Flash the Sheep Dog

by Kathleen Fidler

  “Why? What does that mean?” Tom asked.

  “Sheep can tell when there’s a bad storm coming and they start making for the lower ground to find shelter. They’re no’ daft, are sheep! I’ll need to get Andra and round up the flocks and bring them down.”

  Andra was the shepherd.

  “Do you think it’s going to be as bad as that?” Aunt Jane asked.

  “It could be! If there’s snow, there’ll be bad drifting with that wind. The sheep’ll be better in the fields round the farm steading. It’s easier to take food to them than to haul it up the hill, and we’ll have to handfeed them if the grass is covered by snow.”

  “Uncle John, can I come with you too?” Tom asked.

  Meggetson hesitated a moment. Tom could not go as fast as he and Andra. It called for hardihood and endurance too in the teeth of that bitter gale. On the other hand Flash was proving himself a useful dog and an extra hand with a dog might be a good help.

  “All right, Tom,” he agreed, “but if you canna’ make the pace, you’re to tell me and come back to the farm.”

  “Put on your warmest sweater and coat, Tom, and take a sack to cover your head and shoulders if the snow comes down,” Aunt Jane advised him.

  Uncle John, with Tom and the two dogs, strode uphill to find Andra, the shepherd. Tom found his breathing cut him like a knife as he tried to keep up with his uncle. The keen wind stung his face till it smarted and his hands became numb with the cold. Not for the world, though, would Tom have turned back! Only the dogs, unrestrained by the lead, seemed to enjoy it as they ran free side by side.

  Before they reached the summit of the nearest hill the flakes of snow began to fall. At first it was a thin, wetting sleet that seemed to penetrate to the very bones, then the flakes began to fall thicker. Tom was glad of the sack to protect his head and shoulders. Every now and again he could remove it and shake off the burden of snow. They moved up to the crest of the hill to get close in to the sheep to drive them down.

  “Awa’ there!” Uncle John shouted and off went Jeff in a wide cast to come in behind the sheep.

  “Send Flash off to your left!” Uncle John yelled to Tom above the keening of the wind.

  “Come by, Flash! Come by!” Tom shouted waving his stick.

  The two dogs met behind the flock and began to run to and fro behind the sheep, working them steadily downhill. Jeff had already accepted Flash as a partner in this task.

  When they had got the first flock about halfway down towards the farm Uncle John asked, “Do you think you and Flash could take this lot down to the steading and pen them in the paddock, Tom? That would leave Andra and me to fetch in the far-away flocks on Kiplaw. Can ye manage it?”

  “I think I can with Flash to help.”

  “Make sure he rounds up any stragglers, Tom, or we’ll be hunting for them in the snow drifts tomorrow.”

  “Shall we come back to you on Kiplaw afterwards?” Tom asked.

  His uncle looked at him keenly. “You’ve a good heart, lad. If your strength will stand up to it, I’ll be glad of your help.”

  Cold as he was outside, it gave Tom a sudden warm feeling to his heart that his uncle should need him and speak a word of praise. He knew that John Meggetson never gave praise unless it was earned.

  “So long, then!” he said lightly. “I’ll be back!” He whistled to Flash to bring down the sheep.

  The whirling snow almost blotted out the hillside before he reached the farm but Flash’s unerring instinct brought them almost straight down to the farm road. Tom ran ahead to open the gate into the paddock, but Elspeth was there before him, her small tip-tilted nose a bright pink in the bitter wind.

  “I’ll help you, Tom! You stay with Flash and direct him.”

  Between them they got the sheep safely penned in the paddock.

  Aunt Jane appeared at the farmhouse door. “Come you in, Tom! I’ve got some hot broth for you.”

  “Sheep’s heid broth?” Tom asked, giving her a grin. He had never forgotten his first meal at Birkhope.

  “No, lad, it’s Scotch broth this time. You’d be as weel to have a bowl too, Elspeth. You look fair nipped, lassie!”

  Tom was glad of the almost scalding hot broth. It put warmth and new life into him, but as soon as he had finished the bowl, he stood up and called Flash.

  “Where are you going, Tom?” Aunt Jane asked in surprise.

  “Back to Uncle John!”

  “Surely no’?” Aunt Jane asked in surprise. “It’s a cruel hard job on yon hillside for a bit laddie. You’ve done your share today.”

  “Uncle John said he could do with my help so I’m going back,” Tom said obstinately.

  “Weel, if you’re set on it… Wait for a couple of minutes, though, while I fill two Thermos flasks wi’ the soup. Your uncle and Andra’ll be glad o’ something to warm them up. Elspeth, cut a round or two of bread and cheese and put it in the shopping bag while I fill the flasks. They’ll be easier carried that way. You’ll manage it, Tom?”

  “Sure thing!” Tom said with assumed lightness. It was a thought indeed to leave the warmth and comfort of the kitchen for the cutting cold outside. He called Flash and they went out into a world already white with snow, a world in which the familiar landmarks were fast disappearing. The snow was heavy and the leaden skies gave threat of more to come.

  It was a gruelling job mounting the steep slopes of Kiplaw, carrying the bag and at the same time holding on to Flash’s lead. Flash tugged upward all the time. Tom did not let him off the lead, for he knew Flash would guide him to Jeff and his uncle, even though the hillside was a whirling white cloud. Tom was almost spent when Flash gave an eager “Wuff!” and there was an answering bark from Jeff. Then John Meggetson’s figure emerged from the snowy cloud.

  “You there, Tom? Did you make it, lad, after all?” There was a note of pleased surprise in his voice.

  “Aye, Uncle John. I’ve brought you some broth in these flasks, and some cheese and bread.”

  “That’s right welcome!” John Meggetson took the flask from him. “We’re having a bit o’ difficulty wi’ the sheep, Tom. Some of them have gone down into Blythe’s Gully and it’s a job winkling them all out. I’ve got a part o’ the flock here and Jeff’s holding them while Andra has gone after the rest wi’ his dog. If you could do another journey down wi’ the sheep here, then I could join Andra hunting up the other part o’ the flock.”

  “Can’t I go down into Blythe’s Gully?” Tom asked.

  Uncle John shook his head doubtfully. “It needs someone who knows the ground, Tom. The snow’s beginning to drift there already. You’d be of more use to me if ye’d take these sheep down. Put them in the long pasture behind the house.”

  Blythe’s Gully was a steepsided valley that ran beside a stream, a long bracken-filled hollow like a deep furrow on the hillside. Though Tom would have liked to hunt up the missing sheep, he saw the sense of his uncle’s decision.

  “All right, Uncle John!” He loosed Flash from the lead. “Come away to me, Flash!” In an instant Flash vanished into the snow as he cast round the flock to bring them downhill. The flock moved steadily downward, marshalled by Tom and Flash. For a moment Uncle John stood watching them as they disappeared into the snowy haze.

  The flock could not be hurried as Flash had to keep an eye on the fringes of it to make sure no sheep strayed. Flash ran to and fro behind them, giving an occasional low growl at any sheep that seemed to be splitting off from the main herd. The tireless little dog kept the flock in a neat compact bunch with only a shout of direction now and again from Tom. Tom’s whole body ached unbearably in the bitter cold wind and his legs felt as though they would give way under him as he plodded through the deepening snow. He was so tired that he almost wept with relief when the chimneys of Birkhope came within sight.

  Elspeth was faithfully watching for him through the window. As soon as she saw the grey mass of the approaching flock coming down the last slope of the hill, she flung on he
r coat, seized a stick and rushed out to assist Tom.

  “Hullo, Elspeth!” Tom greeted her wearily. “We’re to put this lot in the long pasture behind the house, Uncle John says.”

  With her stick Elspeth helped to guide the herd along the narrow farm lane. She opened the gate and Flash redoubled his efforts on the flanks of the herd till the last leaping obstinate sheep was safely through. When at last the gate was finally shut on them, it was all Tom could do to hobble to the farmhouse.

  Aunt Jane saw he was all in. “Get into that chair, Tom,” she directed, pulling round the armchair to the fire. “I’ll bring tea to you.”

  “Let me take off your boots,” Elspeth said and she knelt at his feet and took off his rubber boots and sodden stockings. She brought a towel and rubbed briskly at his numbed feet till life and warmth began to ebb back into them again.

  Aunt Jane produced a huge cup of very sweet tea. “Take that, Tom. There’s plenty of sugar in it to revive you.” Tom drank it gratefully.

  “Would you like to go to bed?” his aunt asked.

  “Not till Uncle John gets back.”

  Aunt Jane cast an anxious glance at the leaden dusk creeping early round the windows. “He may be a while yet. I’ll go and fetch a change of dry clothes for you and you can strip by the fire instead of in the cold bedroom. You’ll have the kitchen to yourself. I’m going with Elspeth to feed the hens and shut them in the hen house before the snow gets any thicker. Just leave your clothes on the hearthrug. I’ll collect them and put them up to dry.”

  The door shut behind them both. It was a relief to get into warm dry clothes but by the time it was done, Tom was glad to sink back into the chair again. He was almost asleep when his aunt and Elspeth came back. He struggled back to consciousness to ask, “You’ll see Flash gets his supper, Elspeth?”

  “Don’t worry, Tom. I’m warming up a meat stew for him now,” Elspeth told him.

  Elspeth set the bowl down beside Flash who took it hungrily, then wagged his tail in gratitude. Elspeth dived into her pocket.

  “Do you think Flash could have a biscuit, Tom?”

  “Yes, he’s deserved it,” Tom said sleepily. He opened his eyes to see Flash take the treat, then lick Elspeth’s hand gratefully. Tom gave Elspeth a warm smile, then almost at once he was fast asleep with Flash stretched out at his feet, fast asleep too.

  The dark had fallen before John Meggetson arrived home. He had brought another twenty sheep to the steading. When he opened the door Aunt Jane gave a sigh of relief.

  “At last ye’re hame, John!”

  “Aye, lass! It’s getting thicker on the hills. Tom’s back all right? I see he got the sheep penned in the long pasture.”

  Aunt Jane pointed to Tom, fast asleep in the big armchair.

  “He was fair beat, poor lad! I wonder he didn’t drop in his tracks. John, why did you let him do so much? He’s only a laddie.”

  “There was no holding him back,” John Meggetson said as he took off his leggings. “Tom and Flash did a grand job. If it hadna’ been for them, I doubt if we could have brought so many sheep down from the hills.”

  “Did ye get them all?” Aunt Jane enquired sharply.

  “No, lass! There are some of them in Blythe’s Gully where it branches into Fox Nick and it’s right steep there. Wi’ the weather thickening we had to bring down the sheep we’d gathered.”

  “How many do you think are missing?”

  Meggetson considered a minute. “I reckon there’ll be about thirty of them.”

  Aunt Jane looked serious. Thirty sheep were a lot to lose.

  “Will you get them out of the gully, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. The weather’s worsening. The snow’s falling faster and there’s a gale blowing too.”

  “Aye, and that means drifting,” his wife remarked.

  That night the wind whined and shrieked round the rooftops of the old farm and the snow fell silently, relentlessly. When Tom woke next morning he peered through his window on a white and unrecognizable world. The wind had blown the snow into drifts against the byre and sheep pens. Early though it was, John Meggetson was astir. Tom saw his uncle cross the farmyard to the barn. Tom flung on his clothes and ran down to the kitchen. Aunt Jane was trying to chivvy some life into the fire which she had banked up with coal dust and peat the previous night so that it smouldered into a blossoming red. Well she knew the fire would be needed to dry clothes and perhaps to revive some half-dead sheep.

  “What’s Uncle John doing?” Tom asked as he pulled on his boots. “Is he going after the lost sheep?”

  “Not yet. He’s going to feed the sheep pastured round the steading first. The poor things canna’ get at the grass for the snow.”

  “What’ll they eat, then?”

  “Why, neeps, lad, swedes and kale! He’s cutting up the neeps now.”

  “I’ll go and help him,” Tom said. He found his uncle in an outhouse chopping turnips in half.

  “Hullo, Tom!”

  “I’ve come to lend you a hand, uncle.”

  “Thanks, lad. We’ll have to get food to the ewes – the lambs will be born poor skinny creatures if their mothers havena’ had enough to eat.”

  Tom eyed the heap of turnips on the floor. “How will you get these even to the nearby fields, Uncle John? The snow’s already more than a foot deep. You couldn’t push a barrow through it.”

  “We’ll have to haul the neeps on yon sledge, Tom.” His uncle pointed to a large wooden sledge in the corner.

  Just then Elspeth joined them. “Can I be doing something to help, Mr Meggetson?”

  Uncle John eyed her hands. “You’ve got your gloves on? Good! Handling neeps is right cold work. Pile up the cut neeps on the sledge, there’s a good lass.”

  While they cut the turnips Elspeth stacked them on the sledge.

  “That’s enough,” John Meggetson said when the turnips began to roll off the sledge. “Now, I’ll haul it along to the pasture and you two can help to scatter the neeps in long rows on top of the snow.”

  As he slowly hauled the sledge over the snow Tom and Elspeth took up armfuls of the cut turnips and scattered them beside the sheep. Before long the sheep were eating them hungrily.

  “Fine! Fine! They’ll come to no harm now. That’s a good job done,” Uncle John declared, when they had made several journeys with the sledge. “There’s your aunt at the kitchen door crying on us to come for our breakfast. You should have grand appetites for it the day!”

  Never had oatmeal porridge and fried ham and eggs tasted so good to Tom! As soon as Uncle John had finished, however, he did not take time to smoke his usual pipe of tobacco but rose from his chair.

  “I’m awa’ to try and locate those missing ewes now,” he told his wife.

  “Where do you think they’ll be, Uncle John?” Tom asked.

  “Dear knows, lad! There are several small gullies on the higher ground where the land drains to Blythe’s Gully. This drifting snow will have filled them and the sheep could be in any of them, covered by the snow.”

  “But won’t they suffocate?” Tom exclaimed.

  “No, they could stay alive in a drift for days, provided they don’t try to climb out over each other’s back and break their hearts with exhaustion. There was once a flock of sheep found in a drift standing on each other’s backs, three or four deep, all dead wi’ struggling. Ah, weel, I’ll awa’ and meet Andra at the top o’ the hill. Let’s hope we can see where the gully is.”

  “Won’t you be able to do that?” Tom asked surprised.

  “It may have been filled in level with the rest o’ the hillside and the first way we might find it is by falling into a deep drift.”

  “I’d like to come too,” Tom said.

  “Weel, if ye stay close by me and take a shepherd’s crook with you, maybe you’d get along.”

  “What’s the shepherd’s crook for?”

  “If ye’re doubtful of what lies before you – and ye could easily step in
to a deep drift in the gully – you probe wi’ the crook in front o’ ye. If you canna’ touch the ground wi’ it, turn back right quickly. It’s as simple as that.”

  They each took a crook and Uncle John shouldered a spade too and then set off up the hillside, Flash and Jeff following at their heels.

  “You follow in my footsteps, Tom, like the chap in the Christmas carol followed after good King Wenceslas,” Uncle John advised. “I don’t say your feet will be any warmer but if I drop into a drift ye’ll see me in time to step back.”

  John Meggetson seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of the hillside paths even under the snow, but it was tough going all the same. They sank up to the ankles at every step.

  A dog barked near the top of the hill and there was Andra, the shepherd, coming to meet them with his dog, Don.

  “They might be down there, Mr Meggetson,” Andra said, pointing with his crook to what seemed a smooth layer of snow. Uncle John advanced cautiously holding his crook in front of him and probing into the snow drift at every step. All at once the crook sank over a yard into the snow!

  “Aye, there’s a gully, Andra, right enough! Watch your step behind me, Tom! I’ll try moving along where the edge of the gully ought to be.”

  Suddenly Uncle John sank up to his waist in the soft snow!

  Tom gave a cry of dismay but in a moment Andra was beside him.

  “Steady, lad!” Andra held out the crook of his staff to Uncle John who also held out his crook to Andra. Andra hauled on both of them till, like a cork out of a bottle, Uncle John came out of the drift.

  “Are you hurt, Uncle John?”

  “Mercy me, no, lad! It was like falling into a feather bed, only I’m glad I didna’ disappear altogether. Wait, though, Andra! I thought I felt something stirring under my foot. I’m going to probe my way forward again.”

  “Catch the hold o’ my crook, then, Mr Meggetson,” Andra suggested.

  Holding with one hand to Andra’s crook and probing ahead with his own a foot at a time, John Meggetson moved forward. Suddenly he gave an excited cry. “See that!”

  The crook that was in his hand seemed to have shot upward about nine inches of its own accord!