My Canadian friend Tim likes to quote the well-known Border Collie trialer Hub Holmes on the never-exhausted controversy of whether trial dogs are overmanaged and mechanical versus a dog who can do a ranch job with little guidance. "I like a dog who thinks for himself," Hub said, "As long as what he's thinking is: 'what does Hub want me to do?'"

That's an amusing and pithy way of skewering the whole dichotomy. The point he's making is that it's always about partnership. Whether he is lifting one foot at your signal, or going off to get the cows from over the hill because it's six o'clock, your dog is going to be useful to the extent that he is trying to figure out how to best execute what you have in mind. Being the speedier junior partner of a stockworking team is the joy of his life, his reason for being. But you must live up to your end of the deal as well. This central fact about stockdogs was brought home to me in a new and deep way last weekend.

I'm in the uncomfortable position of having acquired enough stockdog skills to realize how challenging a task I have in front of me, but not enough to solve my problems without help. Maybe it's a case of not being careful enough about what I wished for. I wanted a special dog, a powerful dog, a potential stockdog star. Unfortunately or fortunately, in my young dog Ty, I got my wish.

Not only that, I got a real, old time Aussie, a dog who learns habits, not with a few repeated experiences, but in ONE experience. The most loyal, intelligent dog I have probably ever possessed. A dog who can also leap straight up a cliff and has a stride like Secretariat. A dog ready-equipped with a lot of protective instinct. A dog like this is not a casual experience of dog ownership. It's a honor to have the loyalty of a dog like Ty, and it is also a big responsibility, one I wasn't, in fact, prepared for.

Through a long series of bad incidents with loose neighborhood dogs, Ty decided that strange dogs, especially black Labradors, were dangerous (yes, he identifies breeds, although any large dark dog makes him tense). He can also be suspicious of strange people, especially men. I began having a really hard time with both of these ideas of Ty's. I couldn't convince him to relax in public no matter what I tried, and my increasing apprehensiveness naturally only affirmed his convictions. Meanwhile, I felt stuck on his stock work, because I didn't have a local trainer to guide me, and I was so afraid to go wrong with him, which, given his intensity and quickness, seemed so easy to do.

So, while I was plunged into gloom and bewilderment about all this, my Washington State friend who had put me up last summer when Bonnie and I went to the Olympia trial called with an invitation to a small three day clinic she was hosting at her farm, with a Canadian named John Carter. A veteran Open level Border Collie trialer, he has also spent a lot of time 'on the hill' alone with just the dogs and sheep, and has worked with many breeds of loose eyed dogs. "He gets into dogs' minds," she said. "He'll help you with Ty, I promise you." It's a seventeen hundred mile round trip. I said yes.

I didn't take Bonnie with me, because I guessed that Ty would require all my attention. Sure enough, he made me nervous all the way to Washington although he didn't behave badly. He just watches. It was like walking a pet wolf; he walked in front scanning everything and everyone like my personal Secret Service detail. He'd check out every motel room, looking into the shower and under the bed (probably for hidden cameras). When I got out of my car he'd immediately scoot into the driver's seat, co-pilot taking over command.

When I got to Vashon Island and my friend's little farm, it was a great relief, for both of us. Ty was happy to make my friend's acquaintance and showed his most loveable, gregarious, well-mannered self. Then John Carter arrived, and Ty showed his other side, his who-the-hell-are-you side.

John put a little calm effort into getting Ty to friendly up without success, and then asked me to tell him to lie down. Ty went to sleep at my feet, and John told me some unexpected things.

"You have a rare kind of dog," John said. "I don't come across this kind of personality very often. Maybe the most difficult kind of dog, because they are so intelligent, so tough, and so persistent. But this kind of dog will make a superior worker, if you have a bond with him. And you have that bond. I could take your dog and work him, and he would never work for me— ever— the way he'll work for you. That's just the kind of dog he is. He isn't an aggressive dog at all, and he's totally solid mentally. He doesn't really have any problems, except you. He'll do whatever you tell him, but you aren't telling him how to behave. He doesn't have the confidence and experience to know how to ignore people and dogs that worry him. All you have to do is decide to make it unacceptable for him to react to them. Just tell him to lay down and look away, that's all. Don't punish him, just tell him. And he'll do it, for you."

He kept saying, "you just have to make a decision." But I couldn't quite figure out exactly what the decision was, that he was talking about. To be honest, I didn't really believe him. I had tried yelling at my dog, then, when that just made things worse, I switched to behavior mod techniques (basically, lots of dog treats and trying to read his expression), without any enormous success. How could it be as simple as telling my dog to lie down when he got upset or worried?

The next morning I took Ty out for a walk in the woods. As we passed a house, coming back, a big black labrador-type dog burst out of the bushes, hair standing on end, snarling. A perfect storm for Ty. I told him to lie down and stay there. He dropped to the ground. The dog stood for a moment, puzzled, and then her unseen owner called her and she disappeared. "Let's go, Ty," I said, and he sprang up with palpable joy and relief and we continued on our way. Wow. John was making a believer out of me.

Then, of course, we worked sheep. I was nervous, and forgot most of the handling techniques I had ever learned. Go to your sheep, not your dog! Ty was racing around trying to cover while I was trying to guard the sheep from him. Once John had me giving the sheep back to my dog, Ty relaxed and started working like he knows how to. He has a naturally wide gather, natural rate, a beautiful sense of balance and of group. Nothing I taught him, that for sure! All he knows for commands are "get around", "lie down", and "that'll do." I had never before asked for a lie down when the sheep were moving, but he acted like it was nothing special. He was happy to do it. He never argued with me about anything. But then, that isn't his way.

We had plenty of opportunities to practice me being the decision-maker, that weekend. Instead of letting him walk in front of me I had him walk at my side. Instead of going through doors first he had to wait for my okay. When I left him in the car he had to lie down in the back seat.When he got tense about a strange dog he had to lie down and stay. Every time, Ty showed not only a willingness to do it, but obvious relief that I was taking over responsibility for the situation. He was smiling!

We had some pretty wild works on sheep too. A biggish flock of light barbadoes in a large field was too much for us to handle. I didn't know how to set my inexperienced dog up for success there. But even while I thought Ty was totally out of control at the other end of the pasture, the observers said that he was always checking with me, trying to figure out what I wanted, and he turned back singles very nicely without any attempt to bore in and grip. But the really fun day was the last day.

That day, John had me put the sheep in a corner, and back up to them keeping my dog on the fence. Of course, Ty wanted to cover the bare side, and I wasn't to let him do that. Instead I was to ask him to walk straight up to their faces, lying him down every few steps. The first time we did this, it was awkward, but he did it. I put him away and let him alone to absorb the lesson for half an hour, and then we tried it again. John had tied his black Border Collie to the fence right at the gate, deliberately, to see how Ty would handle it.

Ty growled and stiffened when he saw her. She ignored him totally. I told him lie down and leave be. Then we walked to the gate. "Lie down." He lay down almost next to her and looked through the fence at the sheep. I set up the same exercise as before. Ty remembered this game. He walked up on those sheep with pure intensity. So much so that it kind of raised the hairs on the back of my neck. We got to within about three feet of them, and with every slow step I could feel Ty swell with power as he increased the pressure on them. That'll do, I finally said. As we went out the gate John said "hey, Ty." Ty looked him right in the eyes and then turned away without any reaction at all.

"That was just from the confidence he acquired in the past fifteen minutes," John commented.

And then he said, "Pressure's like a drug to a dog like yours. He's the kind of dog I love to work. Tons of power, loaded with potential."

He also told me that, as Ty got accustomed to having me decide how he should behave with strangers and strange dogs, in different locations, he would simply quit worrying and mellow out. "It's just not a big deal," he said. "You just have to decide."