Gathering sheep is no mean feat

Farmer’s View Peter Myles

Sit doon yi edjit! and other less polite phrases and commands can be heard echoing around the hills and glens in the summer months, as a dwindling amount of shepherds try to convince their canine companions to gather scattered sheep on the steepest of hillsides.

It’s a chore I look forward to with enthusiasm and dread–in equal measures.

I look forward to being on the high hill, hearing its sounds, the smells and marvelling at my dogs’ dexterity and ability to turn some sheep a long way off – preferably in the direction I want them to go, and not the direction the woolly rascals intended.

I worry about what could go wrong; will it be clear from mist, will we see the ground properly, will it be wet, dry, windy or calm, will we get them all in, or will some break away and escape at the last minute? The days leading up to a big gather can be fraught with thoughts of problems that may or may not be encountered.

It was much easier in the past. Back then I had a reliable team of great lads with even better dogs. If the sheep headed their way they could always be relied on to contain any disaster with intelligent whistles and commands, and the dogs never let us down.

These lads are now a bit older and some are no longer with us, but slowly and disappointingly they have all come out with the same statement: “I’m afraid this will be my last gather, my knees just can’t take that terrible steep bit at the start.”

This modern world is changing so much, but could technology replace these wonderful characters? I hope not, a foot soldier will always be more effective to my mind than some sort of fancy drone worked from an office far away. I think it would be a sorry day if these folk and dogs were replaced.

To get the ewe hoggs in for shearing last week, my brother and I set off armed with three daughters, a boyfriend, a niece, and a nephew together with a small assortment of dogs of dubious talents, giving us probably the most intact dotted line we’ve had for some time.

Halfway round my daughter, along way away, was approaching a stubborn group which ignored her jumping up and down, shouting and clapping.

I pretended to send my dog the long way down to help, hoping the sheep would be fooled into thinking it was there. Nothing happened, until suddenly they moved.

That’s when I discovered trusty Kip had taken my commands seriously and had gone to the rescue after all.

Could some electronic device have done it better? I really don’t know, but we did get them all in, eventually, and a fell weary band of helpers followed behind the sheep off the hill. That’s when we resolved to get better helpers with better dogs and possibly a drone next time. Any takers?

Peter Myles runs 800 Blackfaced ewes and 90 suckler cows on Dalbog Farm, near Edzell.