Arriving by Janie Nafsinger
The change of seasons and New Year often mark new beginnings, as is with this issue and the writing of herding news for the Collie Expressions. With any changing of the guard and new beginnings, there is a certain amount of anxiety in filling the shoes of a writer of many years. Hildi Morgan broke new ground in writing this column when AKC herding was very new. Her style and skill in relaying new developments, judges and aspects of training were always a pleasure to read and digest.
It’s funny how relationships change, well funny isn’t the right word, more interesting, at least for me. In the beginning, my herding was always an adventure and better classified as a discovery process while Hildi documented, armed with a camera and pen. Herding today is a release, feeling more like mini-vacations between work and other obligations, where I can make connections with my dogs, teach and continue to learn. The fifteen acres that surround the house and kennel work well in training, from instinct to advance and all levels in between. With a judge’s license, even more avenues for learning and promoting herding have presented themselves.
THE BEGINNING . . .
With the Collie Club of America herding trials upon us in North Carolina, it is appropriate to reflect humble beginning, both for myself and Hildi, as that is where we began, Collie Club of America Nations, Columbus, Ohio, 1996.
Competing was a culmination of effort and training that had taken place over the past year and beyond. I had worked laboriously on my skills and felt that I was teetering on “arrival.” But how do you know when you have arrived? How do you know or measure that you are “succeeding in a big way?” Can you measure arriving in steps or one day do you just realize it happened?
Like many participants going to the Collie Nationals, I had tentative proof that I, too, had “arrived” by going to the trials for the first time. After all, wasn’t a national event at least symbolic of “arrival?’ It was only later that I realized I had not arrived at all, in fact, I am pretty sure that I forgot to get back on the bus after the first rest stop.
The anticipation had built for months. My traveling companion was what I considered a seasoned herder. Judy Garbarino had been herding for several years, was working her way up the ladder in the trial arena and would soon have the first collie herding champion. I, on the other hand, was to participate in my first herding test (HT).
It’s odd how snippets stick in your mind as reflections of events. I was giddy with anticipation. Switching planes from Boise, Judy and I chatted happily, strolling through the Denver airport, fascinated by the moving walkways as we walked through one terminal to the next, oblivious of the effect that the stocks sticks we had clutched in our hands had on other travelers. Thinking of ourselves as “big time herders on our way to a very important event, ” people walking through the terminal thoughtfully moved out of our way, like the parting of the Red Sea, to accommodate a couple of dotty blind ladies. It was not until we were securely seated, stock sticks safely stowed, that we realized the source of the ‘extra” courtesy extended to us.
The hour and a half trip to the trial site in Nova, Ohio was uneventful. Farmhouses dotted the rolling, tranquil landscape as long roadside grass swayed in the wind like gentle waves at sea. It was not until arriving at the trial scene that we realized those gentle swaying waves were signs of sub zero temperatures and wind, nearly knocked us over stepping from the rental car. We discovered fairly quickly that the accessorized outfits we chose to make grand entrances were definitely more form than function. I made a note to myself to look for the Duluth Trading Company catalog when I got home.
We had barely cleared the car when Hildi presented herself to us. Encased in layers of clothing under her Carhart coveralls and manure caked boots, she smiled enthusiastically, camera lying expectantly across her chest. Not really knowing the lay of the land, Hildi pointed out that the sheep would enter from the far end of the field while participants would strategically work their way around the large compost pile of manure and straw piled in the center of the arena. I could easily envision the sheep standing on that mound, conspiring like a second wives club after discovering their credit cards were canceled.
Most of the participants were parked next to the arena fence in their cars, heaters running, waiting for their turn to compete. Being no expert and not knowing any, I was fascinated that the sheep seemed to know the exact spot to change directions and dash madly to the exhaust pen. A barn to one side of the arena, about midcourse, also seemed to be a particularly attractive place for the sheep to go to. It was not until later that I learned about “the draw.”
The test classes were rapidly approaching. My stomach churned and I scanned for the nearest bathroom. Porta-potties are interesting inventions, minimal privacy, a managorie of indescribably foul odors, and the weird guilt trip of finishing your business. I contemplated my first herding adventure.
Waiting to enter the test ring, I patted my dog affectionately and told her she was a good girl. A tri colored rough, Reba had been a patient student of herding. Not at all thrilled by most of it, she obediently tried to do as I asked as I played the trial and error techniques to learn balance and position. I thought she was terrific and she was glad that I did. She looked at me expectantly with her head down a bit and eyes viewing me as if over the top of her glasses, tan spots above moved up and down. Entering the arena, Reba was not at all sure this is what she had come for. The sheep were set about 30 feet away, ears turned expectantly in our direction. The judge approached and repeated her “keep breathing speech” while assuring me that she was there to help. Taking off the leash, Reba looked almost apologetic. I stepped away and placed my crook to the side, for which Reba responded by moving in the opposite direction around the sheep. “This is what is was all about,” I thought. Three concerned sheep heads shot up. Reba moved in behind them as they stepped forward, splitting, as if in slow motion in three directions, only to come together in the vicinity of the compost pile. I walked toward the sheep, calling to Reba, who lagged behind.
It’s hard to sequence events or exactly where things started to go south, but somewhere in the mix I had forgotten about my crook, which was sticking straight out like a sabor assualting the air. At some point I turned around to check the action behind me, when the crook caught on the ground, flicking forward, taking me off balance. In between all this I was urging my dog to “Get around, get around.” Being off balance blocked my dog. She thought she was the cause of whatever difficulties we were having. Laying down, she exposed her belly, thumping her tail like a metronome waiting for the last stanza of the song. It was time to cut loses, slide under a rock and regroup.
While attending Collie Nationals all those years ago was not exactly the “arrival” I had hoped for, it was the first baby step on my journey. All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. Mine was no different. As a professional educator, I seek and re-exam my journeys. I am grateful for collie opportunities and great dogs. The Educational Learning Theory premise is that whenever a learner reaches an established level of proficiency, there is an innate desire to “show-off,” to share talents and skills. The problem with this theory is that, with dogs, there is always another level of proficiency to reach for. Perspective is realizing that “arriving” is more of a concept than definition. There is no point at which to say, “I’m done, I’m at the end of the Internet.” I come to Collie Expressions to share experiences, perspectives, and the belief that our connections to collies are not our whole lives, but they make our lives whole.
It’s funny how relationships change, well funny isn’t the right word, more interesting, at least for me. In the beginning, my herding was always an adventure and better classified as a discovery process while Hildi documented, armed with a camera and pen. Herding today is a release, feeling more like mini-vacations between work and other obligations, where I can make connections with my dogs, teach and continue to learn. The fifteen acres that surround the house and kennel work well in training, from instinct to advance and all levels in between. With a judge’s license, even more avenues for learning and promoting herding have presented themselves.
THE BEGINNING . . .
With the Collie Club of America herding trials upon us in North Carolina, it is appropriate to reflect humble beginning, both for myself and Hildi, as that is where we began, Collie Club of America Nations, Columbus, Ohio, 1996.
Competing was a culmination of effort and training that had taken place over the past year and beyond. I had worked laboriously on my skills and felt that I was teetering on “arrival.” But how do you know when you have arrived? How do you know or measure that you are “succeeding in a big way?” Can you measure arriving in steps or one day do you just realize it happened?
Like many participants going to the Collie Nationals, I had tentative proof that I, too, had “arrived” by going to the trials for the first time. After all, wasn’t a national event at least symbolic of “arrival?’ It was only later that I realized I had not arrived at all, in fact, I am pretty sure that I forgot to get back on the bus after the first rest stop.
The anticipation had built for months. My traveling companion was what I considered a seasoned herder. Judy Garbarino had been herding for several years, was working her way up the ladder in the trial arena and would soon have the first collie herding champion. I, on the other hand, was to participate in my first herding test (HT).
It’s odd how snippets stick in your mind as reflections of events. I was giddy with anticipation. Switching planes from Boise, Judy and I chatted happily, strolling through the Denver airport, fascinated by the moving walkways as we walked through one terminal to the next, oblivious of the effect that the stocks sticks we had clutched in our hands had on other travelers. Thinking of ourselves as “big time herders on our way to a very important event, ” people walking through the terminal thoughtfully moved out of our way, like the parting of the Red Sea, to accommodate a couple of dotty blind ladies. It was not until we were securely seated, stock sticks safely stowed, that we realized the source of the ‘extra” courtesy extended to us.
The hour and a half trip to the trial site in Nova, Ohio was uneventful. Farmhouses dotted the rolling, tranquil landscape as long roadside grass swayed in the wind like gentle waves at sea. It was not until arriving at the trial scene that we realized those gentle swaying waves were signs of sub zero temperatures and wind, nearly knocked us over stepping from the rental car. We discovered fairly quickly that the accessorized outfits we chose to make grand entrances were definitely more form than function. I made a note to myself to look for the Duluth Trading Company catalog when I got home.
We had barely cleared the car when Hildi presented herself to us. Encased in layers of clothing under her Carhart coveralls and manure caked boots, she smiled enthusiastically, camera lying expectantly across her chest. Not really knowing the lay of the land, Hildi pointed out that the sheep would enter from the far end of the field while participants would strategically work their way around the large compost pile of manure and straw piled in the center of the arena. I could easily envision the sheep standing on that mound, conspiring like a second wives club after discovering their credit cards were canceled.
Most of the participants were parked next to the arena fence in their cars, heaters running, waiting for their turn to compete. Being no expert and not knowing any, I was fascinated that the sheep seemed to know the exact spot to change directions and dash madly to the exhaust pen. A barn to one side of the arena, about midcourse, also seemed to be a particularly attractive place for the sheep to go to. It was not until later that I learned about “the draw.”
The test classes were rapidly approaching. My stomach churned and I scanned for the nearest bathroom. Porta-potties are interesting inventions, minimal privacy, a managorie of indescribably foul odors, and the weird guilt trip of finishing your business. I contemplated my first herding adventure.
Waiting to enter the test ring, I patted my dog affectionately and told her she was a good girl. A tri colored rough, Reba had been a patient student of herding. Not at all thrilled by most of it, she obediently tried to do as I asked as I played the trial and error techniques to learn balance and position. I thought she was terrific and she was glad that I did. She looked at me expectantly with her head down a bit and eyes viewing me as if over the top of her glasses, tan spots above moved up and down. Entering the arena, Reba was not at all sure this is what she had come for. The sheep were set about 30 feet away, ears turned expectantly in our direction. The judge approached and repeated her “keep breathing speech” while assuring me that she was there to help. Taking off the leash, Reba looked almost apologetic. I stepped away and placed my crook to the side, for which Reba responded by moving in the opposite direction around the sheep. “This is what is was all about,” I thought. Three concerned sheep heads shot up. Reba moved in behind them as they stepped forward, splitting, as if in slow motion in three directions, only to come together in the vicinity of the compost pile. I walked toward the sheep, calling to Reba, who lagged behind.
It’s hard to sequence events or exactly where things started to go south, but somewhere in the mix I had forgotten about my crook, which was sticking straight out like a sabor assualting the air. At some point I turned around to check the action behind me, when the crook caught on the ground, flicking forward, taking me off balance. In between all this I was urging my dog to “Get around, get around.” Being off balance blocked my dog. She thought she was the cause of whatever difficulties we were having. Laying down, she exposed her belly, thumping her tail like a metronome waiting for the last stanza of the song. It was time to cut loses, slide under a rock and regroup.
While attending Collie Nationals all those years ago was not exactly the “arrival” I had hoped for, it was the first baby step on my journey. All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. Mine was no different. As a professional educator, I seek and re-exam my journeys. I am grateful for collie opportunities and great dogs. The Educational Learning Theory premise is that whenever a learner reaches an established level of proficiency, there is an innate desire to “show-off,” to share talents and skills. The problem with this theory is that, with dogs, there is always another level of proficiency to reach for. Perspective is realizing that “arriving” is more of a concept than definition. There is no point at which to say, “I’m done, I’m at the end of the Internet.” I come to Collie Expressions to share experiences, perspectives, and the belief that our connections to collies are not our whole lives, but they make our lives whole.
