The Last Run
By Jan Lowing
The weather was just lousy in a real Sheepvention way As the yard dog trialers waited for the last run of the day; Through the rain they saw him in a pose they all knew well, Tense and taut, flat ears askance, Pace waited for the bell. A clang, a wave, and off he goes at a fast extended lope, His cast and lift are just about as good as Pud could hope: A bit of fancy footwork and judicious use of eye, And down the sheep come splashing in a line straight as a die. Past the peg they travel, and over through the gate, One glance at this mean-looking dog and they don ’t hesitate. Pud closes up the first gate with a deft flick of the chain, And this veteran pair is ready to work the yards again. It all looks pretty simple as they box the mobs together And quickly fill the race tight, sheep sodden by the weather; Then Pace comes forward to push them out, a master of this art, And soon he’s standing quietly as they flow up through the draft. The gates all shut, Pud comes across to let the wethers go, A pause to let them steady, then out the gate they flow. Pace casts out and gathers them and by the yards they stay, Until the last gate’s opened for an easy put-away. Back through the rain the three return, John ’s glad that there ’s no more, And the crowd is all expectant, waiting now to hear the score; Mick takes the mike and tells us Pace has scored a ninety-nine, And beaten Sig by one, with Nug another point behind. In years to come we’ll all recall that great run in the rain, When Pace just missed a hundred and Pud beat himself-- again. (Now there’s a rumour on the go, John had a little doze, But he ’d only given one click when his clicker finger froze!)
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