Mr. and Mrs. Dog: Our Travels, Trials, Adventures, and Epiphanies

Hafod Bridge

139 HafodBridge L ike other foreign handlers who’d compete at the World Trials, I was desperate to trial on Welsh Mountain Sheep. If practice was necessary, trials were more so. At a sheepdog trial one’s every unexamined presumption, lazy understanding, or ego­gratifying misread­ ing of dog and/or sheep invites swift retribution. Some local trials were within driving distance and there’d be special trials for foreign World Trials competitors before the official World Trials whoop­de­do. My Gilcrug hosts drove me into town where I picked up a replacement rental car. “Do you have a skinnier car?” I asked dismayed. “The Vauxhall’s all we have at the moment.” It was a big car. Although many traditional British pubs were closing their doors, Weth­ erspoon’s, a franchise, was thriving and had free wi­fi. Before I left home I’d been a political junkie, studying polls and attend­ ing to pundits. Over here, I hadn’t watched TV or read papers. Now, reading the online New York Times accounts of political shenanigans, it was hard to give a damn. Distance had lifted a burden I hadn’t known I’d been carrying. Not­ knowing felt wonderful. Those weighty portents, projections, and pundits were rumors blown away by the rain, Welsh Mountain Sheep, and two very muddy sheepdogs. Next morning, I walked the dogs at five thirty and hit the road in my big Vauxhall by six. Welsh roads improved when I was the only driver on them. It had poured all night and was supposed to rain all day, so I was tricked out in rain pants, rain jacket, and wellies. At a Carmarthen petrol 140 mr. and mrs. dog station I bought a cup of wretched coffee from a machine. My GPS got me fairly close and I stopped at the Llanwrda newsagent for directions to Hafod Bridge. The newsagent was plastered with Countryside Alliance posters, urging everyone to “Protect Rural Britain.” The Brits do a better job of countryside protection than we Yanks—who don’t really believe any countryside needs protection unless it has a time share where we can take the kids on vacation. Roads shriveled and bridges were one lane. “Caution!” one sign noted. “Oncoming traffic may be in middle of road.” A paper plate nailed to a fencepost announced “Sheepdog Trial” above an arrow pointing right. The Hafod Bridge trial was in a muddy ten­acre hill pasture. Its ameni­ ties included a khaki WWII snack tent and, to my surprise, two portopots. In 1988 when I first visited the UK, loos at trials were plastic tarps stretched between trees. The entry fee for two dogs, two runs each was six pounds. The national trial is usual in the UK but the Hafod Bridge trial offered an unfamiliar variant: the South Wales trial. Since I’d never run a South Wales, sure, I’d give it a go. According to David Rees, some Welsh shepherds ran at three South Wales trials every Saturday. “They’ll never run a national but they pick up fifty pounds for a day’s work. Not bad, yes?” South Wales outwork is the same as the national. The dog runs out to the sheep and comes around behind without upsetting them (outrun: 20 points; lift: 10 points; fetch: 20 points). The South Wales variant begins as the sheep approach the handler wait­ ing in one quadrant of a Maltese cross (20 points). The cross­arms of the freestanding cross are narrow chutes through which the sheep must walk single file. Sheep bunch for safety and when pressured they hate single file. As the lead sheep passes up the cross­arm, she’ll arrive at the inter­ section where she may turn rather than continuing straight. If she stalls beyond the intersection, the sheep behind her may turn down one side or the other. In a well­executed Maltese, the sheep arrive at the south/north chute, Hafod Bridge 141 enter, and proceed straight through before the dog flanks around left to fetch them to the mouth of the east/west chute, through which they walk, single file as before. After the Maltese is negotiated, the dog brings the sheep to a freestand­ ing chute (10 points) through which they must pass. Although the trial secretary and I had trouble understanding one an­ other’s dialect, I entered both dogs, and Mr...