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.
