In Which Dogwood Learns Never to Say, "Robin, Get the Duck"

A Tail Told by Dogwood

My breed of choice is the Collie. Much as I love my breed, I have to admit that, alas, Collies tend to be, well, sorta wimpy. They are only too eager to please, but at the first sign of any difficulty, many of them tend to just crumple and give up. So, I am always on the look out for a good Collie that will persevere in the face of adversity, especially if the Collie shows any sign of interest in herding.

Last summer I spent a week house and kennel sitting for my friend Bonnie. She has several Collies, a few of which she shows in herding trials. Robin is her most talented herder. I also discovered Robin is persistent.

My first night on duty, one of Bonnie's ducks escaped from its pen when I went in to feed the flock. It had been a very hot day, and the dogs had spent their time lolling in whatever shade they could find. Robin had been dreadfully bored, and looked upon the duck escape as an entertaining opportunity to flex his herding prowess a bit. He was bitterly disappointed when I called him away from his pursuit of the fugitive duck. Ducks are strong flockers, and I knew from experience that the escapee would stay close to her pals inside the pen. Rather than let Robin chase after the duck in the still 90 heat, I figured I would just leave the duck outside for the night to contemplate the wisdom of her dash for freedom, and by next morning she would be only too eager to run back into the pen where the food, water, and protection of the rest of the flock awaited. Robin was clearly disgusted with my decision. I went up to the house, took care of the dogs, and opened every window in an attempt to cool the house after a day of temperatures above 100. By midnight it had cooled all the way down to 85, and I went to bed rather scantily clad.

A mere five hours later, an odd new voice penetrated the din of dog panting that had lulled me to sleep. It was the voice of a duck. In the back yard. At least 200 yards from the duck pen. When I opened my eyes, my groggy gaze was returned by that of the escaped duck, sitting on the porch peering through the glass door into the bedroom. "Oh, puleeeeeeze!" Robin's eyes said to me. "OK," I answered as I slid the door open, "get the duck." Robin gave me a glance to let me know that all was forgiven for my party-pooping decision of the previous night, then he bounded out the door to "get the duck." My only excuse for such a dumb command was that it was only 5 am, and the heat had kept me awake most of the night. The duck had obviously been able to penetrate the yard fence to get onto the porch, and at the sight of Robin hurtling through the door the duck simply reversed course back through the fence. Robin found this behavior annoying. I called him back, and commiserated with him about the duck's unsporting behavior. By now the rest of the dogs were awake, and a couple were looking expectantly at the front door. "OK, go pee", I told them as I opened the door to the front yard. The unfenced front yard. Robin saw his chance and barged past the other dogs. Relieving himself was not what he had in mind. He had been told to "get the duck" and he was on a mission. I spent a few moments fumbling around for my glasses, stuck my feet in some shoes, thereby doubling the amount of clothing I was wearing, and set out to retrieve Robin. "Robin, come." "Here, Robin". "Come on, Robin". "Here, boy." "Robin, comehererightnowdammit!" Apparently none of these were the proper recall command, because Robin was nowhere to be found. I trotted down to the duck pen. No duck. No Robin. I was starting to fight panic now as I looked up the driveway toward the road, a couple hundred yards away. I envisioned myself being arrested for indecent exposure if a passing motorist were to see me searching for Robin. I envisioned myself telling Bonnie that I had lost her beloved Collie. I opted for indecent exposure. Fortunately, at 5:15 am traffic was light, and I got a good look up and down the road to assure myself that Robin was not in the ditch somewhere and I only mooned one passing trucker.

Then off in the distance I heard quacking. And I heard barking. I headed back down the driveway toward the house and the sound of a dog/duck stand off. From the hill in front of the house I located the source of the quarreling. The same duck who was forever splitting off from the rest of the flock, who was always laying eggs in the most exposed places, who had abandoned the rest of her flock to come trooping up to spend the night on the back porch, had chosen this moment to finally act like a duck. She had headed for water. Specifically, she had headed for the creek that wound its way through the brambles and wild roses, and nettles of Bonnie's property. And Robin had followed her there, and now had her cornered against some branches in the middle of the stream. Even from a distance I could tell that he was very proud. "Good boy, Robin. That'll do." "Robin, leave it." "OK Robin, you can let the duck go now." "Robin, come here!" "Robin, get your hairy butt up here right now!" "Robin, dammit, if I have to come get you I'm gonna drown your sorry hide!" Apparently none of those were the correct commands to call Robin away from stock.

About 50 solid yards of thorny, allergenic, stinging, vegetation stood between me and the creek where Robin and the duck were entrenched. Very little stood between my skin and the vegetation. So, I trotted back up to the road, so I could slide down the embankment and into the creek from there. In the process, I gave a couple more passing motorists an interesting story to share around the office water cooler later that morning. And now I had about a half mile of meandering creek to follow back down to where duck and dog were facing off. Every year, Bonnie's husband has to work his way down this same creek removing fallen logs that may cause ice dams and subsequent flooding in the winter. Well, I could now tell him precisely where each of those fallen logs was located. I could also tell anyone who was interested exactly where the holes that were deep enough to require swimming across were located. There were several of each. Eventually I rounded a bend and spotted Robin patrolling along a sand bank, with the duck protesting from under a pile of branches in the middle of the creek.

I grabbed Robin by the ruff and began to drag him away. "No way," he declared. "You told me 'get the duck' and we ain't leavin' without the duck". So, I waded back into the creek, groped around in the branches until I managed to grab a wing, and extracted the source of all my woes. Robin was very pleased. Robin, who was considerably more thoroughly clothed than I was turned up the stream bank to head through the brush back to the house. "Oh, no you don't", I said. "I don't trust you for a second. You're coming with me." And so I now dragged a reluctant Robin back up stream with one hand, all the while holding a protesting duck in the other hand. Back through all those swimming holes, except that now I was swimming upstream, hold onto a duck and a Collie. Back over all those fallen logs. At one point I had to boost Robin over a particularly high log. As he perched atop the log, I accidentally tripped and accidentally bumped him, accidentally pushing him so that he accidentally fell headfirst back into the creek. He didn't like that. On the other hand, it was the high point of MY morning. Eventually we made it back to the road. I discovered that sliding down an embankment into a creek is lots easier than scrambling back up it, especially if you are grabbing a wet Collie with one hand and a protesting duck in the other. I also discovered that traffic is somewhat heavier by 6 am. A few more passing motorists. A few more odd tales of the nekkid-lady-with-the-duck-and-dog tales to be told around office water coolers later that morning.

I deposited the duck in the pen with the rest of the flock. Robin and I went up to the house. Robin stood expectantly in front of the biscuit jar awaiting his reward for obeying the "get the duck" command so diligently. I gave him his biscuit. I also crossed "perseverance" off my list of virtues that I want my next Collie to have.

Copyright © 1999, 2001 by Suzanne Schwab. Reprinted with permission of the author.