Free Kizzy Ann Stamps by Jeri Watts

has a tidy little house, I’ll say that for him. At least it looks tidy from outside. Of course, I didn’t go in.
    Chopped wood stacked near the door, but not too close (no varmints crawling from the wood into the house). Chopping block and ax with covered blade neatly located near the stack. A shed nearby with bridles, reins, chains, and whatnot hung in an order clear to the person hanging them, every one in a particular spot. Shadows around the tools and bridles — they are hung up, or folded and hung up, the same way every time.
    He sure doesn’t take that much care with his hair.
    He was sitting in one lone lawn chair, like he knew I’d be coming. I deliberately hadn’t said when I’d be by, had deliberately avoided a time when I thought he might be available. I wanted to miss him. I wanted him to be making repairs to an old fence or taking goods to market.
    But he was there. Waiting.
    Shag went to him straightaway, and that surprised me. She has never gone to anyone right away but for me. I know I sound jealous, but I’m not.
    He passed his hands over her. He looked like a judge at a dog show, I thought, or at least how I imagine they look. Checking out her hip sockets, opening her mouth to inspect her teeth. “She has good conformation,” I said.
    His head snapped up so he looked me in the eye. “Och, girl, you one of those dog-show nuts?”
    I had to admit I didn’t know anything about dog shows, or at least not much.
    He went back to his examination of Shag. “I don’t hold with the dog-show crowd myself. It’s all fine for a dog to look pretty and such, but the biggest thing is how a dog works. Dogs aren’t toys. They’re partners. Don’t let ’em work, you’re taking the heart out of ’em. She’s a good worker, I imagine.” He held still then, cradling Shag’s head between his beefy hands and gazing into her eyes.
    “She helps me with our milk cows.”
    “You’ve not trained her, then.”
    I touched my leg, and Shag stood beside me again. “She helps with the cattle, I said. She comes when I want. She works.”
    “If you trained her, she’d do more than help. She’d think as you, knowing what needs doing by the shift of your head or the simple saying of a command.” He stood up and let his hands fall to his side. “You can teach her. I will help. Every border collie ought to be trained — it makes them feel useful and satisfied.”
    I rubbed Shag’s ear. “I don’t have any money for training. Besides, she works. I’m sure she’s satisfied.”
    He raised those woolly eyebrows. “Does she herd?”
    “Oh, yes,” I told him. “She herds our cows some, chickens, my family . . . sometimes she even tries to herd leaves, but they don’t listen.”
    “Sometimes”— he kept his eyes on Shag —“dogs like her show their frustration by working everything. She’s a bright one, I can tell, and training her will help her keep her control.”
    “It’s wrong to herd?”
    “No, no. It’s just that it can be a signal that they aren’t getting to use all their abilities, that they’re frustrated. In city dogs, they might show it with tearing up furniture, but for a country dog, it can be indiscriminate herding.”
    Now, I have to tell you, Miss Anderson, I just loved that new word,
indiscriminate,
but this was Shag we were talking about, so I focused back on what he was telling me. What he said made some sense, and I nodded my head. That’s when I realized I’d just committed us, Shag and me, to working with this strange man. I still feel a bit nervous about it, but he did something that I believe sealed the deal. After I nodded, he whistled once, and when Shag followed, he put her in a pen with sheep and stood beside her. It wasn’t like he just turned her loose — he supported her the first time she was with sheep. That felt right. It’s what I would have done. So maybe this will be good after all.
    I’m telling myself that, anyway.

    I’m sure you’ve noticed how