I was out late yesterday afternoon stacking firewood and doing one of the last mowings of the year on Florence Walrath’s venerable old mower, which sounds like a World War II bomber revving up it’s engines. I was lost in these chores – I love mowing my own lawn at last and when I am outside, Red is outside with me. After several hours of work, I went in the house, was cleaning up, starting to cook dinner when I remembered Red and wondered where he was. He is always nearby me, he never lets me out of sight.

I couldn’t find him in the yard, I checked the pasture to make sure I hadn’t left him with the sheep by mistake and then I knew instantly where he would be. He was sitting and waiting for me by the back pasture gate, the gate we always use to go out and round up the sheep, the gate we use to do herding demos. When we go outside, he always goes and sits by one gate or another, hoping to lure me into the pasture, pretending that we are about to go sheepherding. He had been sitting out there waiting for hours.

I love this border collie yearning, it is in me too, about writing and photos, I have the yearnings of a border collie to do my work and live my life. “Red,” I said, “we aren’t working now, it’s too late, come on in,” and he did, looking discouraged. Something about this scene was touching to me, it spoke of the soul of Red, the soul of me.