A Scotch shepherd,
who loved poetry, and made some verses about the skylark, which Sharley and
May repeat, tells a story of one of these dogs which I am sure you will
think worth remembering.
The collie's name was Sirrah, and his master prized him greatly. When the
shepherd first bought him he was scarcely a year old, "and," he says, "knew
so little of herding that he had never turned a sheep in his life; but as
soon as he discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged
me, I can never forget with what anxiety and eagerness he learned his
different evolutions. He would try every way deliberately, till he found
out what I wanted him to do, and when I once made him understand a
direction he never forgot or mistook it again."
Sirrah's master once had charge of a flock of seven hundred lambs, and one
night the whole flock broke up into three divisions, and ran away in the
dark, so that the shepherd could not tell where they had gone. The night
was so dark that he could not even see Sirrah, much less tell him how to
find the lost lambs; but the dog knew exactly what had happened, and had no
doubt at all about whose duty it was to get the flock together again. All
night long the shepherd sought in vain, not being able even to discover
what direction either of the three flocks of truant lambs had taken; but in
the morning he suddenly came upon his dog, guarding the whole flock--all
the seven hundred brought back, and not one of them lost.
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