Cell service at the National Finals was difficult. All the elaborate plans for Iphones becoming hot spots were dashed when there was no using cel phones much at all. I apologize for failing to report but communications just seemed impossible.

We got parked at Carbondale among friends. Lucky, because it was tight. Joni Swanke, Robin French, and Barbara Ray were my immediate neighbours and I call that a party. It was.

The handlers meeting at the National Finals is always fun–all the hands converging in one spot from all quarters of the country. Many like minded people who had almost come as far as I had, hopeful, excited. Everyone still has 100 points, at the handler’s meeting. Thirty eight dogs were to b e run per day and I did not run until Wednesday.

The running was predictable difficult. The sheep were a genuine test, even, naive, range yearlings. A flock of beauties. My dogs had been running capably for the last couple of trials on similar range ewes so while comfortable with the work, anxiety for the competition itself, was undeniable. The running was exhausting. I talked about it with Bob Stephens and he commented that he felt “gutted” after his runs, which just about sums it up. On a day that I had two runs, Nursery and Open, Sandra Massie asked if I wanted to go hiking. I said no impolitely. It just took everything out of me.

First cousins, Bridget Strang and Ellen Neislanik, who orchestrated this event, had drawn in some food vendors that were out of this world. We need not have worried about stocking up at the Whole Foods in Denver. The food on the site was fabulous and who ever would have guessed. Croissants of the diverse and delicious variety, great coffee, savoury things that all my discriminating gourmet friends would have loved to taste. The Strang girls had it worked out. The Crafters were good too–a hat guy, a western jeweller. The Carbondale Finals stayed mindful of its western showcase side and made a great job of it. Weather drove an outdoor extravaganza party into the indoor arena. It looked for all the world as though that situation had been planned. There was no hitch to the new setting. Five hundred people must have been fed great food. All local–trout, lamb, corn. The swinging little country band in the corner set a celebratory tone and it just kept up all night. What a party. It looked so easy, one assumes it is part of a well oiled machine that parties a lot and is very good at it.



Anyone reading this probably already knows the story. My open dogs ran well enough to make it into the semis on Saturday. I was negligent with Clive at the shed, failing to watch for the grip that took him out of it. Call me an idiot. Roz, of course ran on in the final. Dorey was the most exciting to run, taking her sheep around the course in the Nursery in good style, twice. To be the US National Nursery Champion. I have run in the finals nearly twenty times and never won it, often with very good young dogs. I would understate it to say it was a thrill. And she can run next year too. Adorable. We celebrated at a great restaurant in Carbondale, with delicious Pinot Noir, from Southern Cal and Oregon.





Sunday was a long anxiety laden day, with Roz drawing up sixteenth of the seventeen runners. When she crossed in her second outrun, it was a grave disappointment, considering I had convinced myself she would not. She normally goes back so well. Every trust betrayed. Things were not all that good afterwards. The sheep were painfully slow and they finally picked up steam in their drive. I made a split second gaff in the shedding ring after pretty much doing it right, that cost me doing it again. While it went OK, even the second time, there was no time to pen. Blow.

Clearing Denver on Sunday night, Mich Ferraro joined me for the ride home. We listened to lots of music. Talked about the runs, the dogs, Mich’s new dog Dennis Gellings’ Jake, running styles, things we admired, things we didn’t admire. It was a long drive. I always feel disoriented for a few days when I get back from such a trip. My dahlias are breathtaking. I can scrape together a few feeble tomatoes for something. I will go back to my office routine. I will apply myself to my dogs, getting them ready for next year’s finals.

I can’t quite remember when I last reported.

Roz had a great start to her run and then the thunder started Things went south. Everything was “I can’t. I am scared.” I got the sheep to near the shedding ring, warning her not to come back without the sheep but it was not satisfactory. They stopped the running after mine for an hour. I was mad at Roz. She had to sleep in crate.



The next morning saw improvements. Kak, Mish, and I joined Bruce Clatterbaugh on a horseback ride up the Marvine Creek watershed. I rode Paint, who was very sure footed. We went up the water shed about eight miles to a high lake on the Flat Top, where Bruce was picking up four male-bonding, wannabe wilderness adventurers. He led a string of four horses on which they were to ride out, and his pal Ron led two pack horses on which all their stuff was to travel. Bruce was my banker, now retired, and doing outfitting for the rich and famous who come to Meeker for fishing and hunting. The ride was a triumph for a couple of reasons: a diversion from the radical disappointments of thunderstruck dogs; the postcard beauty of the surroundings; the careful but willing horses; and the entertaining company. No motorized anything is allowed in the wilderness spaces, not even chainsaws, and definitely not ATV’s. Horse, or on foot, is the only way to get there.

We got back in time for handler’s dinner where Barbara Ray and I, joined a handful of others to be hypnotized. It was a little like being stoned, very relaxing. I can’t tell if my sore back came from the riding all day or the dancing we did at the prompt of the hypnotizer. He was persuasive. The crowd was entertained.



Today we watched the semi finals. Clive ran pretty well and we have drawn up third tomorrow morning for the big one.




This now being Monday morning, many of you have heard that Clive won Meeker. I ran third, a desirable draw. I wore my sweater spun out of Campbell Hansmire sheep (the Meeker sheep) and knitted for me by my pal Val, at the Hotel Dieu Hospital in Kingston. His first outrun was good. A gunshot went off across the river in his first fetch, and in retrospect it might have shaken him a little and been responsible for the nonsense at the first fetch panel, which he missed. Sound sensitivity is a bad vice that rears its head at inopportune moments. Think of Roz in the thunder. After that everything went extremely well with a slight low crossdrive, but good panels and turns. At the shed I had a collared villain I named scarface for a permanent blemish that showed she tustled with something several months ago. She never gave up trying to exit the ring. She broke out once, costing me my point there. When down to two uncollared sheep, I had to go to plan b, and take them out one at time, or she would have gone again. Clive saved the day, bringing her back. He penned boldly. I then had to wait all day for the great dogs and handlers who ran after me but none could quite catch it. Jean Gellings had a winner on the go but Star gripped, uncharacteristically, at the shed and was disqualified.

I am honoured to run among the hands I run with. And doubly honoured to win this big hard trial on the western slope of Colorado.



The dogs are having abed fest this morning. Today I am fly fishing on the White River with all the dogs and slowly making my way down to Carbondale for the US national Finals.

Shauna Gourley organized a great little haulout training session on range finewools. Barbara Ray met us in the morning. Both she and I were worried about Monty adjusting to someone else handling around me, but it was no problem. He was a pro. Our work party was quiet and successful, the dogs relaxing after their long rides. Afterwards we went to a fabulous part of Utah hitherto unknown to me, called Fruit Lane, between Ogden and Logan. An intense production belt of all kinds of vegetables and stone fruits being the genius of the season. Peaches!!! A giant box of them. And sour cherries, for pie. Back at Kelly Creek, we watched a couple of agreeable young dogs getting going with their sheep work and headed down to Soldier Hollow.

Park City’s Whole Foods stocked up my camper on the way down with all kinds of great goodies. We had a big chunk of wild caught Alaska King Salmon and rib eyes glorified. Our camp has a picnic table and a pot of fresh basil for the Fruit Lane tomatoes (not mine, but OK). We are the people with everything, a cheerful consolation in case we don’t win the trial. The trial is any one’s game. The odds have improved for the five that qualified for the final day yesterday, which includes me and Roz. Roz tore a dew claw in front which, although superficial, is painful. I had to wrap it before her run so she wouldn’t be banging it on the tough tall grass. Her run didn’t go as well as I would have liked—a difficult, hot time in the afternoon but she took them around gamely with a good finish for a score that got by.

Soldier Hollow is tautly managed trial with a couple of eccentricities. No other trial requires leashes. And of course there is the popularized shed, (not popular with handlers) with eight collared sheep of the sixteen for the double lift final. They bring in about 275 glamourous range ewes. Since that is insufficient to run all the dogs on fresh sheep, they structure the trial to run back the top five dogs from each day and re run the sheep. The management advantages are clear. It could give us ideas in Kingston.

The running here is always a shocker to the uninitiated. It sometimes looks so easy but it is always difficult. The sheep are fleet of foot athletes. Dogs who have never met such racey ovines, do things they never do back home, with grave disappointments to their handlers. Running on them can alter perspectives on dogs, with massive kennel reviews occurring after a trial like Soldier Hollow. It is tough.

My dogs were OK. I made it into the double lift with Roz, running in draw number eight, which means one in the afternoon. I would have considered that unfortunately hot, but cloud cover kept the fantastic heat, that can envelop the afternoons, from gaining any traction. It was hot enough, but nothing like it could have been. Bill Berhow and his senior citizen Pete, turned in a near flawless run for a 148, laying down a gauntlet that was never met. Roz had trouble with the first outrun, which was tricky in the extreme, with the sheep obscured by the big Olympic information center and the Olympic spruce trees that dot the course. She was with the crowd on that problem. Only Pete and Bill succeeded with no redirects, and some dogs were lost altogether in the tall shrubbery above the set out, or the trees below.



The prizes ceremony has something to teach all of us about sheepdogs and show biz. The Scottish pipe band from Salt Lake piped away, the Frisbee dogs made catches, the dock dogs won awards for the longest dock dive. And then the real stars of the show, the sheepdogs, with sheep all around the back made their climb onto the Olympic podiums. Roz wins Silver, representing Canada.

Next stop: Meeker, Colorado.

I left Soldier Hollow on Monday night, putting in a couple of hours to Vernal, Utah. I stopped, slept, and finished off the drive in the early morning. Eastern Utah and western Colorado are high desert, so imagine my surprise when the rain set in. A rainy day in the desert is a rarity. Meeker is like my home away from home. Remember I spent an extra several days here last year, stuck with axel issues on my camper. I know nearly everyone in town, or more accurately, they know me, in a good way.

For the first time ever, and I have been coming here for twenty some years, the parking area was difficult because of mud. Good god, in the desert. Mud in the car park and heavily scented sage brush. This is cheerful, hopeful handlers’ camp. This trial is the convergence of all sorts of handlers, not like Soldier Hollow where everyone is there for one win or another. All is levity and celebration, excitement about the next morning’s sport. The spotting crew moved the flock around the trial field on horseback to acquaint them with all the nooks and crannies and ways of escape. Handlers walked the course, watched the sheep, raved about the beautiful evenness of the flock, how do you do’s, talked of their last trials, ate pizza. The place is abuzz.


The running was just about what you would expect, with telltale signs that the sheep have been a little better handled by their home dogs. They weren’t quite so wild as last year, which usually means better dogs at home, a credit to their head honcho, Julie Hansmire. Dennis Gellings turned in the top run of the day at 83. Our own Ute, Shauna Gourley, turned in an 80 to assure herself a spot in Saturday’s semi finals.. Joni Swanke and Griz scored a 78 with no pen. Clive in next with 77.


Mich Ferraro , Sandy Milberg and I went to the practice field at the mid day. I dusted off Dorey, newly bred to Patrick Shannahan’s Riggs. She ran hot but settled down toward the end of her session. I’ll try to take her again tomorrow. Feist has become an avid sheepdog trial spectator, so much so, she has even come to like her leash.

Tonight Gus and Christine Halandras put on their usual gorgeous spread. What a pair of entertainers they are. And what a joy to see so many friends who are now becoming old friends.

Roz runs late on Thursday. And on Friday I have a fishing trip organized with Bruce Clatterbaugh, my retired banker. We are riding up seven miles to a high lake, fishing for and hour or so and riding back.

Editor’s Note: Amanda seems all too slow about getting in her updates, doesn’t she? Perhaps a good public flogging will encourage her to be more timely! As most of you probably know already, she and Roz were the reserve champions at Soldier Hollow. But we need some more details, and hopefully we’ll get them soon. In the meantime, I have a couple of blog entries from Barbara Ray, written from when she was on her way out to Soldier Hollow. (I’m a little behind, because I spent the weekend at Donald McCaig’s sheepdog trial–great fun, but a black hole as far as Internet and cell service goes!)

From Barbara, 9/2/2011: I am very nervous blogging (Editor’s Note: This word was sent to me as “blobbing,” which I really loved and almost left as is. The visual of Barbara, Amanda, and Bev blobbing along is terrific!) alongside my sisters Amanda and Beverly. For starters, they have twice my I.Q. and I write as if English were my third language. Then there are the little buttons on this phone which increase my already huge number of typos. Heather, please cover up my mistakes.

Predeparture days were hurried and not without trouble. I had to market and deliver my lambs plus buy and pick up a new bull as well as sell the old bull. Ewe flock and cows had to be put on fresh pasture so they would not cause trouble while I’m away. All this is an excuse for not noticing Stella was in season till I found her tied with Monty.

9/3/2011: My trek to Utah was not without its problems. On day two I had a blow out most likely caused by debris thrown by a passing tractor trailer on I-29. Turns out this interstate has been closed due to flooding for months. The nice guys at the tire shop gave me new directions. Meanwhile the dogs enjoyed a break from the bouncing and got some much desired exercise. I finally arrived safely late Tuesday night. Robin French and Dick & Cheryl Williams were already there. We all want our dogs to acclimate to the 7000′ altitude. Tomorrow I join Amanda at Shauna Gourley’s to work dogs.

9/4/2011: Fantastic workout for all. Shauna trailered 15 range ewes to an alfalfa field and we all fetched sheep back and forth. Monty’s loyalty was tested as we picked up sheep while Amanda was setting with Dorrie in high season. He looked her way but took an immediate redirect. As we were on route back to Shauna’s a school crossing guard jumped right out in front of me. I was unable to stop before the intersection so made the wrong decision to ease on through. I got a ticket from the cop and a finger from the crossing guard.

Today is quiet and in between. I run dogs here in Cranbrook this morning, stock up and head south to Utah. The coffee is waking up just from the smell. The Blossom Dearie, dulcet. Bev and I stayed over, after a dining at Cranbrook’s schnitzel house in the entertaining company of Kristi Oikawa.

The trial featured two competitions so some of the group shots you see may be those running only for the Canadian championships, like Bev and I or others who ran for the Western Canadian Championships.



The first gather to right was straightforward, with very few dogs needed insurance redirects, spotted with horses, so very visible. The trick was, that the horse remained visible when the dogs were sent back for the second gather. Most settled on the first horse, with a cross following shortly afterwards, only a couple of dogs going back cleanly. The second gather was blind and long way back with the spotting horse buried in a swale. The sheep remained a good test throughout the trial, demanding authority and control, to move around the course. The morning started off very cool and deteriorated to hot by noon. The afternoon dogs were disadvantaged but still produced the winner late in the day, Scott Glen and Don.



On Saturday afternoon I took a spectacular break from the dog running to go fly fishing on the St Mary’s River. The scenery was breath taking. I was guided on a rafting trip starting at St Mary’s Lake and floating miles downstream, fly rod in hand. I snagged a couple of merry little cutthroats, and there was lots of swirling activity on my fly. I missed the handlers’ dinner. As regrettable as that may have been, it was worth it. What a trip.



The long trip to Utah is underway. The part through Montana was enjoyable this time with all is vistas, its bright mountain lakes and rushing rivers, looking like places you would like to stop and stay for while. I am Utah bound. A couple of days at Shauna Gourley’s, and onto Soldier Hollow.

Something in Heather’s interblog caught my attention “for those of you green with envy” Don’t be envious. The trip I am on is brute. I have covered 5000 kilometers. I have been tired and run down. I try to focus on my dogs and running them, which is what I am here to do. However, I started a course of prednisone for some runaway poison ivy, last Friday night. It is a very harsh drug to take. An addling drug.

The drive from Bowman North Dakota was about 17 hours. I rode I95 Until I tucked north on the west side Glacier National Park. The scenery was breathtaking under normal circumstances but the turquoise lakes and rivers had a hard time rising above my road weariness and generating some enthusiasm. When I crossed the border, into my home and native land, it felt like nowhere was home. Feist was restless. All the other dogs were fatigued and indifferent. I tried to stop in Cranbrook for some supplies but my rig was hopeless on the streets, (it is so big) I gave up and headed out to the trial site.



What a fantastic setting. I am now embarrassed to say it took me until the next morning to see the extreme beauty. Chemistry can be a bitch.

The rockies are draped all around us in a steady backdrop of picturesque. We are comfortably parked on an irrigated alfalfa field which some thoughtful person has recently irrigated to make less dust for us. Us. The sheepdog obsessive compulsives. The surrounding ground is honey coloured pasture, that supports Hereford cattle. There are beautiful walks in many directions that loosen up tension ridden dogs and people. Every day, when these people get up, they must hug themselves for the beauty that greets their morning



The sheep were remarkably consistent, mostly Columbian, yearling finewools. They have made a good test, demanding dogs to take them everywhere on the unfamiliar course and asking to be put in the pen, never just going. They push dogs everywhere, enforcer required. They came from a Hutterite colony in Alberta, so not a straight forward undertaking by any means. The field is about a four hundred yard outrun with 150 yards drives. The turn at the post is tight to the spectator fence, causing problems. Those who had trouble with them will be rethinking their interest in moving on to the big trials down south, in Utah and Colorado, where the sheep will be similar, but moreso.



The Gellings lead the first trial go through, Jean, with her dependable Star and husband Dennis taking up the second spot with Jan. Roz was called for grip at the pen. Clive continues to be in with a good go around the course. Beverly is still happening with at least Hemp and maybe Awel. The open running continues in the morning. All the open dogs were run yesterday. This morning hald the second open run was done, followed by the first go of the Nursery. Dorey leads the Nursery by three points. She was her gorgeous self. The balance of the open dogs will run tomorrow morning, deciding who runs in the double lift. And the second go of the Nursery will decide the Nursery champion. Sunday is our championship double lift day.

Editor’s Note: Amanda might be off line for a day or two as she travels, and she wanted to make sure everyone was properly entertained. So here’s some appropriate multimedia for your listening and viewing pleasure.

First, here’s John Denver singing Wild Montana Skies.

We also have Willie Nelson, On the Road Again

And for everyone who isn’t already purple with jealousy over this trip, here are some pictures of dogs swimming at the Slash J.

Amanda will be back soon to entertain us all!

Feist is a perfect road rider. She entertains the older bitches wrestling on the back seat. She has toys that command her attention when all else lets her down. She accepts the breaks without exuberance that might lead to risky behaviour, just cheerful and happy. She wants back in the truck when the break is concluded. She revels in the brief interludes of sheep activity but leaves it freely, confident that her life will have lots of sheep in it soon. She meets new dogs and usually gets them in a high spirited game. Everything is a happy adventure. Bad behaviours like chewing my shoes, are swiftly replaced with good ones, like chewing her toys. She learns so much, so fast. I had questioned myself about bringing her. But it doesn’t seem we should be apart.

Joni and I worked dogs in the early morning. The heat has come on in the mid day, so as to make dog running unappealing. The outruns were complicated by the presence of Joni’s big black cows and calves on one side and the test to a dog’s redirect commitments was made. Success was of the eventual variety. I like to have mistakes like that happen and be corrected, in settings other than trials. Joni is a hard-working dog hand with a fleet of interesting youngsters. I would have trouble moving from dog to dog and leaving the problems of the last one with the last one. She is succeeding, where I could only train one.

We are trying the local Mexican today. I am doing some laundry, kinda like a wagon train picking up momentum before it embarks across the desert, water, supplies, rested up. Tomorrow night I start the long ride to Cranbrook, taking me through Montana.

My drive to Bowman was slow and tedious with a couple of notable exceptions. I have crossed the Mississippi in many settings, in Louisiana, Memphis , La Crosse. It a western trip’s milestone. The mark. The river of so many legends, so storied, so sung about, so much beauty of lore. I made the error of following the garmin’s directions into the St. Paul Whole foods Market for supplies. The trip might have been ok in a car but with a thirty seven foot rig it was a nightmare, through surprisingly small streets. I always expect northern cities will have big streets to accommodate the winter snow. Not St. Paul. It had stuck to the horse-and-buggy-sized streets that it got from its forefathers. Quaint but awkward for me. I turned a forgettable corner but the sight that presented itself was anything but forgettable—I was on the bridge over the shining Mississippi, stopped in the sunlight. There was some kind of fund raising walk in the oncoming lane and cops had stopped the traffic. There it was, with the view of the swirling dark water, not muddy here, with all its hopefulness of motion, its bold ride to the gulf, past and bridges spanning it and the big bluffs. None of the walkers appeared to acknowledge its glory. They seemed to be discussing fundraising. But I was star struck.

The sign marking the continental divide is a quiet affirmation of progress. The land gave way from intense cropping and occasional livestock to big herds of black cows, some mega flocks of sheep and miles of blooming sunflowers, a startling crop to see full frontal. I have never made a secret of my enthusiasm for the prairies. I have a favoured painting in my office—a prairie landscape, a field of blooming flax. Yesterday, I rounded a bend in I94 and there was the flax field, cool, blue and waving gently in the light wind. I took a picture with my phone that cannot possibly do its beauty justice. But maybe you can get the idea.





I pulled into Joni Swanke’s to a trio of dog enthusiasts thrashing out basics with some youngsters. Shannon Fritz, and Jan Stebbins. I turned loose Feist for a little entertainment.

The dogs were free and relaxed and we happy houred it, and had a great dinner that included tomatoes, surreptitiously entering the United States, from my own garden.

This morning we got twenty fresh rambouillet lambs for some high powered dog running.

Two great things today. The Chicago skyline was a wonderful inspiration. What a great looking city, buzzing next to the big lake. I suppose it needs the bumper to bumper traffic to support the inspired skyline.The guys at home got a wolf. They sent a picture of it. That’ll make me and the guard dogs happy. If they could just get fifteen more maybe the slaughter would end.

Lots of driving but the sky is getting bigger. First stop for me is chez Joni Swanke.