Who, me?

 March 29, 2009 – So the wonderful thing about my life is this. At 11:30 I was sitting in a church, singing “Amazing Grace,” which I love, and basking in some spirituality.
  A few minutes later, I was in the animal pen behind my farmhouse, screaming at Frieda to stop chasing Lulu and Fanny, who were panicking at this wolf in hot pursuit of them. I brought Frieda into the pen without realizing that the donkeys had been out wandering around while I was singing hymns and they made their way into the other pen, whose gate had been left open also, and I didn’t see them until Frieda, who I have been training laboriously for months, took off after them.
   There is little on a farm more dangerous than a large dog running livestock. It does not end well, and is dangerous and traumatizing, to the animals and people, and Frieda is a big dog with big teeth. Round and round the four of us went, one circle after another.
 She was after the donkeys, and I was after her, screaming at her to lie down. This went on for what was probably not long, but which seemed an eternity, until I ran toward the donkeys, assuming they would split around me and tackled Frieda, who was frothing at the mouth.
  So was I.
  She looked shocked and abashed, and lay down.
 I got a gate open and got the donkeys back into their pasture. No harm was done. “Frieda,” I said, I ought to shoot you.”
  No, I will not shoot Frieda. I am very fond of Frieda, and she is not a Disney Dog. When I calmed down, I took her for a walk and then sat down with her. “We will get there, girl.” When training a dog, do not get cocky or complacent. You just haven’t been humbled yet.
  We think we have solved the mystery of the electric shocks in the water tank, a “hot” fence wire running through moist ground to the aluminum tank. Was blind, but now I see.