It's been a stressy month out here. I started a new writing job, my rotator cuffs (those handy muscles that move your upper arms around) went south, and I came down with a weird flu with no symptoms except vague dizziness, vague nausea, and an inability to do anything whatsoever. I wouldn't have known what it was except that my whole family also came down with it. I haven't gotten a lot of training done.

Meanwhile the goats have gotten more and more oblivious to Bonnie as it has become obvious to them that she won't bite them hard no matter how aggravatingly they behave. What was an easy walk down the road to the day pasture gradually has become a scene of frustrated barking, yelling and swatting, as the goats snack upon acorns and fennel in a leisurely fashion while evading our attempts to drive them. I began to dread it and I don't think Bonnie looked forward to it either.

A couple of days ago it all came to a head. We were on the way home, the goats stopped and refused to move, so I just left them there, walked back to the house and fetched Ty on a leash. I knew it was "wrong", bad training in every way, but I simply was fed up. The goats kept on munching while Bonnie stood by anxiously, knowing she should bring them but knowing she couldn't.

Ty, who does not share Bonnie's tentativeness about gripping, sent the goats briskly on their way in a few moments. My snotty young buckling actually yelped! I didn't know goats could yelp. If Ty hadn't been on a leash, I figured he would only chase them, biting all the way. As it was, he strained at the leash so hard I was glad he wasn't any bigger. At the property gate I let him off leash to see what he would do, and he determinedly pushed them past the tempting alfalfa bales, all the way into the paddock — without biting — and then, on his own, stopped and turned back to me, clearly and correctly figuring they were now where they belonged.

This is a seven month old pup who doesn't even have a lie-down on stock. That night I lay awake wondering what the heck to do, revolving every scenario I could think of. Ty is too young to train, Bonnie too weak to move the only hoofed stock I possess, the pasture is the only one with feed in it, it's a half mile away, and I can't keep my goats there at night. How can I solve this problem?

The next morning I was working at my computer when the dogs began to bay furiously. Underneath that noise I could hear the chickens screaming alarm calls. Uh oh. I ran out and sure enough, a coyote was standing, in that insouciant way they have, right outside the fence. I let my pack out and off they flew. As soon as they were gone I thought, now that was a real stupid idea, and called them back. Did they come? No.

Great. Dogs running amuck in the forest. I knew I wasn't going to get much writing done today. I started off down the path, calling. Ty appeared, looking like he had abandoned the chase early. But nobody else. My dogs have gone all the way out to the highway and been run over. My dogs have been killed by coyotes. My dogs are lost and can't find their way back home. Then I saw Bonnie, walking slowly back. She had torn her front dewclaw pad and scraped a rear paw between the pads. While I looked her over and commiserated, Luke showed up; being much shorter-legged he always brings up the rear.

We all went home, and within fifteen minutes the coyote was back. I'd locked the chickens up, though, so I just let the dogs bay at him through the fence.

At dusk I took Bonnie and Ty both to the pasture. Ty was absolutely ecstatic not to be left at home, as he had so many times before. I drove the goats all the way home with Ty on a leash, Bonnie merely keeping the corners tucked in. It was very brisk. The goats would trot ahead and browse until Ty and I caught up with them. They were not used to a dog that would bite and bite hard, but being goats, they adjusted rapidly to the new situation. Far from being terrified, they simply learned to stop ignoring Ty.

It sure isn't ideal, this scenario. Ty isn't really controlling his stock, and I am not controlling my dog except by a physical restraint. Only a few things are clear to me. One is that Ty must learn to fetch and rate correctly. Another is that my goats will move off my pup. The difference between Ty at five months, goofy and playful and tentative, and Ty at seven months, is extreme. But the main thing which is clear to me is that I have to be practical. My dog wants to help me, and can help me a lot, with just a bit more understanding between us. I have to trust that we can develop that understanding. It's a case of not what is ideal but what is available. As my husband succintly put it, I have a working dog, and I have work.

I feel bad about Bonnie, of course. As some cowboy said, any dog has only the guts they are born with, and no more. I promised her I would get her some sheep.