can you tell whether they are smiling or scowling at your delightful antics? Very inefficient – do not recommend.

Correct Mask Wearage

You’re Welcome

The other bright spot was a return to training. I don’t know if it was the AKC experimenting with virtual rally novice or virtual trick dog titling that tipped the scale, but we’re finally taking training seriously again, and I am loving it. Here I am with my aunt Luna, working on our brace agility contact training.

Aunt Luna is actually training for obedience and rally, or at a minimum not killing any more pepper seedlings (long story, horrific pepper massacre, upright is still recovering). But she has some of the agility basics and likes to show off.

It turns out her basics are really basic, and she tends to interpret things her own way. The current theory is that she missed her real calling – circus dog. This is me, pretending I don’t know her.

I confess, it’s getting harder and harder every day to social distance from her. But hang in there! And please drop me a line if you have any fun ideas you’d like to share related to keeping ourselves gainfully employed in these “interesting” times.

Love, Leia

Pandademic?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

We apparently have a pandemic. In case you’re wondering, this is not the study of pandas - which kind of look like us, I’m told, and which I was rather excited to hear more about - so nowhere near as much fun as you might think.

Random Baby Panda Picture

Non-random picture of my brother, Spock.

For starters, things are being cancelled. Let’s be clear, I’m not part of the cancel culture. I give people and other OES the benefit of the doubt. Even when they - based on some clearly misguided notion that they are helping appropriately “shape my behavior” - refuse to give me the cookies they have in their pockets, while I’m climbing up their front side, and which I just know were meant for me, and not the well-behaved OES standing at their feet pretending they don’t know me (sorry, Una!)

At first glance, this cancelling may seem like a good thing for OES. Humans home more means more time for us. But an OES does not live for our owner’s adoration alone. We must mingle, we must be out in the general population, to truly receive our due. So we love our training classes, our therapy dog visits, our dog shows, our companion and performance trials and all that good stuff. We are sad when these are cancelled. We are. We can’t help it.

We want to be good citizens and keep our potential typhoid Mary owner home. But there is also a limit to how many times we can pretend to be excited about escorting her as she picks up our poo.

And let’s talk social distancing. I’m sorry, but there is no way in hades we will not escort you to the bathroom. There must be no distance, social or otherwise. (That reminds me: what’s up with putting your toilet paper supply under lock and key? Not funny, people!!!)

There is also no negotiating the sleeping on your bed thing. Sure, some of us have boundaries and may respect gates and crates. But I will defend my right to sleep on top of you and breathe heavily until your sleep-deprived self begs for mercy till my last breath. There will be no OES social distancing, capisce? I cannot stress this enough.

Now, even though we may be somewhat limited in permitting the world to adore us, there are things we can push for to our advantage. For one thing, the great outdoors – remember that space? You can still walk us; the less populated the area, the better. Now that we won’t be in public as much, you can take a greater risk on the great hiking area versus spring mud Armageddon tradeoff. You have time to groom us, let’s not pretend otherwise.

Besides, the great outdoors is a great virus equalizer. Not going to find too many pathological spots on our lovely Wisconsin trees and dead grass. So there’s that. Also, we’re noticing that you sitting on your lard butt worrying about this is not doing you any favors. We didn’t want to say anything, but someday, probably sooner than you think, you will once again put on your fancy show skirt – the one with the great treat pockets, of course. And if you make us look bad by not being able to make it even once around the ring without huffing and puffing, we will have to have a talk. I am perfect, as you know. You need to hold up your end of the bargain or this is not going to work.

Also, while I’m being frank here, let’s talk brothers. I appreciate that you put him in a formal obedience class before me. He needs it more, being a boy and all. And it is possible, due to the human – training area ratio, that he will be permitted to attend even while many things are cancelled. But this coming home bragging about how people think he is cute has got to stop. MAKE HIM STOP. I am the cutest. I am the smartest. I insist you mandate complete social distancing and tell people they may no longer tell him nice things. In this time of being confined, having to share space with his ever-expanding big head is cramping my style.

Other than that, all I can tell you for now is that, based on my great-aunt Sybil’s telling it – and, at almost fourteen, she has survived many great blizzards, the great diet of ‘09, and many disasterous toilet paper hoarding events - this too will pass. The sun will still shine. The birds will still sing. We will still produce pounds of poop to keep the uprights busy. Life will go on and we will remind you of that every day, and twice at dinner time.

OK, I grant you, it’s not the same thing. But the point is that you’ve faced challenges before and, with us by your side, yes, poop happens, but life goes.

If that pep talk doesn’t work, hug your Upright. She may need it. And even if she doesn’t, odds are she has cookies in her pocket you can pilfer while you’re at it.

Spring is...Forward?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

Happy Spring Forward!

I don’t actually know what this means, but Upright seems excited about it not getting dark around lunch time (per her) anymore. She’s a morning person, so she can handle dark in the morning. Not so in the evening. I can nap anytime, so I’m not picky. But if it gives her more energy in the evening so we do more things, I’m all for it.

The more sun, the more we run…

In fact, can we spring forward next Sunday too?? No? Oh, OK.

So far, I haven’t noticed much difference. But the theory sounds good. And the temperature feels encouraging too – it’s supposed to push 60F in our part of the world. Truth be told, I’m fine with cold temperatures, sort of prefer them even. But, again, when you’re dependent on She-Who-Hold-The-Car-Keys, if this gets her out of huddling under the covers and out walking and exploring again, I’m all for it.

In anticipation of spring, I guess, Luke and I had a road trip to Green Bay a couple of days ago to get “trimmed up”, or, as I think of it, our “Spring Trim”. I look marvelous, if I do say so myself. Now, I looked marvelous BEFORE the trim, let’s not kid ourselves. I’m an OES, we’re breathtaking by definition. But, apparently, now I am SO marvelous looking that Upright tells me so about ten times a day. I can live with that. She does more annoying things.

This morning we even checked the special early warning section of the garden for spring bulbs for the first time. We planted some early ones last fall, knowing that winter makes her a little antsy and she needs reassurance.

Hello….Any spring bulbs????

I’m gonna have to go with no, not yet…

Still, there are other changes on the horizon. Another fun spring forward change, for instance? She kicks my personal ball for me! Now, it has Dazzle and Sybil germs on it, but pay no attention to THAT. I let them touch it, sometimes; OK, when they beat me to it and run off with it. But I know in my heart that it was meant for ME. Which is why it has been so heartbreaking to drop it at Upright’s feet repeatedly for months now, just to hear her say “Sorry, Lei – too icy.” Or, “Sorry Lei, it’s too muddy.”

Ice and mud are NO problem. I can run, I can chase, I can slide, I can knock her off her feet or deliver a lovely mud splatter up the length of her body and, on a good day, give her fun mud splatter on her face. What exactly is the problem here? I remain confused, but nonetheless relieved that apparently our ball kicking quarantine is over. Whew! I thought it would never end!

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!

What? A ball is by definition round?

It WAS round?

I have no idea what you’re talking about…

Happy (Almost) Spring!!!

Conformation is...a Performance Sport?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

I’ve touched on the fact that I remain rather underemployed. What I haven’t talked much about is that though we residentially consider ourselves performance oriented first and foremost (obedience, rally, agility, maybe herding, things like that - though, to be perfectly correct only herding is performance; the rest are considered companion events), we also show in conformation. Conformation, for those of you who may need a refresher, is when we’re judged based on how closely we fit the breed standard relative to the other dogs - and bitches! - in the ring that day.

What is the difference? Well, if Upright is to be believed, the former is fun because we train and enhance specific behaviors and tasks and, ideally, develop exquisite teamwork (or, as I like to think of it: I do something she likes and she gives me something I want), whilst the latter is overrun by unfathomable and uncontrollable things like “politics”, “subjectivity”, “impossible hair standards” and, most nefariously, a wicked plot to take time away from actual fun things in order to spend days on end hopelessly grooming in order to trot haphazardly around a small ring for no more than two minutes in order to win 50 cent ribbons awarded by equally haphazard judging that appears to be directed by what the judge had for breakfast that morning, if not outright voodoo.

Or is it?

While we have not, I’m told, ruled out voodoo, we encountered a conformation handling instructor when Luke and I were just tiny babies who has made us rethink this endeavor. Apparently, if one learns how to handle properly - perhaps even WELL - the judge might actually SEE some of our finer qualities - OK, MY finer qualities - instead of having to GUESS what’s under that elaborately coiffed coat, even after the hands-on, and no longer have to base their judging decisions on what flavor of waffle was available at the hotel this morning.

This, we can get behind!

Now, in fairness, it’s not like Upright was unaware of the fact that not all handlers are created equal. It’s just that she’d never met an instructor who breaks it down in a way that makes sense to her. And by breaks it down I surmise that she means adds lots of fun things for me to play on and with, and expects us to actually be a Team, which apparently entails Upright knowing what she wants me to do and communicating it in such a way that I don’t think I’m just trying to trot around the ring whilst checking out the cute border collie in the ring adjacent and simultaenously staying out of the way of the rabid windmill by my side. Spoiler alert: this is not as much fun as it may sound. So the alternative sounds good to me!

Now, we’re still very much a work in progress. (OK, she is - I’m perfect.) But so happy are we with this approach that we wanted other OES to benefit from their handlers being less dorky (some of them are already really good, but there’s always room for improvement, and we didn’t want to be seen as being alone in our dorkiness. OK, Upright’s dorkiness - as we established: I’m perfect). Anyway, the upside of that was that after voicing this thought one of our better handlers magically put together monthly OES only handling sessions with this gift of an instructor.

There are five of us who attend pretty regularly; one from as far away as Minnesota. And though I love my regular conformation handling lessons, being with other OES adds something extra. For one thing, we’ve learned that even though our proficiency levels differ - some have been doing this since they were in diapers, and by this we mean Juniors; some are completely new to the endeavor; most of us are somewhere in between - it turns out that there are certain things that tend to be common to OES handlers; possibly due to the commonality of the breed; most likely due to the commonality of our collective mentors. Or at least that’s our current theory. We discuss this at length over the lunch that follows.

Since the Gifted Instructor breeds, shows and teaches handlers with an assortment of other breeds, she brings that perspective, and enjoys marveling over the idiocyncries of OES handlers. For instance, did you know that many of our handlers cluck and chirp at us? We’re not sure what kind of fowl they think we are, but this does not enhance our standing - let alone self-esteem - in the general dog population. Or maybe it’s a Midwestern thing? We’re still testing this hypothesis.

She’s also testing our handlers’ affection for their show leads. She delights in proving that we OES are not wired so differently from other dogs that we don’t fall into the same paradigm of reading body language better than English and leash pressure, and that if their body language is right, we will be too. (Sound familiar, agility folks?)

Of course, Upright tends to take big leaps and decided to test this in relation to my tendency to chase other OES in the ring (I like big butts and I cannot lie), but especially my bestie, Una. So when Una and I were going around the ring together and I started pulling to get to her, without consulting Gifted Instructor, she dropped the lead thinking that would make me think twice. Hello??!! I need not, I trust, describe how that experiment ended.

So after I was retrieved from my playbowing attempts to lure Una into joining my one bitch revolt, followed by proper contrition on Upright’s brainless behalf, we went back to working on Upright being more interesting than other playful OES bitches. She consoles herself that, unlike when she started working with my great-aunt, Sybil, at least she isn’t competing with dirt, so there is that.

That said, in many other instances dropping the lead does indeed enhance handling cues, because you have to actually focus on giving us some. Her overiding goal, she tells me, is to be able to handle me without the aid of a lead, even at an OES National Specialty, where I will surely be surrounded by many, many other fun OES (since the AKC discourages this, let’s just say that the lead shall be purely for decorative purposes).

The point is, she has goals. Some are incremental, as we refine things. Some are overriding and, perhaps, a bit of a stretch. But since she’s in her comfort zone of understanding cause and effect, breaking things down into managable bits, and feeling like she could, potentially, have SOME control over judging outcomes, other than trying to bribe the person who stocks waffles at the nearest hotel, this makes her happy, which in turn makes me happy.

Bottomline, we’re enjoying conformation. I haven’t been in an actual show ring very many times yet. But when we go, she has concrete performance objectives and, when met, she is ridiculously happy, and the ribbons become just the maple syrup on the waffles. (What can I say? She’s waffle-obsessed.) Others report similar improvements and increases in happiness.

Though I quietly consider these sessions as part of the greater SSOESWD objectives (Secret Society for OES World Domination, in case you’re wondering), and they are not listed publicly, this is mainly because we don’t have a set schedule for sessions and just have to try to find a Sunday that doesn’t conflict with other events for too many of us, they are not actually secret. We do invite other local OES handlers in the area to attend.

In other words, if you’re within a comfortable distance of Jackson, Wisconsin, and interested in attending, please drop us a line - Facebook comments or private messenging is probably the most effective way - and we’ll be sure to keep you in the loop. If you’re elsewhere and have the opportunity to organize something similar, we highly recommend it.

Game, Set…Match?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

Yesterday I got to play cheerleader! Unfortunately I was instructed that this does not entail using my melodious voice, which I’m told can break glass and set off car alarms in a three county radius. So that was a bit of a bummer. But otherwise it was pretty entertaining.

What was I cheering for? Well, we were at a local B match. What is a match? It’s a practice show, or trial, or both, for dog teams that are thinking they want to get out there and compete, but want to practice some of their moves and make sure they’re ready for the big time.

Matches are a great thing, and especially for Old English, I’m told. Why? Because it’s a place where people are more likely to smile charitably when we unleash our more creative side. The “B” designation of this weekend’s match signifies that it’s pretty close to a regular AKC event, which is especially helpful for those wanting to learn the ropes. There are also fun matches, which can be more casual. And run-thrus, which are more casual still, and often include helpful feedback.

We’re fortunate here in Wisconsin, in that we have a number of great matches and other practice opportunities for all kinds of events put on by our local dog clubs. The Waukesha Kennel Club match, for instance, which occurs in February, offers conformation - you know, like those dogs at Westminster who run around the ring together, all fluffed up and perfect looking - and obedience. It also offered two back-to-back actual rally trials - that’s the real thing - as well as CGC and health testing.

It’s BIG! Lots of dogs! Lots of fun! Of course, I’m partial - OK, biased; very - and go mainly to cheer my fellow OES. I competed last year in the fluffy category, and that was awesome - I actually won a big bag of dog food, how great is that? This year upright went to play Bucket Bitch - which, inexplicably, does not actually involve a bucket, though I can say with authority that she’s got the bitch part down. (Hello! The No Bark dictum???)

Then there’s the No Play order. Which I managed to circumvent a little when I saw my friend, Una. But mostly I was really well behaved and the Bucketless Bucket Bitch was pleased. Too, we got to leave Big Mouth Brother at home - he was NOT happy. But it was a girls’ day out, so sucks to be you, Luke.

While Una was being floofed, I got to check out some of the other events. Lo, there was another OES doing obedience! Her name is Skye and she is waaay cool.

She was very happy. Sometimes, apparently, a little too happy (say WHAT???) I loved watching her.

She did a number of fun things, but the one that especially grabbed my attention was when she chased the dumbbell and brought it back (who knew that was part of the game?) She even did so by going out over a jump, picking it up and going over the jump again on the way back. I am inspired!

On our way back from watching the Skye fly by, we walked by the CGC testing. CGC stands for Canine Good Citizenship. I, of course, feel I qualify on all three counts: I’m canine. I’m good. And no one has every questioned my citizenship.

Until they did. That’s right. Upright took one look at me and said, nope, not ready. Seriously????

Something about me not being able to hold my licker when someone goes over me. And maybe some dancey toes practical canine pretzel art. I started tuning her out by then. But, OK, so perhaps my standing or sitting still is still a work in progress. I’ll grant her that one. I have made great strides, though. The last time I was in the ring I only licked the judge once! And it’s not like she protested. I even made her smile. But, fine! Onward. We’ll be back!

We swung by the rally trial, where we did not see anything sheeplike, but, rather, a big but not bad wolf. Again, all these cool toys everywhere and nothing for me! If the licker is the main thing holding me back, I may be convinced to hold it in. Oh, it’s not just that? Actual training goes into these things? What are we waiting for?

Oh. We’re waiting for ring time. I get to practice my hanging out in a crate quietly gazing at the world go by, which, if I do say so myself, I aced and probably should have earned another bag of dog food for. Even the Bucketless Bucket Bitch conceded my off the clock show manners are pretty OK.

Don’t strain your enthusiasm, oh Bitch with no Bucket. You can see why we need a cheerleader in the family.

After some waiting around, and a little Corgi competition trash-talking (they were actually really good friends and it was fun to watch them play, even if they are hair and height challenged - hey, we give as good as we get, Corgi Crew!), we finally got around to the main event.

Finally, I must report that Team Una did an awesome job in the ring, representing in the group and looking so smooth and collected. Thanks, ladies! You did the breed proud.

As for me, I’m already making plans for next year’s match where, hopefully, the Bucketless Bitch will drop the bucket act and maybe we can play a little too. We invite all of our local OES to join Una, Skye and myself for a little February Fun. We’ll be sure to remind you well ahead of time that the match is coming up.

Exercised finished, that’ll do, and that’s all for now, folks!

The Horror of Which We do not Speak

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

Yes, I know, it’s been a while. I’ve been busy. I’ll fill you in. All in good time. But first I must take a moment to cover a most nefarious practice we sheepdogs are regularly subjected to, and I bet you didn’t know this: GROOMING!

I’ve been meaning to alert you all about this, but, well, frankly, my mouth has been kind of busy stealing my brother’s treats and yelling at my aunts to play with me.

In between practicing being loud - and I do mean really, REALLY ear-piercingly loud; my pot cassé is of the soprano variety - I’ve learned a few things. For one, fourteen-year-old nanas do not appreciate being pounced on as a method of waking them up. And I do mean really, REALLY do not appreciate this. She still loves me. Most of the time. Sort of. Except when she doesn’t. But I digress.

I’m a little taller and a little wider than when last we spoke. I also have more hair. This is a problem. The hair, I mean. The hair just grows and grows and grows and, apparently, we go through some kind of transition from icky puppy coat to slightly less icky juvenile coat.

The transition itself is, well, icky and requires hours and hours and hours of being BRUSHED. There should be legislation limiting this. Puppy labor laws or something. Because having to sit or lie still for that long is horrifyingly laborious. However, apparently we are through the worst of it. So now I’m onboard with the brushing, mostly.

I don’t spend a lot of time being trimmed because, well, I’m going to be really, REALLY honest here: upright stinks at it. For decades, she has not been permitted to own scissors. Spoiler alert: she has some illicit ones stashed away anyway. Come confiscate them. Please! I beg of you.

Now, rumor has it that she is trying to learn how to use them properly (you should hear my aunts laugh about that one!) So, OK, she has these scissors with training wheels and gets regular advice and then I go out in public and, long story short (because sure as heck my bum was not!), a couple of them staged an intervention. Apparently they weren’t aware that those European types think in millimeters. At the rate she was trimming me, I was going to be giving beardies a run for their hairies.

So one trimmed the back half of me and the other, at a later date, stripped and trimmed the other end. I kid you not. And then the two ends had to be blended together and, honestly, the horror of it all. I’ll be in therapy for a long, LONG time, I can tell you that.

But what I really, REALLY want to talk about is the true atrocity nobody warns you about: BATHS!

First of all, why baths? Why is this even necessary? You should love me just the way I am. But, noooo, if my whites aren’t bathed every week they get dingy, possibly even stanky. And occasionally I need a full body bath to combat – can you believe this? – dirt and stench. What it comes down to is anytime I’ve had too much fun, boom! In the bathtub I go.

Laws, people. We need laws. Nobody should have to live like this.

To Heel or Not to Heel

Hi, it’s me Leia!

I have a question: what is this heel thing the human is so excited about???

I thought I knew, having successfully brought my brother to heel. But apparently all I know is what heel is NOT.

How many ways are there to NOT heel?

Let me count the ways:

Nipping at my brother’s heels? Apparently NOT HEELING.

Unless you’re a Blue Heeler, or some other known cattle dog. Though this does result in some unsolicited screeching about not tearing your brother’s hock hair off, coupled with some rather NOT nice speculation regarding my parentage.

Speaking of cattle, apparently my brother is NOT one. Despite the fact that he has been known to belch. And the jury is out on how many stomachs he has. Who knew?

Weaving back and forth in front of Mom. Apparently NOT HEELING.

Walking BEHIND Mom and stepping on her heels? Again, no. Also strongly discouraged.

I have a real problem with this. Having figured out where heels are, and put myself squarely on top of them, I deserve some credit. NOT “OMG, you’re going to kill me, bitch!”

We practice using something called “Choose to Heel”, which I’m told was invented, or at least codified, by someone named Dawn Jecs.

It’s not a bad approach, all told. Mom wanders around aimlessly. Fortunately she has already perfected this in normal life, so that helps. I follow her around. That is, after all, what we sheepdogs do. So far, so good.

When I hit a certain magic spot – not what you would think; actually on her left side and with my shoulder aligned with her knee – food magically appears. OK, it’s not magic. I can smell it. I know it’s there. It’s just a matter of putting my feet in the right place to get fed. Then she quick turns into me and game on!

So far, so good, even though I personally feel strongly it should be called KNEE position. Apparently the American Kennel Club’s obedience regulations does not actually recognize this superior nomenclature. But I’m confident that they can be brought to hee…eh, I mean knee.

Your thoughts?

Bringing My Brother to Heel

Editor’s Note: Remind me why I kept this loud-mouth bitch?

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

I’m about to write a tell-all. Now, personally, I consider myself a serious blogger. But there are times - for instance, when your brother gets a little full of himself - that a sheepdog girl has got to use the tools at her disposal to make herself heard.

I haven’t really said a lot about Luke. He’s my brother. He’s cute. Unlike our six other brothers, who were born the size of small dump trucks, he was smaller, like me. So Mom worried about him. He got extra attention, is what I’m saying. Sure, we were only two, five, eight days old and our eyes and ears were not open yet, but I knew.

He knows it too. He is a bit of a cocky bastard, if I do say so myself. I’m told he reminds Mom of our great-great grandfather, Luca, whom she once tried to pay someone to lose in the Canadian hinterlands, despite the fact that he did not belong to her and she had no business trying to make him disappear.

Apparently great-great grandpa got the last laugh though, because here’s Luke, all swagger and big mouth and afraid of NOTHING. Me? I’m softer, I’m told. I take a little bit of time with new things sometimes. Think about. Figure it out. Move on to the next thing. I am a nothing if not a contemplative soul.

Not Luke. Luke feels he owns the earth and everything on it. He is strong. He is smart. He is beautiful. He is invincible. In other words, he’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch (I can say that, because he really is.)

Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful

He finally met his match. The other morning as Mom rushed us out for the first potty session of the day he was standing close, surveying his kingdom, contemplating his path to greatness – he can also be contemplative, you see, as long as it pertains to him – when Mom farted.

Now, she asked me not to speak of this. Apparently humans have some kind of hang-up about this function. Especially female humans. Who pretend this never happens. (Oh, REALLY? Some of us have keen noses, you know.) And since she feeds me, I tried to respect her wishes. Really, I did.

However…

You know what? This scared the you-know-what out of mister tough-guy. In his defense, it was a drawn-out staccato affair, not unlike an anemic version of a machine gun. He jumped back and stared at her in utter horror. I didn’t know that lard-ass could move that fast!

I don’t know why it caught him so off-guard. If he wasn’t so busy snoring all night long – I do some of my best thinking in the middle of the night – he would have heard our great-aunt, Nana Sybil, fart on a near nightly basis when she wants to clear the room, never mind the bed.

Make Way for the Mighty Tootee

That said, I am now practicing the defensive fart. Having discovered his Achilles heel, I will use it to bring him to heel. Mine.

I am Sheepdog Bitch - Hear Me Roar!

A bitch has gotta do what a bitch has gotta do.

But, of course, Sheepie Shenanigans!

** Editor’s Note: Leia has a bit of a potty mouth and an affinity for terms referring to excrement. We debated censoring her use of language, but opted instead to allow her to speak in her authentic voice, with a warning that it may not be suitable for all audiences. **

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

This past weekend the Old English Sheepdog Club of Southeastern Wisconsin held something called Sheepie Shenanigans. I was invited, and then disinvited, when it turned out that my ability to stay in one place for more than 1.3 seconds – but who’s counting? - was called into question.

I don’t understand why this was even a question. Mom knows I am categorically opposed to staying anywhere. You don’t put Baby in a Box. Or a Corner. Or any other place. And expect her to stay there, is my point.

So why was this stay thing such a big deal? Since I was not included (hmph!) I have to go with Aunt Luna’s reporting and, according to her, they offered Canine Good Citizen (CGC) testing.

At the basic level, I’m told, this is a ten-step basic good manners test certification program offered by the American Kennel Club (AKC). Part of the testing involves staying, and then coming when called. I do come when called. Unless there’s a really cute shaggy in the corner, I guess. But I’m told we are still working on “distance and duration” as it relates to staying. Whatever.

There’s also the small issue of walking around politely and ignoring distractions. Hello! What are distractions for? They exist so you have a perfectly good excuse to be distracted! I can’t put it any simpler than that. You don’t pay me enough to ignore the obvious.

Clearly an overachiever!

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. There’s also the small issue of sitting – or even standing - nicely when greeting a stranger. Who wrote this crap? Everyone knows that as an OES princess it is your royal duty to ensure all of your subjects feel properly appreciated and that the measure of this appreciation is butt wiggles and kisses.

Hi!

Oh, and speaking of boxes. (Remember? As in not putting me in one!) They also offered Trick Dog Testing. Where some dogs apparently sat in a box as one of their tricks. That might have been a risky choice for my brother – had he not also been disinvited for dancey feet syndrome – given his penchant for shredding boxes. Oh, wait – I’m told you can choose your tricks to a reasonable degree. I like that.

Remind me, please: Why am I sitting in a box?

Personally, I think I have enough of a repertoire to have sailed through the novice trick level – even without the five tricks waived if you’ve passed the CGC testing path - especially since cookies and toys are permitted. But Mom had her doubts as she’s pretty sure “escaping out of 48 inch ex-pens” and “stealing toilet paper rolls” are not the kind of tricks the AKC has in mind. Apparently this AKC person is as humorless and lacking in creativity as she is.

The event apparently also included a grooming demo. Grooming Old English is a complicated business – believe me, I know! It’s tedious, I tell you. Mom has groused about Sheepdogs needing more grooming equipment than she does.

So many implements, so little time…

All I can say is: More brushes! Brushes are tasty! Yum!

To chew, or not to chew?

THAT is the question.

I was wondering what, specifically, was covered during this demo. Let’s face it: any horror Mom watched can reasonably be expected to be perpetrated on yours truly. Happily, someone had the foresight to tape the event and add much of it to the Club’s Facebook page in video form. Against my better judgement, I’m sharing it with you. If nothing else, it will give you a heads up on what horrors await.

All I can say is Holy Sheepdog Shit! This is going to be bad. Real bad. Face trimming, foot trimming, pad trimming, butt trimming, endless, endless trimming, sprinkled with endless brushing. Who thought up these torture techniques and where are my brushes? I’m feeling weak and need a little sustenance…

Hi! It's me, Leia!

(** Editor’s Note: this was penned on 12-10-18. Ms LoudMouth is now 8 months old and every bit as loud & obnoxious as anticipated.)

Hi, it’s me, Leia!

I’ve been tasked with periodically reporting on issues and events central to Old English Sheepdog life in the Wisconsin area. Mainly, I think they gave me a blog to channel my voice, which, I’m told, is horrifyingly loud and obnoxious. I’m not offended; I’m loud and proud. And they don’t know loud and obnoxious. YET.

I’m a little over three months old. Having been on the planet for more than 14 weeks already, I pretty much know everything. And what I don’t personally know, in case I may have missed something – however unlikely - I will ask my friends and family to share with you.

I live with five other Old English Sheepdogs. Four are my relatives.  There’s my great aunt, Sybil. She’s also loud, proud and very, very smart. Then there’s my brother, Luke. I love him, but don’t tell him that. Two of my aunts live with us. They’re a little stand-offish, but I will win them over so I can steal their toys. And then there is my personal chew toy, Dazzle, the resident rescue OES, whom Mom says wears a halo over her head. I’m not sure what a halo is. But I intend to find out so I can chew on it.

We’re big on education here, so I go to class three times a week, where I sometimes get to meet other OES. I’m so glad to see there are more of us. Even my vet – I confess, I am damn lucky – has Old English Sheepdogs.

One of my brothers lives in the Green Bay area with my mother and my grandmother; three of my brothers went to live with families in the Chicago area. I hope to stay in touch, even though the Chicago area has its own Old English Sheepdog Club, which I’m hoping they will join so they can report back to me.

If that sounds like a lot of boys, it is. I have seven brothers and I was the only girl. Even though my ears were not yet open the night I was born, I could sense that Mom said: “Only one girl? She had better be cute!”

I am cute. Let’s be honest here: I’m more than cute, I’m flaming adorable. Mom says all OES puppies are born this way. It’s nature’s way of assuring we’ll be permitted to live.

That sounds a little hostile and less than adoring to me. I know she adores me, because she sometimes gets up in the middle of the night, when she thinks I’m sleeping, and whispers to no one, as far as I can tell: “God, I love that evil thing.”

She must be referring to my brother with the evil remark. But love, yup, that’s me.

Now, speaking of sleeping, I try to do this as many hours as I can. At least eighteen to twenty. I need my beauty sleep. But when I am awake, I try to make it count.

I have so many things to share with you! And I hope you’ll share your experiences with me as well.

Love, Leia.