Flash the Sheep Dog

by Kathleen Fidler

All at once they plunged off the road and Tom slipped and fell, dragging Elspeth with him. They were in a sedgy meadow with tussocks of tawny grass rising about them. Tom struggled to his feet and gave a gasp of pain.

  “What’s the matter?” Elspeth cried.

  “I’ve – I’ve twisted my ankle.” It was only with great pain that Tom could take a step, but he knew they must get back to the road. The fog swirled and eddied about them, ever thicker. At last, with a hand on Elspeth’s shoulder, he managed to take a few halting steps.

  “We must be quite near the road,” Elspeth said encouragingly, but even the next few steps did not bring them back on the road again. They both realized the horrid truth at the same time.

  “Tom! We’ve lost the road now. I don’t know which way to turn.”

  “I think we must be heading away from it,” Tom decided.

  They turned and stumbled in the opposite direction but still they did not come to the road. The sound of water came nearer and nearer. The ground began to slope steeply beneath their feet. Of a sudden Tom clutched at Elspeth, holding her back.

  “Wait, Elspeth! Don’t move!”

  For a second, a gap was torn in the swirling mist. There, below them, the river rushed and eddied about its jagged rocks, deep and dark.

  “Oh, Tom! Another few steps and we’d have been in the water!” Elspeth covered her eyes with her hands.

  “It was lucky we stopped when we did,” Tom said soberly.

  They backed away from the water a step or two at a time, climbing the bank till they reached the sedgegrown meadow again. Over the tufts of coarse grass they stumbled, holding on to each other, afraid where yet another false step might plunge them. Sometimes the sound of the river seemed nearer, sometimes further away. At last they seemed to be going uphill and the ground felt harder.

  “Maybe we’re coming to the road at last,” Elspeth said breathlessly, but there was no sign of the road. Instead they almost fell into some broom bushes.

  “I–I can’t go on, Elspeth. My ankle hurts a lot,” Tom had to admit. “This ground seems pretty dry and the grass is short. Let’s rest a bit and try shouting to get help.”

  They sat down by the bushes and began to cry “Help! Help! Come and find us! Help!”

  At Birkhope Mrs Meggetson had watched the mist close round the farm steading. With anxious eyes she peered through the kitchen window as it thickened and blotted out the landscape. Now and again she cast a glance at the clock. When the time came and passed for Tom and Elspeth to return, she went to the door and tried to penetrate the white wool of the fog.

  “John! John!” she cried.

  John Meggetson came from the byre where he had been milking the cows.

  “What’s wrong, lass?”

  “The fog, John! It’s thicker than ever. The bairns have not come back. It’s an hour past their time and there’s no sign of them.”

  John Meggetson looked slightly uneasy but he tried to laugh off his wife’s fears.

  “Maybe they’re just playing in the school yard. You know what bairns are! Perhaps they’ve been kept in for careless work.”

  “On a night like this? Surely not? Mr Donaldson always lets the children away early in bad weather.”

  “We can soon find out about that.” Meggetson strode briskly to the telephone. He dialled the schoolhouse number and Mr Donaldson replied.

  “Were the children away from the school at the usual time, Mr Donaldson? Tom and Elspeth haven’t shown up yet and the wife’s getting a bit anxious as the fog’s thickening.”

  When Mr Donaldson answered John exclaimed urgently, “What’s that you’re telling me? An hour earlier than usual? Then they should have been home nigh on two hours ago. Where can they have got?”

  “What is it, John?” Mrs Meggetson asked in a voice that was sharp with anxiety.

  “Wheesht, lass! Let me hear what Mr Donaldson says.” He listened for a minute, then replied, “Right, Mr Donaldson! I’ll do that. Aye, I’ll bring a torch, for dark’s beginning to fall. You’ll go as far as the crossroads too? Right! I’ll meet you there.” He put down the receiver and turned to his wife. “The children left school an hour earlier because of the fog. I’m going to look for them, lass. Mr Donaldson is going to search along the road from his end too. I’ll take Jeff wi’ me.” He took his stick and made for the door. Suddenly Flash was whimpering at his heels.

  “Take Flash with you!” his wife said. “If anyone can find Tom it will be Flash.”

  Flash gave an eager whine as if he understood.

  “I’ll take them both. Flash can go on the lead and Jeff can trot behind. Cheer up, wumman! There’s no cause to look doleful. They’ll just have strayed off the path.”

  “The river was in spate today,” Jane Meggetson reminded him. “Pray God they haven’t gone down by the river!”

  “Come on, Flash! We’ll fetch Tom.” Meggetson snapped on the lead. Flash barked eagerly and as soon as they were outside, he tugged at the lead, setting a pace that John Meggetson found hard to follow in the fog.

  “Steady, Flash, lad! Take it easy!”

  When they reached the main road Flash turned without hesitation in the direction of the school until he reached the crossroads. There he stopped abruptly and cast around, sniffing at the road. Meggetson gave him the length of the lead and held Jeff in check. All at once Flash plunged along one of the roads.

  “No, Flash, that’s not the road they’d take,” Uncle John told him. “That road leads away from the farm, alongside the river.”

  Flash only tugged the harder, barked and whined and turned and snapped at the restraining lead.

  “You want off the lead, Flash? Ye’re a sensible dog and you’ll have a reason. I’ll slip the lead on Jeff instead and we’ll follow ye.” Holding Flash by the collar, Meggetson transferred the lead to Jeff, then he let Flash go. Nose pointing to the ground, Flash set off along the side road.

  Tom and Elspeth huddled beside the bushes, wet and cold, shouting in turn, “Help! We’re down here! Help!” Tom’s ankle was painful and beginning to swell.

  “We can’t make anybody hear us. There might be no one for miles. I’ll have to try crawling, Elspeth.”

  “We just don’t know which way to crawl, Tom—” Elspeth began and then she broke off abruptly, “Listen!”

  From the distance there came a bark.

  “It’s Flash!” Tom cried. “I’d know Flash’s bark anywhere. Flash! Flash!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

  There was an answering crescendo of barks coming nearer. Then, out of the mist, Flash burst upon them, springing upon Tom, licking his face, barking for joy, jumping upon Elspeth with delight.

  “Oh, Flash! Flash!” Tom hugged him close. The tears of relief chased each other down Elspeth’s cheeks.

  “I wonder if he came from the farm all by himself?” Tom said.

  Flash barked again and whined, running a few steps away from them, then turning back as though he wanted them to follow him. Then, at a distance from out the fog came an answering bark.

  “That’s Jeff!” Tom exclaimed. “Uncle John can’t be far away. Shout, Elspeth, shout! Make Jeff hear us!”

  Together they shouted “Jeff!” and “Uncle John!” and Flash added a torrent of excited barking. Out of the mist loomed Uncle John, piloted by Jeff on the lead and with him, wonder of wonders, was Mr Donaldson.

  “Just as Flash disappeared into the mist Mr Donaldson caught up with me at the crossroads,” Uncle John told them. “But it was Flash found ye. It was wonderful the way he knew you’d turned up the wrong road. I never dreamed you’d go that way.”

  “We nearly fell into the river,” Tom said soberly.

  “Tom’s sprained his ankle. That’s why we couldn’t move from here,” Elspeth told them. Mr Donaldson examined it.

  “Yes, it’s swollen. I think if your uncle and I link hands we can make a kind of chair for you, Tom, if you hang on to us. At least we can get you back to the road, though it’s a fair
step from there back to Birkhope.”

  “That’s all right. Once we get him to the road, if you’ll wait wi’ him, Mr Donaldson, I’ll away up to the farm and bring down the horse to carry him.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that. But will you find your way all right?”

  “Oh, aye! I ken these roads like the palm o’ my hand and Jeff’ll guide us on the lead. Ye’re shivering, Elspeth, my lass! Ye’d better come along wi’ me and let the missus get you into some warm dry clothes.”

  It was a tired but happy party that sat round the fire at Birkhope that night, the children in thick dressing gowns, drinking hot milk and Uncle John eating his belated supper. Stretched out on the hearthrug were Jeff and Flash. Flash lay close to Tom’s bandaged ankle.

  “Good dog, Flash!” Tom said.

  “Do you think both dogs might have a biscuit, Mr Meggetson,” Elspeth asked coaxingly.

  “Weel now, I think they might,” Mr Meggetson agreed, “But mind, now, ye’re no’ to make a habit o’ it.” He solemnly winked one eye at Aunt Jane. Flash thumped his white-tipped tail on the floor for sheer happiness.

  6. Winter Storm

  Under Aunt Jane’s treatment Tom’s sprained ankle soon recovered, though it was a week before he could walk as far as the school, but Mr Donaldson sent him lessons by Elspeth.

  The tawny bracken on the hillsides faded to a drab grey-brown and the white rime appeared on the grass as the children made their way to school. The weeks sped by and still Elspeth was with them. Mrs Young had been sent to a convalescent hospital after her treatment in the general hospital was finished. Aunt Jane had got so used to having Elspeth about the house that she declared it was like having another daughter and she would miss her terribly when she had to go home again.

  All that autumn Flash’s training continued. Every weekend Tom and his uncle took him out among the sheep on the hills. He learned to gather a flock and bring them in a compact bunch down the hill; to herd them between gates and to pen them.

  “What I like about Flash is that he doesna’ fuss,” Uncle John remarked. “Some dogs get the sheep all flustered and leaping about, but no’ Flash.”

  “Do you think he’ll be good enough for the Sheep Dog Trials next year, Uncle John?” Tom asked anxiously.

  “For the local Trials? Mebbe! Mebbe! We’ll see how he shapes first. He’s got a lot to learn yet.”

  “He can drive the sheep into a pen jolly well now.” Tom was a trifle nettled.

  “Aye, but that’s not all. He’s got to learn singling next.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To separate a sheep from the flock and bring it out. Ye’ve seen Jeff do it.”

  “Just any sheep?”

  “The sheep that’s wanted. The one I point out to him. Look, Tom, we’ll give Flash a turn in the paddock again this afternoon with just five sheep and show him how to bring one of them to us. That’s the most difficult thing he has to learn. Go ask your aunt for a red ribbon.”

  Tom was mystified. “Why do you want a red ribbon?”

  “To mark the sheep that’s to be singled out from the others. That’s how they mark a sheep in the Trials, so Flash had better get used to it.”

  “But you don’t go round marking sheep with red ribbons when you want them bringing out of the flock,” Tom objected.

  “No! You point the stick at that particular sheep. The pointed stick is enough to show the dog which one. But at the Trials the judges need the red ribbon to make sure that the dog has brought the right one. They’re not so clever as the dog!” Uncle John chuckled.

  “I’ve got a red ribbon,” Elspeth said, taking one from her own hair.

  “Thanks, Elspeth. Are you coming to watch?”

  “I’d love to,” Elspeth said eagerly.

  “We’ll take Jeff. If Flash watches him, he’ll soon learn what’s needed. Come along! Let’s get cracking!” Uncle John said.

  They went to the paddock where Meggetson kept the five sheep ready for Flash’s training. They were not always the same five sheep, partly because sheep can get used to commands as well as a dog, and partly for another reason.

  “Flash’ll have to learn to handle other people’s sheep at the Trials, so the more changes we can give him, the better,” Uncle John decided. “Some sheep obey more quickly than others. He’ll have to get used to all kinds.”

  Flash, on the lead, watched Jeff running free and gathering the sheep. He gave a “Wuff!” to remind Tom and Uncle John that he was waiting and willing.

  “It’s all right, Flash. Your turn will come,” Uncle John promised him.

  Once the sheep were penned in a corner of the field, Uncle John fastened the red ribbon round the neck of one and then drew back, taking Jeff behind him. Then he pointed with his stick and said, “Fetch him, Jeff!”

  Jeff looked at the pointing stick and the sheep and went after him into the corner. He fixed his eye on the sheep which retreated before him. As Jeff advanced, the beribboned sheep separated from the other sheep. Jeff cornered him neatly and gave a look at his master as though waiting for instruction.

  “That’s right, Jeff. Fetch him to me!” Uncle John pointed at the sheep again, then waved the stick towards himself.

  Jeff neatly headed the sheep round towards him, driving back the other four sheep by his threatening attitude whenever they tried to break out into the field too. The beribboned sheep trotted out obediently towards Uncle John, who took a hold of it by the scruff of the neck and said “Good dog, Jeff!” Jeff sat down, thumping his tail and well pleased by the word of praise.

  Uncle John repeated the performance twice for Flash’s benefit. By the third time Jeff brought the sheep out with a slightly bored air. Flash, on the other hand, was becoming more and more restive. He strained on his lead towards the sheep.

  “Right, now, Tom! Flash has seen what Jeff did. You try him now. Point with the stick to the sheep and tell him to fetch the sheep to you. Wait a minute, though. Let Jeff bunch the sheep first.”

  When the sheep were grouped, with the one wearing the red ribbon on the far side, Tom pointed with the stick and said, “Fetch him, Flash! Fetch him to me!” Then he slipped the lead off Flash. For a moment Flash looked doubtfully from Tom to the sheep and Tom repeated his commands, emphasizing them by jabbing with his stick in the direction of the sheep. Then the idea clicked in Flash’s mind that Tom wanted the sheep. Jeff had brought it out for Uncle John. Now he was to bring it out for Tom. He gave a quick glance from the stick to the sheep, then he was in among the little flock. He pranced about in front of the marked sheep until he had him separated from the rest. With a sharp “Wuff!” he turned the sheep away from the others and down the hill to Tom.

  “Aye, aye, no’ bad! No’ bad at all for a first try!” Uncle John commented. “But he’ll have to learn how to do it more quietly, not so much leaping about and he’ll not have to bark, either.”

  “But isn’t it natural for a dog to bark?” Elspeth asked.

  “Aye, mebbe, but at the Trials the judges would take marks off for a dog that fussed and barked, so it’s better to train the dog not to bark at all. Barking upsets the sheep.”

  “How can I train him not to bark?” Tom asked, almost in despair.

  “Reprove him by saying ‘No! No!’ when he does bark, and only praise him when he doesn’t. If the worst came to it, you could put a muzzle on him when he’s learning singling, but that often annoys a dog. See if ye can train him first by showing you are not pleased when he barks. You could even pretend to be angry and to shake the stick. Mind, though, never strike him wi’ it.”

  “Of course Tom wouldn’t!” Elspeth said indignantly, then coloured at daring to speak like that to Mr Meggetson.

  Uncle John smiled. “No, I don’t think he would, Elspeth. The thing is that Flash takes his directions from that stick, which way it points and moves. If he learns that when it’s shaken Tom is not pleased, then Flash will try to do better. He’s an intelligent dog.” He turned to Tom. “Weel
, Tom, shall we let Flash have another go at it?”

  This time Flash got the sheep cornered with less difficulty and actually crouched on the ground before him, fixing the sheep with his eye.

  “That’s fine! That’s fine! He’s got the sheep under control with his eye. The power of the eye, Tom! Now tell him to fetch the sheep to you.”

  Flash barked again but not so lustily as before. Tom at once cried in ringing tones, “No, no, Flash! Quiet!” and shook the stick vigorously. At first the dog was puzzled and was at a loss to know what was wrong, then, when almost by a miracle, he brought the sheep in with a subdued growl, Tom knew the lesson was almost learned.

  “That’s the way, Tom. He’s had enough for now, but stick at it. Give him a lesson each day till he can single out the sheep without fuss or noise.”

  “What about—” Elspeth began.

  Uncle John anticipated what she was going to say and shook his head. “No, my lassie! No biscuit for Flash today! You must wait till he’s learned his lesson properly. When Tom praises him, then you can reward him.”

  Elspeth pouted a little but Tom said quietly, “Uncle John’s right, you know. Flash has to learn.”

  The year wore on to Christmas and the school holidays. There had been one or two flurries of snow but nothing more than a sugar-dusting of the ground. With the beginning of the holidays, however, the skies took on a steely grey colour and the wind was bitter cold. Mrs Meggetson sniffed the air and shivered as she crossed the farmyard with Tom and Elspeth after feeding the hens.

  “There’s snow in that wind, John!” she cried to her husband as he came from the byre.

  “Aye, lass! I’m no’ liking the look of it at all.”

  “Och! It may only be a shower,” she said. “It’ll be warmer once the snow is out.”

  “There’ll be more than a slight fall, I fear.” He cast a glance at the surrounding hills. “Look! The sheep are beginning to move down from the high land of their own accord.”

  “Guid sakes! So they are!” Mrs Meggetson exclaimed.