Gunns & Roses

by Karen Kelly

  Watching ahead of them to make sure they weren’t steered off course by the crowds, Ian noticed Emily’s new idol just ahead of them. “Em, Kyla’s right up there.” He pointed her out. “Why don’t you go talk to her?”

  Emily followed the mayor’s signal and hope sprang into her eyes. Once again Peggy dug the Highland Games brochure out of her bag. “Here, Em. Maybe she’ll autograph it for you.” She handed it to her with a pen. The little family quickened their pace to catch up with the lithe dancer.

  When they got close, Wally called for the girl’s attention. “Excuse me, Miss Bell.”

  Kyla was still wearing her sky-blue kilt, but had changed into a pair of canvas shoes. Her black dance shoes hung around her neck, the shoelaces tied together. Her light brown hair was still pinned up in the style she had worn for the competition. Kyla’s head turned as she looked for who had addressed her. Wally nudged his daughter’s arm and whispered, “Go ahead, Em!”

  The floodgates opened. “I loved your dancing! I’ve never seen anyone dance like that. How did you learn all those steps and leaps? How many years have you been dancing?” Emily took a deep breath as if to fuel many more words but suddenly stopped, as if overwhelmed.

  The object of the gushing broke into a wide smile. “Oh, thank you! What’s your name?”

  “Emily.”

  Kyla held out her hand. Instead of shaking it, Emily placed the brochure and pen in it. “Would you give me your autograph?”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” Kyla replied, opening the pen. “I’ve been dancing since I was five, and I learned the Seann Truibhas by practicing it over and over and over until I was dancing it in my sleep. I still need lots more years of work to perfect it, but I worked hard enough to make Premier level before I turned ten.”

  “I started when I was five too!” Emily exclaimed.

  Kyla wrote on the brochure: “To Emily, my sister in dance. Kyla Bell.” She handed the pen and brochure back to her. “I hope I’ll get to watch you dance here soon, Emily. I have to run now; my uncle and his dogs are in the sheepdog finals. I don’t want to miss their run.”

  “We’re going there too!” Emily told her.

  Kyla smiled at the group gathered around. “I’d love to sit with Emily during the finals. May I join you?”

  Emily and Kyla looked toward Peggy and Wally, waiting for their response.

  “We’d be glad to have you with us, Kyla,” said Peggy. With a wink toward Annie she added, “Maybe you can help us find a good, safe place to watch from.”

  “Oh! I know a couple of places where the view is just right,” said Kyla.

  As the group from Stony Point followed Kyla through the press of people, Emily’s face was brighter than the summer day.

  11

  As the group approached the large field, which was cordoned off with portable orange fencing for the sheepdog trials, Kyla steered them to a knoll located behind the mid-field point. “This is where I like to watch. From here, you can see all the obstacles.” She pointed to an opening in the barrier to their left, a pen of sheep filling its gap. “They’ll start over there where they release the sheep, and then the dogs have to drive the sheep through each of the gates and posts. They get a point for each sheep that goes through each obstacle.”

  Kyla moved her hand over toward the right. “When all the sheep are herded into the pen over there, and the gate is closed by the dog’s master, the time will be marked. If it’s more than twelve minutes, the team is disqualified. That’s called ‘timing out.’”

  “Do many teams time out?” asked Ian. The competition field was on the other side of the fairgrounds from the falconers’ trailer, but his eyes still moved from field to sky sporadically.

  “It happens more often in the single-dog category,” answered Kyla. “Sheepherding is a lot more tricky with just one dog. It doesn’t take much to scatter sheep, but that’s what makes it fun to watch. You never know what they might do!”

  Peggy straightened her quilt out on the grass. “What category is your uncle in?”

  Kyla smiled. “He’s in the single-dog group. He used to do both single- and two-dog, but he says he likes the challenge of single-dog best. His dog is the smartest border collie ever.” She looked over at her new friend. “Wait until you see him, Emily.”

  Peggy finished preparing the quilt, and Emily flopped down on it, patting the space next to her. “Here, Kyla, sit with us!” Once her new friend sat, taking the dance shoes she had tied together to hang around her neck and placing them beside her, Emily asked, “Do you know why they’re called border collies?”

  Kyla smoothed the fabric of her kilt over her knees. “When you have family with a sheep farm and dogs, get to know border collies pretty well—but there are a lot of ideas about where the name ‘collie’ came from. One thing I do know—because my uncle told me—the sheep industry of the areas near the border between Scotland and England grew and grew. So about a hundred years ago, they gave the collies that made it possible their own name—border collies.”

  “Now that’s something I didn’t know,” said Alice. “Em—I used to wonder about that too. I thought at first it might have something to do with their markings, but then I realized they didn’t make a border. I never took the time to find out the real story.” Movement at the end of the field where the starting gate was located caught her attention. “Oh, are they starting?”

  A kilted announcer walked far enough onto the field for the crowd to see him. “Lassies and lads, the first final of the Sheepdog Trials will be Single-Dog Herding. Using just their voice and staff, the shepherds must direct their dog to move five sheep through the gates to the pen on the far side. Our judge for the day is Scottie Shaw. Will the first competitor please take your place!” The announcer retreated, and the judge strode onto the field.

  Annie chuckled when she saw the man’s clothing. “I’m guessing Scottie won’t be participating in the Bonnie Knees competition.” Though the man was wearing a kilt, he was wearing it over a pair of khaki pants. He also wore a wide, brimmed hat.

  Wally harrumphed. “That’s the only way I’d wear a kilt too.”

  “Maybe the judge is sensitive to the sun,” Ian suggested. “A fair amount of people are having to watch out for sun exposure these days, either because of medication they’re taking, skin cancer, or just because their skin burns easily.”

  Annie sobered. “I hadn’t thought of that, Ian. You have a very good point.”

  Kyla shyly entered the discussion among the adults. “Mr. Shaw has judged at the Games since before I was born. He started wearing pants with his kilt when I was just starting to dance. Mom said he had a knee replaced and has been wearing the pants ever since. She used to tease him about being vain, but it made him turn red, so she stopped.”

  “Red in embarrassment or anger?” Peggy’s question came out in a rush, as though she couldn’t resist the question.

  Kyla half-smiled. “Maybe both? But I like Mr. Shaw. He always asks about my dancing and comes to watch when he can. Today, our competitions were too close together for him to come.” She kept her eyes on the area where the shepherds positioned themselves at the start of each run. “Watch him while the sheep are out. He’s a great judge and knows everything about sheep and training dogs.”

  As the first shepherd, a woman in jeans and light denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves, took her place, Annie watched the judge. Had he known her grandfather? Shaw was not one of the clans that used the juniper for its badge. Was he perhaps related to one of the families that did? If he’d been judging at the Games for so many years, maybe he would know something about the sporran or ferrules. Should she try to talk to him after the finals? Glancing at Ian and thinking of the concerns he had voiced, Annie was no longer as eager to share the photos of the items, as she had been when they first arrived at the Games. Something told her to wait and watch.

  There was plenty to watch. The woman held a staff in one hand, and a whistle was in her mouth. Her border coll
ie stood beside her, alert and waiting for her first command. Once the volunteers released the black-faced sheep, the shepherd sounded two short whistles. Instantly, the dog moved toward the sheep. As he neared the sheep, another whistle came—wheet-weeeo. In response, the dog began to move clockwise around the sheep until he was behind his charges, and the sheep began to move toward the first obstacle.

  When the sheep approached the targeted gate, there came another whistle command: hee-hee-hee-hee. The collie immediately slowed down to prevent the sheep from missing the gate.

  Ian released a low whistle himself. “Wow! That is one well-trained dog!”

  Kyla turned toward the mayor. “Mrs. Grant’s been training dogs for a long time. She breeds border collies, and she can read a pup like a book. Uncle Leathan always says she’s his stiffest competition.”

  One of the sheep broke free from the others and started back toward the holding pen. Who-hee-who sounded from Mrs. Grant’s whistle.

  “That whistle signals Haggis to turn around and bring the stray sheep back to the group,” Kyla informed the others.

  A short laugh escaped Alice’s mouth. “Haggis is his name? Poor doggie!” She paused, watching as the dog wheeled around to gather the wandering sheep. “Doesn’t seem to bother him, though. Look at how he’s fast but smooth, so the sheep don’t startle.”

  Ian was staring at Haggis in sheer admiration. “I wonder if I should get a border collie to keep Tartan in line.”

  “Is Tartan a sheep?” asked Kyla, no longer shy. One slender hand felt around her bun of hair while she talked, checking the pins and making adjustments where needed.

  Emily giggled. “Tartan is Mr. Mayor’s dog.” She leaned close to her new friend and whispered. “Sometimes Tartan doesn’t listen when they’re on the beach, and he runs off over the rocks or chases the birds. And one time Tartan got his leash loose and walked right into The Cup & Saucer when Mr. Mayor was eating lunch!”

  Kyla covered her mouth and tried to hold in a laugh.

  “It’s all right, Kyla,” said Ian. “Everyone in the diner laughed, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t too.” A rueful grin spread across his face. “I could definitely use some pointers from Mrs. Grant or your uncle. Tartan’s a great dog, but his obedience is spotty, at best.”

  “What breed is Tartan?” the young girl asked.

  “He’s a standard schnauzer,” answered Ian, “and quite a character. I try to make sure he gets enough exercise and social time, but sometimes my job does get in the way. That’s when he tends to get mischievous.”

  A burst of applause and cheers brought the group’s attention back to the field, where Haggis was herding the last of the five sheep through the final gate and into the pen.

  “That was quick!” Kyla gasped. “Uncle and Clyth are really going to have to move it to beat them!” Her eyes moved to the opposite side of the field to try and see the identity of the next competitor. When a man with a dark green kilt and short, precisely trimmed blond hair approached the starting post, she relaxed. “That’s not Uncle Leath. I think he’s new. I don’t recognize him or his dog.”

  It was clear from the first whistled command that both shepherd and border collie were not as accustomed to the timed competition. Compared to Mrs. Grant, the whistles were more tentative, and the dog’s response less precise, which led to much good-natured laughter from the audience as sheep darted this way and that.

  Annie covered her eyes for a minute. “I don’t know if I can bear to watch. I feel so sorry for the shepherd!”

  Ian placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s just getting the bad run out of his system. People usually learn more from their mistakes than from their shining moments.” He paused, thinking. “When you first started crocheting—and each time since then when you try a new technique—don’t you gain more from those messy first tries?”

  Annie widened her hands enough to peak at Ian. “Well, yes. But I didn’t have to parade those messy starts in front of hundreds of people.” She winced at the thought.

  “Fair enough,” admitted Ian. He gave a quick laugh. “Here’s another example, one Alice might even remember.” He turned to their auburn-haired friend. “Do you recall my first speech when I ran for mayor the first time?”

  Alice’s mouth pursed, and she blew out a long breath. “Do I!” She turned to Annie. “You think this is painful? It’s nothing compared to Ian’s crash and burn. He had us all so confused.”

  “She’s not exaggerating,” Ian ruefully admitted. “I was so nervous I mixed up my note cards right before the speech. To this day I don’t actually know what I said, and I’m OK with that. Nothing I experienced in the Navy prepared me for campaign speeches.” He slowly shook his head, lost in the embarrassing memory. “But I never made the same mistake again. And I learned how to be a clear public speaker.”

  Annie’s hands dropped away from her face. “Although I’m having a hard time picturing you in that state, I’ll take your word on it. You’re an excellent speaker now.” She dared to take a look at what was happening on the field. “I just realized … they made it into the finals, so they actually did very well for their first year, didn’t they?”

  “That’s right!” Kyla’s face brightened. “Their first run must have been much better than this one. Newbies almost never make the finals. I wonder if something happened in between the runs to throw the dog off.”

  Annie glanced around at her friends. “I’d imagine there’s all sorts of things that can happen at such a large event as this.” She smiled into Ian’s eyes. “Thank you, Ian, for sharing your story. It has given me a whole new perspective.”

  Ian bowed slightly, and he made an attempt at a Southern drawl. “My pleasure, Ma’am.”

  Alice winced. “Oh, Ian. Don’t try a drawl again until Annie’s given you some private lessons.”

  The clapping of the audience eclipsed the laughter of the group, as the green-kilted shepherd shut the gate of the pen behind the last sheep. Wiping his face with a melodramatic flourish, he bowed to the crowd and received an appreciative response. The Stony Point folks and their young friend clapped and whistled enthusiastically.

  “In a few years, your uncle might have another challenger to watch out for,” Peggy said as she clapped.

  Kyla bobbed her head in agreement. “Uncle Leath likes competition. He says it benefits the breed too.” She turned her head to see which shepherd was coming next and bounced up onto her knees. “My uncle is next!”

  She and Emily jumped up and pressed close to the barrier. “Come on, Clyth! Move those sheep!” Kyla yelled. The broad-shouldered man now standing by the starting post looked over toward the group and tipped his hat in acknowledgement. “Clyth is Uncle Leath’s collie,” Kyla explained.

  Emily kept jumping as the sheep were released and the shepherding began. The rest of the group silently watched the movement of dog and sheep. By now they understood the meaning of most of the whistles they heard. Wheet-wheeo-wheet-wheet for “move away from the sheep” and whee-who for “go counterclockwise around the sheep,” although Leath used the common short vocal commands of “Get out!” and “Way to me!”

  At one point two sheep began to stray from the others, but Clyth responded to Leath’s “Look back!” and who-hee-who with such speed they only had time to move a couple steps away before being herded into the small flock and onward to the next gate.

  “It’s going to be close,” Kyla said as the sheep neared the pen.

  Clyth moved the sheep through the final gate and into the pen, lowering himself to the ground at his owner’s hee-hee-hee-hee and “That’ll do!” The man confidently swung the pen gate shut, and the crowd jumped to its feet, whistling and applauding.

  As the judge was conferring with the timekeeper, Annie gazed at Kyla’s uncle. Noticing he wore a sporran, she looked around until she located an older gentleman with a sporting scope. Her friends watched as she slipped through the spectators to where the man stood. In short order, all the St
ony Point adults saw her speak to him and then lean over to peer into the scope. When she straightened again, she shook the man’s hand in thanks and hurried back to the group. Glancing over at Kyla to make sure she and Emily were occupied, she whispered her find first to Ian and then her other friends. Kyla’s Uncle Leath was wearing a sporran with a cantle extremely similar, if not identical, to the one Annie had found in her attic.

  After several more runs, the announcer and Scottie Shaw moved to the center of the field to declare the winner. “This year’s final was a heart-stopper,” the announcer began. “Scottie agrees this year’s competition is indicative of how strong border collie breeding and training is in New England.” The crowd applauded but showed its impatience.

  “But enough gabbing,” the man continued on cue. “Our second fastest time was achieved by Patrice Grant.” He paused as the crowd reacted with cheering. “And our winner, for the second year in a row, is Leathan Gunn.”

  Kyla threw her hands over her head in triumph and danced a happy quick step, Emily trying her best to follow her. Leathan strode out to the center to accept the prize and to shake hands with the judge, Clyth obediently at his side.

  “Come on,” Kyla told her new friends. “I’ll introduce you to Uncle Leath, and to Clyth.” Eager to talk to the man wearing the sporran with the juniper cantle, the adults followed Kyla and Emily as they ducked under the barrier.

  “Uncle Leath!” Kyla called once they were within hearing range. The man paused in his steps as he was walking off the field and turned toward his niece, holding out his arms. The girl launched herself into his arms, and he twirled her around.

  “How did the Seann Triubhas go?” he asked as he set her feet back on the ground.

  “Well enough to win,” Kyla answered, her face flushed.

  Emily interrupted the family moment. “Kyla was beautiful! I’ve never seen anyone dance like her!”

  Leathan’s dark eyes moved over to Emily. “And who might you be? You obviously know a little something about dance.”