WHEN CARLO LIFTED his top lip to show his teeth, you never quite knew why: to me and the rest of my family it was a smile of welcome. To anyone he didn’t want to see, or was suspicious of, it was a snarl of warning. Maybe there was a subtle difference in the two expressions, but I never really saw it. All I know is, I’m really glad Carlo was on my side …
Carlo was a very tough sheepdog. He was the dog Dad had when I was young and the first one that I remember watching at work, turning a flock of sheep and bringing them back to where he wanted them. Carlo was also a great guard dog and quite a few visitors to the farm were trapped in their cars until he was told they were ‘friends’ and allowed to be there. Woe betide them if they didn’t wait for clearance, though! One land agent turned up to inspect the farm buildings but didn’t have the sense to ring up first, or to call at the farmhouse before he started his inspection. Instead, he started wandering around the barns, unaccompanied, clipboard in hand. What was a dog to think? Carlo was in no doubt that this was an intruder, and it was clearly his job to protect the farm from him. A swift nip to the back of the man’s leg sent the agent hobbling to the farmhouse, obviously expecting tea and sympathy from Mum and a fierce reprimand for Carlo. Instead, he was told in no uncertain terms how stupid he had been. What’s the point of a guard dog if it doesn’t guard? The dog, she told him, was only doing his job, and should be praised, not criticised, for apprehending a stranger who was inside the farm buildings without permission.
Carlo was always lovely with us four kids and would happily lie in the garden in the sun while we played, but if there was ever an opportunity to chase something he was up and away. It’s an instinct with sheepdogs. He felt it was his duty to control anything that was moving as if it were an errant sheep. This meant he was forever chasing the postman’s van, biting at the tyres, and even nipping the postman if he was foolhardy enough to jump out when Carlo was around.
One day Carlo was actually knocked over by the van. It clipped him as he ran alongside, sending him flying. He got up, shook himself, staggered as if dazed for a moment, and then normal service was resumed as he carried on chasing it. It didn’t teach him a lesson.
Carlo was a black and white border collie with long hair that always seemed to be caked in mud and sheep muck. He didn’t mind being so unkempt, but from time to time it was decided that Carlo needed to be tidied up. He hated the process, which involved cutting off the matted straggly bits which Dad referred to as his ‘diggy-dags’. The only way to get rid of them was to muzzle him and then attack his coat with the sheep shears, and as soon as I was old enough the job seemed to fall to me. Although Carlo clearly hated it he didn’t hold it against me, and as soon as he’d been released and unmuzzled he was his usual friendly self, just looking a bit tidier – although it was no poodle parlour job.
Dad was a brilliant farmer. He understood livestock, and could assess an animal at a quick glance. He had a great eye for a good animal to buy and was equally good at spotting, from a distance of 200 yards or more, if one of our animals was sick and needed help. I miss his guiding hand, and I always will.
However there was one aspect of farming where Dad was not perfect, or anywhere near it. And that was working a sheepdog. He loved his dogs and they adored him, and they worked well enough for him, but he was not a natural at training them. He’d probably never really been shown. My dad didn’t come from a farming background. Dad’s father was a famous actor and comedian, Leslie Henson, and his mother was a chorus girl and dancer. His younger brother, Nicky Henson, followed them on to the stage, but as a young man Dad turned his back on his family’s showbusiness traditions and followed his own dream, to live on the land and to run a farm. So I think he simply devised his own way of training a sheepdog, which wasn’t orthodox or, I’m forced to admit, particularly good. His success as a shepherd owed a lot to the dogs’ enthusiasm to work and their instinctive grasp of what they had to do.
It was a different matter with the Labradors he schooled as gundogs: they were generally very obedient and well trained, but the sheepdogs were always a bit unruly. They were OK at doing what he wanted, which was usually fairly routine, but if they ever got it wrong he could be heard shouting at them, losing his rag. It was the only time I ever knew him to lose his temper: with us children and with the gundogs he was patient and kind. But a badly behaved sheepdog would be subjected to a rant – which meant not a thing to the dog except that it got the general idea it was in trouble.
So working sheepdogs wasn’t his biggest skill, and as the farm grew in size he took on a succession of stockmen who did most of the shepherding. Some of them were quite good, but some were in the same league as Dad, so I didn’t grow up with a really brilliant sheepdog mentor either. The stockmen often had their own dogs, so I could go out with them and I picked up the basic commands. While watching them work the sheep, I think I learned early on that Dad’s approach – endlessly shouting at the dog – didn’t help.
Carlo was one of the few male dogs we have ever had at Bemborough Farm – Dad preferred bitches, and so do I. I love the look of male dogs, they are very handsome animals. But when you are out with them they have an overriding interest in any nearby females who may be in season, constantly sniffing any bitches they come across, and if they get the scent it is all they can think about. They also stop and pee on almost every gate post and thistle to mark their territory. It drives me mad!
I know that a lot of top sheepdog trainers prefer dogs because in some ways their temperament is more reliable – bitches can be a bit unpredictable when they are in season. Also, there’s some evidence that dogs are more competitive, and that’s important in high-level trialling. If you look at the results of field trial championships, 80 per cent of the top awards go to dogs, not bitches. Breeders who make a living from their working dogs often prefer a male, which can be put out to stud at a high fee as often as he can cope with, whereas a bitch can only (responsibly) produce one litter a year, and she cannot compete in trials while in the latter stages of pregnancy or when she is nursing her puppies.
However, I don’t pretend to be up with the best sheepdog trainers and I don’t go trialling, so a bitch suits me better. Farmers and shepherds hardly ever have dogs castrated or bitches spayed: there’s a deep-seated belief that they work better, and are tougher, if they have all their bits and pieces. There may not be any evidence, but it’s generally believed that a sheepdog may become lazier and fatter if it is neutered. Personally, I like to leave my dogs the way nature intended them to be: it feels right. But here on a farm there is plenty of land for them to roam on, and I do understand why pet owners living in very different circumstances need to have the operation carried out, and as long as it is done properly at the right time the animals thrive.
The name ‘collie’ for a sheepdog can probably be traced back to the same root as ‘coal’ and ‘collier’, because they were originally black, or predominantly black. They have a very long history: dogs attached themselves to humans as soon as our ancestors settled in groups, scavenging for food, and soon taking on their first important role as guard dogs. But their next role came as soon as men began herding flocks of animals. Most experts believe that the instinct to herd – and it is an instinct, and one that saved Dad many times when his orders were confusing – is a natural extension of their innate need to hunt. Instead of hunting to kill and provide their own food, they learned that their best bet was to help the humans who would take care of their needs.
The work they do, and the different terrains and climates in which they have done it over the centuries, means that sheepdogs are superbly fine-tuned, with good feet, weatherproof coats, astonishing hearing (I’m always amazed at how a hill shepherd can control a dog with a whistle from three fields away with a mound between them) and excellent eyesight. They are functional dogs, not bred for their looks but for their herding skills, although to me no dog looks better than a well-set collie. But for farmers and shepherds, the reason to check a dog’s pedigree is to see whether he comes from good working stock, not how photogenic he is.
There are different kinds of collies, but generally we have borders at Bemborough. After Carlo, Dad had, for a very brief time, a Welsh collie called Megan. He had been to the LLeyn peninsula in North Wales, probably to look at and buy some Welsh black cattle, and when the farmer mentioned that he had a dog for sale, already trained, Dad happily bought her, as he needed a replacement for Carlo who had died peacefully at the end of a long working life.
Welsh collies are longer legged, broader in the chest and generally have wider muzzles than border collies. But it’s not the difference in appearance that matters: they have, over centuries, been bred for a different purpose. They were historically droving dogs, that were used to take sheep or cattle to market, rather than being herding dogs used to round up flocks of sheep. It’s a subtle distinction, and nowadays with the need to move flocks to market by droving gone, many Welsh farmers have switched to border collies. But it’s important to keep the breed going, and there are plenty of enthusiasts.
In terms of working the dogs, the difference is in what sheepdog trainers call ‘the eye’. Border collies have ‘a strong eye’, which means they stare hard at the sheep and keep them in order by never taking their gaze from them. A ‘loose-eyed’ dog like a traditional Welsh collie, glances at the flock and runs around it more and is usually able to work more independently, making its own decisions. It is generally more mobile, constantly on the go rather than commanding the flock with its stare. A loose-eyed dog is vital to move cattle, which are big beasts and can easily step on and damage a dog that doesn’t get out of the way of their hooves. That’s why small dogs, like Welsh corgis, were also traditionally used to move cattle; they could dart in and out.
So the Welsh collie was invaluable when the flock was being taken in one direction (along a droving road to market, for example), allowing one man and a good dog to move large numbers of animals, sometimes for miles in a day. However they were less useful in terms of splitting a flock, bringing them back, penning them. That’s not to say there haven’t been some absolutely brilliant Welsh collies working sheep, but for most top trainers, taking part in sheepdog trialling, the border collie is the preferred breed.
The problem with Megan, though, was not her ‘loose eye’. I don’t think Dad ever got far enough with her to discover whether she was any good at herding sheep or not. The problem was much more fundamental. She spoke Welsh! She had been trained in Welsh, all the commands she knew were in Welsh. No amount of yelling commands at her in English produced any response. A sheepdog only knows a limited number of commands (a family pet knows even fewer) and it certainly isn’t bi-lingual. Poor Megan was as confused as I would be if someone was talking to me in Chinese or Polish. When Dad realised the problem, he knew he couldn’t keep her. Even though she was a sweet-natured dog, he didn’t have the time or patience to re-train her in English or to master her commands in Welsh. So Megan was returned to North Wales, where no doubt she flourished in the land of her fathers, with an owner fluent in her language.
Pat was our next sheepdog, a black and white smooth-haired border bitch. She had one big advantage over Carlo – no diggy-dags. No matter how muddy the ground, she seemed to self-clean when she got back into her kennel. She worked well, and even had her own moment of TV stardom. Dad appeared on television fairly regularly throughout my childhood, starting after he opened Cotswold Farm Park where he housed a collection of rare breed farm animals, a passion of his which I share. The farm park is on land adjoining Bemborough Farm, but with its own entrance. Due to my work on Countryfile, I’m away from the farm and the farm park a lot and rely on my business partner, Duncan Andrews, and our great team of managers and staff. Whenever I’m home, I spend as much time as I can working with the livestock and meeting visitors at the farm park. I’m thrilled that the farm park attracts many visitors to see the work we do, preserving traditional British breeds. When the farm park opened, Dad was interviewed by lots of journalists from newspapers and television stations. He was a natural: he had clearly inherited the family showbiz gene from his parents; something of his background remained, and it was clear he was at home in front of the cameras.
So he was recruited to do slots on Johnny Morris’s popular children’s programme, Animal Magic, and also to take part in other farming programmes. In one, called Barnyard Safari, he demonstrated how difficult it is to round up the ancient and rare Soay sheep we keep on the farm. Rather than flocking together, they have an instinct to scatter, confusing a dog that is used to dealing with more biddable flocks. Pat starred as the dog whose job it was to attempt to round them up.
When Pat died, Dad was given an ex-trialling dog called Queen by a retired shepherd from Northleach. She was brilliantly trained, a champion trialler with a great pedigree. She was a tri-colour – black and white with little ginger bits on her chin and above her eyes. She was a beautiful dog, well behaved and a brilliant worker. She took to Dad instantly, and was definitely the best sheepdog he’d ever had, although perhaps she secretly wondered what she had come down to, from working sheep at a very high level at trials to doing a basic shepherding job at our farm …
When I was about 13 years old I was standing with Dad in a field while he talked to some people who were interested in buying some sheep. He cast Queenie out, gave her the simple command ‘come by’ and with great skill she skirted the edge of the field, making sure she picked up every sheep, and brought them to him without another command, and without him ever stopping his conversation. The potential buyers were very impressed by her, raving about what an amazing dog she was, and left with a trailer full of sheep.
Tragically, after only a couple of years with us, Dad let her out of her kennel one morning and she dashed through a gap in the hedge on to the farm drive, just as the assistant stockman was driving past in the farm’s Land Rover. She went straight under the wheels and was killed immediately. We were all very upset, but Dad was devastated, as was the chap who ran her over although there was nothing he could have done to avert the accident. Queenie was so easy to work with, and at the same time a good-natured dog who really loved Dad.
The same stockman was leaving us shortly afterwards to run a flock in Saudi Arabia, and he gave Dad his own sheepdog, Bill. Bill was a big, shaggy-haired, thick-headed black and white collie, more like Carlo in temperament and attitude. He didn’t work well for Dad, who was constantly exasperated by him, and could be seen running up and down the field yelling ‘Bill, Bill!’ with little success in getting him to do what was needed. Again, he could perform the basic functions of a sheepdog, but nowhere near the brilliant Queenie.
Although I really love sheepdogs – there’s nothing better than watching a collie working well, and a dog that loves its work makes a great companion – sheepdogs are not the best choice as a family pet in an urban environment and sadly a large number end up having to be rehomed. Collies as a breed have high levels of energy, stamina and enthusiasm. They are also intelligent, and need mental stimulation almost as much as physical exercise. Owners who don’t choose a pet carefully may find that a sheepdog with that inbuilt instinct to round up will chase whatever it can uncontrollably. They may also find if the dog is cooped up all day it becomes stressed and agitated, developing bad habits like chewing, barking and nipping.
There are three main reasons why collies end up in an animal shelter. One is that they were bought by farmers and shepherds to work with sheep but simply do not have the right herding instincts. These dogs can make good pets when they are sympathetically rehomed. They still need lots of exercise, but they can make happy, well-balanced family dogs.
The second common reason for them being rehomed is that they don’t necessarily fit in with little children. A small child running down the garden is like a sheep escaping the flock to a collie, and its instinct is to round the child up by running in front and turning to stare at him, perhaps barking. This can frighten the child, who tries to run away, and the dog instinctively runs after him, perhaps even nipping at his heels. Disaster! The family assumes it has a nasty dog, but in fact the dog is only behaving in the way its nature tells it.
But the biggest reason collies end up looking for new homes is that their owners find them ‘hyper’. According to Border Collie Rescue, the charity which helps rehome unwanted border collies and collie crosses: ‘Most people are not willing, prepared, or able to put in the large time commitment it takes to adequately exercise a border collie … Herding sheep is an all-day activity and often entails miles of running and sprinting across uneven farmland.’
I visited the charity for a Countryfile programme, and was shown around by Ben Wilkes, a retired policeman who has spent many years volunteering for the Trust. When I was visiting, there were 26 dogs on site.
‘We see so many dogs, coming from a variety of sources,’ Ben told me. ‘Sometimes it is a bereavement, sometimes families find they have a child who is allergic to the dog, sometimes it’s a matter of people having to work long hours and not having enough time with the dog, and in recent years we’ve seen a steep rise in people moving into rented accommodation where they’re not allowed to keep a dog.’
Often it is simply because a collie needs so much mental and physical stimulation that they are not an ideal pet unless owners can devote time and energy to them.
‘Farmers breed for their own needs, not for the characteristics that a domestic dog owner is looking for. People buy on impulse, and then the problems develop later,’ said Ben.
The Trust does an amazing job, looking after these very special dogs, and I’m a great supporter of their work. There will always be collies that need rescuing, often for very good reasons. But the work of the Trust would be easier if families looked more carefully at what they want from a pet dog, and what they can offer the dog.
My advice to any potential dog owner is always: find a pet who fits in with your lifestyle. If you live near open land and have time to get your collie out there for an hour or two a day, he may be the perfect pet for you. If you want a dog to train for agility classes (see chapter How Bright Are My Dogs?) a collie may be the right choice. But there are many other breeds which require far less exercise and are better adapted to living indoors with young families.
Choose your dog carefully.