So when we are grilled I assure them that Gibson was chosen and purchased from a reputable and knowledgeable breeder. That I had been a member of the local shepherding club for three years and have volunteered at trials and visited workshops. I told them I had land and livestock, and that this would not be a dog tied to a post or fattened on the couch. And yet even after I tell them this I still get a cold stare when they hear this is my first pup. No one who loves these dogs for what they are wants them to fall into the wrong hands. I understand. I myself was the wrong hands for a Border Collie once, and while it all worked out in the end for human and dog: I understand the mistakes of acting with impulse around loaded guns.
I don't think every border collie needs a trio of sheep and a mountain-top view. I know many friends and folks with pet herding dogs that live happy, active, and busy lives. I think it's more about matching wits than lifestyles. I'd rather see a border collie pup with a marathon runner who works at a home office in the middle of Philadelphia than on a farm where he has nothing to do all day but wear a ditch along a fence line. I am not a canine expert, but that is my stance. As someone who has trained previous dogs to AKC obedience titles, passed several CGC tests, and did therapy work with her old Golden. I know dogs enough to understand how not to ruin them for the world. I like the idea of that urban marathon team.
Gibson and I are doing well. He has grown into a lanky pup, 5-months-old and 36 pounds already. We work on basic obedience and socialization. Training together when he's seeming the most willing to please, never pushing lessons when he's too tired or too wound to focus. Yesterday we were at Gardenworks in Salem and he lay down beside me as I shopped for some beef and pondered cheesecake from New Skete. (I ended up not getting the cake, as I am still running every day and it seemed counter-productive.) He was well behaved, if still a puppy. No barking or fuss, and would sit still between jumping up and wagging at other customers. I'm grateful places like the farmer's market and Gardenworks welcome dogs. The training opportunities are wonderful. We travel, and train, and play together much. I can not wait till the season turns some more and we're driving to our first herding lessons. I hope he wants to work sheep as much as I do.
Hints of instinct come out of Gibson from time to time. When he spots one of the meat rabbits his body turns instantly into a stalker. His tail goes down below his back, his head lowers, and his eyes stare unblinking in a way that could cut the grass if he darted his eyes fast enough. He moves deliberately. His whole body quivers. All he wants to do is chase, but the look of a trained herding dog is there. The desire to control and stalk is there. I hold the end of his leash and watch him. Before he has the chance to bolt I call him back to me, "That'll do, Gibson" I say and lead him back inside. His brown eyes keep looking at the rabbit, like a toddler being pulled away from the candy rack. I tell him he'll run like thunder across a pasture someday, just as strong and dark. It's just not his time.