Sv: Jag går sönder :'-(
Hittade denna text efter mycket letande, den kom från en okänd BC ägare på en annan kontinent o gav mig mycket tröst.
"“On Sunday there was no wind, cool day, terrific sheep—a chance for a fine run. Harry went out wider then before and it was easily three minutes before the sheep started to move. I whistled Harry to where he needed to be but he lagged. I yelled, Hey! And Harry! I shouted his commands. He took his commands too late or not at all, put no pressure on the sheep, and for the second day in a row they simply drifted.
I haven’t been so angry at a dog in years. After we came off the field another handler said, That dog needs an attitude adjustment.
No, I didn’t lay a hand on Harry, physical or verbal, because there’s no point making a correction unless you know what you’re correcting. I had run out of dog and had no idea in the world why.
I did manage to pat Harry’s head before I went to bed but it was an effort.
The next day our vet told me Harry has a heart murmur, a leaky mitral valve. That long hard outrun was to much for him. I ran out of dog because Harry ran out of heart. One might imagine Harry’s emotions alone on that hill as his genes, his skills, and his distant handler cried out while his oxygen-starved heart confounded his body and mind. Not me . I don’t want to know.
I am grateful that in my anger, I didn’t raise my hand to Harry. When things go badly and an attitude adjustment is required, it isn’t always the dog who requires it.
Last January, Harry and I stayed with friends in Charlottesville. At midnight, when we went outside snow was falling, two or three inches, muffling the suburbs. I walked down the middle of the unmarked street while Harry ranged on both sides, over whitened lawns, underneath snow-bulked pine trees.
Some of the houses had security lights with motion sensors and wherever Harry ranged, lights blinked on. Everything ahead of us was darkness. Behind, wherever Harry had passed it was light.”
Excerpts from Uncle Harry
Donald McCaig
Hittade denna text efter mycket letande, den kom från en okänd BC ägare på en annan kontinent o gav mig mycket tröst.
"“On Sunday there was no wind, cool day, terrific sheep—a chance for a fine run. Harry went out wider then before and it was easily three minutes before the sheep started to move. I whistled Harry to where he needed to be but he lagged. I yelled, Hey! And Harry! I shouted his commands. He took his commands too late or not at all, put no pressure on the sheep, and for the second day in a row they simply drifted.
I haven’t been so angry at a dog in years. After we came off the field another handler said, That dog needs an attitude adjustment.
No, I didn’t lay a hand on Harry, physical or verbal, because there’s no point making a correction unless you know what you’re correcting. I had run out of dog and had no idea in the world why.
I did manage to pat Harry’s head before I went to bed but it was an effort.
The next day our vet told me Harry has a heart murmur, a leaky mitral valve. That long hard outrun was to much for him. I ran out of dog because Harry ran out of heart. One might imagine Harry’s emotions alone on that hill as his genes, his skills, and his distant handler cried out while his oxygen-starved heart confounded his body and mind. Not me . I don’t want to know.
I am grateful that in my anger, I didn’t raise my hand to Harry. When things go badly and an attitude adjustment is required, it isn’t always the dog who requires it.
Last January, Harry and I stayed with friends in Charlottesville. At midnight, when we went outside snow was falling, two or three inches, muffling the suburbs. I walked down the middle of the unmarked street while Harry ranged on both sides, over whitened lawns, underneath snow-bulked pine trees.
Some of the houses had security lights with motion sensors and wherever Harry ranged, lights blinked on. Everything ahead of us was darkness. Behind, wherever Harry had passed it was light.”
Excerpts from Uncle Harry
Donald McCaig
