Wheet-Wheet-Wheet.

You know those people who get into weird things like excessive yard sale-ing, dog shows, or State Fair competitions? The kind who pack up their lives in RVs the size of a mudroom and hit the road for months at a time? They travel here and there; stickers plastered on the back, an iconic time line of their travels. Don't get me wrong. If I had the Winnebago (Airstreem) for it, I'd be first on the groupie list to travel alongside Ben Harper and his Innocent Criminals this Fall. Sure enough! (Josh and Linds would be in, too, right guys?) But Saturday, I found myself with a more rare crowd. A crowd I didn't even know existed. Sheep, ducks, shepherds, Navajos, and dogs. Before you conjure up some sort of questionable Old McDonald-Meets-Chief Nibbling-Rabbit tale, I'll enlighten you. Dear readers, read on...

Saturday morning I awoke to find out that Mom had planned an outing (a what?!) To Heber! To Heber! To see the sheepdogs! (The who?!) She had thumbed through the morning paper and learned that the World's Premier Sheepdog Championship was taking place only minutes from our Salt Lake Foothills, at Soldier Hollow in Midway, Utah. And, we...were going. And why not?! Sheepdogs: I love sheepdogs. (Who doesn't, right? Can I get a "whoof-whoof?")

The only thing that made this outing easier on the tum-tum (I wasn't happy about missing the pool party with Anna and Hill) was the idea that we'd get to meet the Rhondeaus up there in Sheepdog Heaven.

After battling the traffic for Swiss Days, Rich, Mom, Dad and I marched through the gates, under the flags, and up the paved hill towards the arena - a large fenced-off mountain-of-a-course, with evergreens and other indigenous trees and shrubs, and hundreds of people - very quiet people - all eyes on...um...I couldn't quite tell. I was more interested in spotting E & O rather than a sheep or a dog.

It wasn't long before we noticed Steve and his red hat, motioning us towards a smaller venue, explaining, "The duck herding is over here. It's hilarious." Yes, yes. You read right. The herding of ducks... a subject for a post all its own, naturally. Unnaturally, that is.


After lots of "quack-quack-quack!"ings and some rather odd moments of my life I'll never get back nor ever be able to explain (poor ducks) we headed back over to quote-un-quote run with the big dogs. It took a few minutes of watching and reading (the big screen: full of all sorts of stats, including the shepard's name, the sheepdog's name, hometown, and the current leaders of the pack, and the program -the Rhondeaus were kind to let us share theirs. My dad didn't want to fork out the five bucks. I think if he were to go again, he'd purchase for sure...especially if the proceeds went towards, let's say...the ducks - I felt like I had a paw-full of knowledge about sheepdogs and the challenge at hand.

Dog and shepherd would enter the course, front and center. The crowd would give man and his best friend a warm welcome, some coming from places as far away as Sweden, South Africa, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, Holland...(the list continues) and then the game would begin. At the sound of a whistle, blown by the shepherd, each sheepdog had 13 minutes to run (dash - these guys were fast!) up the hill (mountain) 'round up five sheep (some of the dumber animals, we quickly decided. Can I get a "bleat! bleat?!") get the sheep to hustle (a word not synonymous with sheep) down the mountain, through three sets of posts (hundreds of yards apart) and back down to center stage, where, right in front of the judge (and the hundreds of very quiet fans. Seriously. SO quiet. This woman's baby started to cry and I thought she was going to roll that stroller right down into the arena. And if she didn't, there were about fifteen major sheepdog fans, all their beady eyes on New-Mom, who would have) that little dawgie had to get all five sheep in the ring, then somehow, and this still has me baffled, get two of the ewe(s?) to step out of the ring. This is called "shedding," if my memory serves me right. (E, correct me if I'm wrong). Then, Lassie, and his lamba-rambas had to "Come Home." Getting all five sheep into the final pen proved to be quite difficult, as no dog we witnessed was able to succeed. Sheep may be dumb, but at least they're loyal. Either that or they're chicken. (No, not actual chicken). They play sort of a "I'm-not-goin'-in-unless-you're-goin'-in" kind of ring-around-the-doggie that is quite frustrating for both sheepdog and shepherd.

A note on the whistling. There was a whole section in the program on whistle translation. If the shepherd gave a "Wheet-Wheet-Wheet" (that's how it was written out in the program) it meant, "lie down," which, if you're talking 'herd, means the dog crouches long and low (you yogies, think downdog, without all the relaxing. Namaste.) and he waits for the sheep to yield. "Wheet-Whoo-Wheet-Wheet," (long, short, long, long) translates to "That'll do." (Pig).

Perhaps now you can understand at least part of my fascination: You take a sheepdog, put it on a course it's never seen, with wild sheep who've haven't spent a minute of their fuzzy little lives around anything close to a canine, and that sheepdog can tame the wild beasts, all by command of a whistle?! Amazing, if you ask me. And the dog from Sweden, "Mist," I mean...not only did she have to adjust to the altitude, she had to translate "Wheet-Wheet-Wheet" from Swedish, cold turkey! These are incredible animals, my friends.

Ask me what I did last weekend. Well, I'll tell you one thing. I sure was sad Monday morning, the day of the championships, when I found myself shopping for furniture with my aunt rather than on the edge of my seat while Molly (the sheepdog), daughter of Britt, grand-daughter of Virginia (I'm serious. All this family tree info was in the program and is therefore taken into consideration by judges, etc.) separated the She-dogs from the He-dogs as she saw her name in lights up there on the big screen at the Soldier Hollow Classic. At least I was doing some sort of genealogy. Thanks, Aunt Karen! That furniture is going to be fab. I give it "Two 'Yips!' and a 'Woof!'"
(Bless the soul who made this clip! I can't wait for Spring '08!)