Sunday, I went to a friend’s farm to work my dog Poe. We were working a bunch of lambs in a large field with a very strong draw back to the barn area.

Poe is a strong confident pushy dog. When he walks on the field the sheep all come to attention. The upside to that confidence and push is that he can mentally handle difficult situations without batting an eyelash. The downside is that he can be drawn into the sheep, getting closer and closer and rattling the sheep more and more. His chosen mode of dealing with things is to move in closer and apply more pressure. In daily chores and elsewhere we have been working on releasing the pressure that Poe puts on the sheep.

My previous dog had less confidence and push but read sheep extremely well. People used to say “he is nice to his sheep.” Because he couldn’t confront sheep, he often used release of pressure on the sheep to get them to move. If a sheep was flustered and turned to face him, he would take his gaze off the sheep for an instant. The sheep would feel comfortable and turn without confrontation. So, I learned well from him how sometimes less is more.

After some work, I sent Poe out on an outrun to gather the 15 lambs. Suddenly one left the group and tried to head back to the larger flock. I flanked Poe to go catch it. He stopped it a  hundred feet from the rest of the group who were now standing in a huddle close to me. Usually a lamb would go skittering back to the group. But this lamb decided to turn and face the dog.

People’s  (and certainly Poe’s) inclination in situations like these often is to put more pressure on the lamb so that it turns and runs back to the group. We tend think of the sheep as being belligerent instead of as an animal that doesn’t want to turn its back on a predator. But Jura, my previous dog, taught me well that releasing pressure can achieve the same or better results without the drama. Increasing conflict doesn’t always improve outcome.

So, instead of asking Poe to walk into the sheep, something he would have been happy to do, I asked him to lie down. The sheep was still transfixed. I flanked Poe a little into the draw that the lamb felt toward the barn and lay him down. We waited. The lamb was still transfixed. I asked him again for a tiny flank and a lie down. Lamb still stood facing the dog. Tiny flanks weren’t going to do it with this lamb. I quietly reminded Poe that the next flank I wanted would be bigger but it had to be square and he needed to move well out from the lamb (we have  a code word 🙂 ). . And I flanked him once again into the space between the lamb and the barn. Bless his willing heart, he made a bigger flank, taking the pressure off the lamb and I put him in a down. The lamb turned, hesitated and then trotted back to the group. I held Poe in the lie down to give the lamb the opportunity to commit to the course. And then asked Poe to quietly walk up behind the lamb, bringing him back to the group. The lamb needed to have the pressure off when it did the “right” thing. And Poe needed to have the reward of “having his sheep” for having done his flank and stop so brilliantly.

I didn’t train Poe. His marvelous ability to do exactly as I asked is the product of someone else’s training. But his increasing ability to use “less pressure is more” as he matures and gets miles on him, is something that he and I are developing. I saw light bulbs going off. Sometimes a dog needs a lot of push. Sometimes a dog needs a gentle touch. Having a variety of tools in one’s toolbox is always good. Poe is learning to put a “Back off and let the sheep relax” tool in his toolbox. Reducing conflict may not be dramatic but it is better stockmanship. 

If there ever was a time when I wish I had a video it was Sunday. Poe and I have developed a relationship where he thinks I can offer good advice in situations like these. He is willing to go against his inclinations  because I might be right. Sunday, I was right. It was a beautiful work of partnership and willingness on both our parts to work with each other.

Poe and my younger self (still today at times) are a lot alike. When I get passionate about something, I can push and push and push. I can back someone into a corner and essentially feed the confrontation rather than dissipate it. And I sometimes forgot my own intensity. Patience and waiting it out are not our strong suit. But we are both learning that sometimes stopping, thinking, and removing the threat can get us what we want. On another day, in another place, we will need that grit and push. But Sunday we stepped outside our natural inclinations and were heavily rewarded for our efforts.

On a farm, January 1st seems like an odd day to be thinking about endings and beginnings.

Looking forward, back and every direction at the start of the year after a muddy, wet and messy year.

November is breeding time – when it feels like the cycle of the farm is starting again. It always has a feel of new beginnings to me. All that hope of what might be in the spring. All that promise of new life.

This coming year, April is when lambs will arrive – the sure sign of new life and beginnings. So it too could be a beginning, though it never feels like an end.

Heavy snow, putting sheep in the barnyard and ending any grazing and herding dog training, usually descends in mid-December. This year it tried to come in November and we have sputtered along with days of ice and snow and rain and thaw and grazing and not grazing, training and not training. There has been no clear end. Poe and Breton are happy for the extra time to work sheep. The Maremmas are glad to be out cruising their pastures. But there is no rhythm to the weeks – each day is a decision about the conditions. No marker to say “we are done for the year.”

Another new beginning is the day that the pastures have grown enough to let the sheep out to graze again. It is never the same day but here in southwest New Hampshire it arrives sometime in mid-May. But not long after, when hay arrives mid and late summer it is a portent of that grazing’s end.

The winter solstice seems like a likely candidate for a farmer’s beginning again. More and more light each day. While it is true that pasture based livestock farming is really grass farming (and thus that light is critical to our mission), the subtle increase in light each day doesn’t excite me as much as it might a vegetable farmer. My animals never fully sleep, as their garden rows and greenhouses do. December 21st and March 21st look pretty much the same in terms of my daily tasks.

And today is like any other day of the last several. We decide if the sheep can go out on pasture. No. The overnight weather makes the pastures treacherously slippery. We feed the sheep, the dogs, the cats, the ducks. The Border Collies romp in soggy fields. But today there is too much ice to train. I look again at some of the hooves of sheep that were affected by our rainy year. I am feeding first cut hay which the sheep don’t like because many folks never got the second crop in. This affects many of my winter chores. It is clear the repercussions of last year’s wet have not completely disappeared. 2019 will be visited by the problems of 2018. Perhaps I will have them well contained and not problematic but still affected and requiring a new vigilance. And so there is no end. Nor is there a fresh slate from which to start again.

It doesn’t work that way on a farm.

It doesn’t feel like a “new year” to me today. We humans put such arbitrary labels on the universe. Fortunately and unfortunately, nature doesn’t yet comply to our demands for such order and structure. In the city perhaps you can believe that the clock starts over. But here, not so much.

I’ll be honest. I want a big snowstorm to come and force an end to 2018. Flash freeze it all and let me stop worrying – 2018 has been a year of worry like no other for me – just for a few days. A good snowstorm would give me time to breathe, even if I spend hours plowing on top the big orange beast that is the tractor. When the snow comes, blanketing us in silence, bringing an end to our endless wet, my New Year will begin.

I am actually hopeful that we can come together and make things better this year. But it won’t be like flipping a switch and ridding ourselves of 2018. It will be like my farm. 2019 will be visited by the problems of 2018. They will require a new vigilance. And there is no end. Nor is there a fresh slate from which to start again. But I can’t imagine just stopping for longer than a snowstorm to catch my breath. Carry on.

May all of you have a New Year graced with hope and new possibilities.