A
Prairie FIre plate was awarded to the top overall dog and hand at the Dakota
trials. Prairie Fire is a hip pottery
studio in Beach, North Dakota, on its western edge. The style is inspired by the
surroundings. A very appropriate,
unique, award for the top overall
dog. An abstract glazing cashing in on
the colours of the prairie, its fantastic shapes and movements.
On Saturday night at the Kerr ranch
dinner, Jim Swift, approached me rubbing his hands together, slightly demonic,
and inquired after a couple of my scores with Roz and Clive at the Slash J
trial. His face showed a calculator and
he announced that he had a two point edge on me with Roz. pirouetted, danced a gig, and did his best
greedy laugh. "We are in a horse
race, Amanda." Lotsa jokes
ensued. He and Alison Holmes would
sabotage my dogs. One or the other would
be sure to spot my sheep. It was high
sport. "Ha ha ha."
On Sunday morning, Roz was
poor. She had trouble getting in and out
of the car. At six am, she had the
runs. I gave her imodium. By nine she was no better. Still hunked up and sore. I gave her half a previcox, courtesy of my pal
Beverly. By two or three in the
afternoon, she had improved slightly, but was still wrong at the time I had to
run her. I decided to try and see what
happened. She ran half way out the nine
hundred yards and stopped. This turn of
events precipitated wild glee in the Jim Swift camp. He howled with joy and laughed himself
silly. I could see the humour of it from
his standpoint. He could see his home
grown tomatoes on the plate. He could
taste food rising from its beauty. He
salivated through his giddiness. He had
seen himself presenting it to his wife, triumphant, in Grand Junction ,
Colorado. "Look Darling!" Prized Prairie Fire.
An hour or so later--his turn. His preoccupation with the flavours from the
plate likely held back the redirect he should have blasted before his dog
nearly crossed. Blinded by glory. Zac
fumbled at the top and his lift was chaotic.
Sheep darted all over the fetch except through the fetch gates. I gave up watching, wondering what else could
possibly go wrong. As I sauntered to the
spectators area, he was at the pen. I
heard a wild, desperate, slow mo plea,
from him, to look back. "Loooooooook baaaaaaack!!!!" One of the sheep had the run on Zac to the
exhaust. Zac had the second sheep by the cheek, at a high
speed. He didn't hang on for long,
because he dropped the sheep altogether and ran for the water, letting the
three canter easily back to the exhaust.
Too hot to handle. Only fourteen
seconds left. No score.
I can think of a couple of runs I
have found nearly as funny, but the moment of this one, I did not want to end. I am still laughing about it. And at the time, I could not stop laughing
when I crawled up off the ground.
Roz was likley ill from eating the
fat at the concession trailer. She is OK
now, but too late for her run. Clive
couldn't catch Alison Holmes and Trip, who won the plate. I went to Beach, North Dakota (no white sand
beaches, named for a man "Beach").
There were eccentric people there with little touches of love which is
always good in a small town on the edge.
It was a quiet place but one assumes it roars when a train goes
through. The guys in the feed store were
attentive and curious. I bought a plate,
cause I will never win one, and I am looking forward to serving home grown
tomatoes to Jim Swift, when we meet again at Meeker, or Virginia.