What would Red do without sheep if we decided to give ours away?

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” wrote one Red admirer, but if “you were to get rid of the sheep, what would Red do without his sheep to herd? What an outpouring of love you, Maria and your farm family bring to all of us! To lose any part of that love you bring to us would be tragic.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that message in my mind, it seemed on the surface to be nice, but I’m not so sure it really was. Lots of people are worried about how Red would fare if the sheep leave Bedlam Farm.

It is a fair question, I know that, and it deserves an answer.

I write about Red a lot and show a lot of photos of him and it is nice that people care about him. As many of you know, I have always wrestled with the advice and “suggestions” that come pouring into my computer from all over the Internet. What gets my panties in a knot is the idea that I have not thought about  Red’s life with sheep, or that I need to keep the the sheep because he likes them or because it is entertaining to other people. (To be honest, my pants did not get into a knot over that question, it was pretty timid and mildly expressed compared to many messages.)

This man knew, of course, that I might get annoyed – he said so – but that didn’t stop him from sending the message anyway. I get many messages each day that begin with the phrase, “I know you don’t want advice, but…” I am evolving, I have come to see advice as an addiction caused by social media and digital technology. No harm is usually intended.

I want to say that if we do find another home for the sheep – my betting is that Maria might well change her mind about giving them up – Red would be fine. One of my rules for living is that the dog has to fit into your life, not the other way around. I don’t structure my life around what Red might like, he is my dog, he is supposed to go where I go, and do what I like.

At the same time, I’d add that I love Red dearly – just as much as anyone e-mailing me or posting messages on Facebook – and I am committed to giving him a full and meaningful life. Red is heading for age eight, and at that age, Rose simply wore out, got sick and died. I have to say that is on my mind sometimes. Herding sheep is rough on a border collie’s body and legs, therapy work is something that is just as important to Red as any other work, he is awfully good at it, he has already brightened many a veteran’s day. I love doing this work with him, and I love it more than sheepherding.

There are a lot of vets, especially those from Iraq and Afghanistan, that need Red more than the sheep do. Is that not important for him? One day soon, we will be tackling hospice work again. And I will share it again.

There are about a dozen sheep farms in range of my farm, Red could get plenty of work if he needed it or I wished it. In addition, he travels with me everywhere, goes on a couple of walks a day, has dental technicians and sales clerks swooning over him, and has more girlfriends than Leonardo DiCaprio.I wouldn’t worry about Red, you will be enjoying his loving exploits for years to come, they are not bounded by ruminants.

I’m working on the advice thing, not sure why it has always bugged me. I suspect it’s an independence issue, I didn’t like it when my parents or my bosses told me what to do, I sure don’t like it when strangers on the Internet do. It just seems rude and presumptuous  to me. Having said that, it is also time for me to accept the reality of social communications – people seen unable to refrain from giving advice, even when they know it is not welcome.  I am not big on pissing into the wind.

I suppose I am sensitive to the idea that I need to be reminded that Red is important and needs to be thought of. It is wonderful to bring border collies to sheep, it is a beautiful thing to see Red work, I love it. Would the loss of sheep be “tragic?” No, I think not.  Tragic is not the word here, a young man on a motorcyle was killed a couple of miles from my farm today.

That was tragic.

A meaningful life requires maintenance and thought, tinkering and repair, rebirth and renewal. Nothing is permanent. Stasis and security are  not my faith, as it is for so many people, and the job of the loyal dog is to come along and stand by his or her human.That is what Red always does, I count on it, I depend on it. Long-time readers of my books and my blog know that my life is not a straight line, and hopefully never will be. The hero journey never ends, you just keep encountering new challenges, and  learning more and more.

Maria and I are committed to our work. I am a writer, photographer, blogger, she is an artist who works with recycled clothing and fabrics to make contemporary are about voice and meaning. That has to come first, that is our focus, what we are about. I’d like to write a novel again. A creative life takes discipline, one has to know what you are, and what you are not. Both can change at any moment. I am a writer, she is an artist, anything else is subject to change and reconsideration. If the sheep fit, great, if they don’t, they have to go. That is the life we both chose and are committed to.

I can promise all of you good and caring people that  Red will be busy and fulfilled, standing beside me in the theater of chance.

“Now before you explode,” wrote this morning’s message writer in conclusion, “remember this is only my thought, so let me have it, if you feel so inclined.” I sent mine back to him, but he didn’t seem to care for them. Everyone is entitled to their thoughts, my friend, a thought is not something within my power to give you or take away from you. I am never inclined to do that. Your thoughts are yours, always, they are sacred seeds of consciousness.

My thought is this: if you have a suggestion, and you are worried it would tie someone’s panties in a knot, or make them explode, then perhaps you might consider keeping it all for yourself. That would be my inclination.