Whelped October 27, 1984
WOOLGATHER JESS
Above, left, Woolgather Jess. Above, right, Jess with her mother, Jute,
shortly after having puppies of her own and blowing her coat.
WOOLGATHER MAIZE
WOOLGATHER WIZARD
WOOLGATHER RUBY
RUBY AND THE BROKEN CLOCK
by H. W. Scott
(This story first appeared in The Shepherd Dogge magazine, Summer 1988.
It is based, more or less, on a true story.)
When Ruby had been gone for six months, we went to Northern Vermont to visit her. She had been the last of the litter to go and, well, we missed her.
We arrived at the dairy farm mid-morning and found it very quiet. Across the road from the house the cows lounged along the fence placidly chewing their cuds. We knocked on the door but no one answered. We went around and checked out all the barns, but couldn't find a soul. Ruby's brother, Moss, wanted to round up the cows and interrogate them--he always has been rather impetuous. But his mother, Jute, more practical, went and knocked on the door again, and this time it was answered, by an old man.
It was Mr. Jean LeFranc, Ruby's owner. I introduced us: "We have come to see Ruby. This is her mother, Watermoon Jute; her brother, Woolgather Moss; and I am the, uh, patriach of the family, Highland's Willy Scott." The subtleties were lost on him--he spoke little English and was very hard of hearing. But with shouting and gesticulation we were able to make ourselves understood.
"How is Ruby doing?" I asked.
"Good, good," he answered, "but her clock's all wrong."
"Her clock's all wrong?" I said, puzzled.
He groped for words. "She brings the cows in in the morning, she brings the cows in in the afternoon, and she brings the cows in in the evening."
"Oh!" I said, enlightened. "Ruby is just keen to work," I told him. "She'll have to learn when the time is appropriate to bring in the cows. May we see her?"
He began to call, "Ru-bee! Ru-bee!"
We saw from very far away a red speck coming toward us. It resolved itself into a red streak, and then a red and white Border Collie, who, when she came opposite the cows, swung around smartly to face them and clapped down flat to the ground. It was a beautiful sight!
Mr. LeFranc called Ruby, but when she saw us she took off again. She did not recognize us and was wary of strangers. Just then, Mr. LeFranc's son, Ronald, and his grandson, Glen, arrived. We introduced ourselves again, and Ronald had nothing but praise for Ruby. In fact, when he saw Jute, he wanted to keep her too!
"Get back in the car, Jute," I told her.
Moss and I went with Ronald to look for Ruby. We found her hiding in a culvert near the hired hand's house. The hired hand's wife came out and called her, and Ruby came out of the culvert. She had turned into a beautiful dog, much like her mother, but a lighter shade of red, with almost no white save a narrow blaze on her face, white chest and forelegs, and a tiny white tip to her tail. It seemed she had her mother's personality, too, because when Moss bounced over to greet her she showed him a big smile full of teeth.
The hired hand's wife then told us that Ruby was a heroine! Two weeks before, her husband had surprised a newly freshened cow with newborn calf at her side. The cow had knocked the hired hand down, pinning him to the ground with her head. Unable to move, he called for help, and Ruby, just ten months old, rushed in and drove the cow away, saving his life. The man was still in the hospital with broken ribs, and everyone was very proud of Ruby. She could do no wrong, despite her defective clock. Ronald beamed at her and lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.
...
A year later we still missed Ruby, and phoned the LeFrancs to see how she was doing. This time we spoke to Mr. LeFranc's grandson, Glen.
'She's great!" he told us. "You know, it's just like watching those dogs on TV to see her work the cows!"
We were very pleased. Ruby may have inherited her mother's good looks and disposition, but she obviously inherited my herding ability. And I guess they had fixed her clock.
This story is copyright 2008 and may not be used without written permission.
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