I told Red to “hold” the sheep while we shoveled the manure out of the barn. He took up his position, and then Fate surprised me a bit, she came into the barn, right up close to the seep and got into their faces with confidence and assurance, something she doesn’t often do.

One of the ewes stomped at her, which usually drives her off, but this time, she held her ground. I wonder if something is changing inside of her. Then, even more surprising, Gus left Maria’s side – she was out with the donkeys – and came into the barn and also took up position (a safe one), alongside Red and behind Fate.

The three of them stared at the sheep and none of the sheep moved an inch. However illusory it might be – there is no way this little dog, the size of a bunny rabbit, could herd a flock of sheep – I loved the sight of it, and I especially love the fact that Gus is now so at home in the Pole Barn, with the donkeys, and out in the pasture.

He is most wary of the sheep, and that is good, it keeps  him on his toes around them. I do not want to be so content out there that he isn’t paying attention. He could get hurt. But not with Red and Fate in front of him. Those sheep are not going anywhere.

I had a thought there this morning, that the poor sheep must be baffled at this idosyncratic line up assembled against them. I imagine them thinking, What the hell? What is he throwing against us now?

I believe strongly that we are becoming so emotionalized and protective and phobic about our dogs that we no longer permit them to be dogs. One of the most satisfying elements of my life with dogs is that on the farm, and in the country, they can live their lies more naturally and fully.

They can run free, solve problems, even have some problems. There are no perfect lives here, we are all working on the same path.

We decided from the first to let Gus be a dog, not a fuzzy little lap creature. And he is. Maybe there will be a true miracle, and he will learn to give the sheep the herding eye. That would be a miracle.