The Dog Next Door

The story of Tan the sheepdog

About eight years ago, Tan, a border collie puppy, arrived at the farm where we live. She was brought in to be trained as the farm’s new working dog and would live in a kennel in the farmyard in front of our house, along with Rose, an old and semi-retired sheepdog.

Tan was nervous and skittish for the first few weeks, unsure of her new surroundings, but she soon settled in.

Our dog, Ludo, arrived on New Year’s Eve 2018. By this point, Tan was about two years old and obsessed with the new kid on the block. She spent her time sitting on our garden wall, watching Ludo with fascination. The two have been best friends ever since and Tan joins us on almost all of our daily dog walks around the neighbouring fields.

The sheepdog training didn’t go quite to plan.

Although Tan clearly possessed a natural instinct to stalk and herd sheep, she was never very good at it. She and Rose were more interested in trying to herd our cat Moomin, and the many others that live on the farm.

Last year, the farmers where we live sold all their livestock and started leasing the fields to neighbouring farmers instead. This meant that Tan became unemployed.

This is not a sad story about a dog no longer having a purpose.

This was when Tan began her glorious retirement.

As well as the usual local walks around the countryside, we started taking Tan further afield. In her eight years, she had rarely left the farm.

I have never seen such a happy dog as that first day she visited the beach. She spent several hours in a heightened state of alert, checking out all the new dogs, people, sights, and smells. We couldn’t get her to leave.

From that moment onward, Tan sort of decided that she was part of our family. She enjoyed her days out so much that often when we opened the door of the van to take the kids to school in the morning, she would jump straight in and sit on the seat as if to say, ‘I’m ready! Where are we off to today?’

The room where I write has a stable door and I leave the top section open most of the year to let in light and fresh air. If it’s been a few hours since I’ve taken Tan for a walk, she will often stand on the other side of this door and bark until I take her out again.

In the summer, when we leave the kitchen door open, she will wander into my study and sit next to my desk and stare at me (or bark) until I take her out.

One morning a few months ago, Rachel and I woke up early to be greeted by this face peeking around our bedroom door upstairs.

Layla and I were out on a long walk with Ludo and Tan a couple of months ago. We met a group of horse-riders coming towards us, so stood in to the roadside with the dogs to let them pass.

‘Morning,’ said a young cheerful woman on the second horse.

‘Morning,’ we replied.

‘Is that Fucking Tan?’ she asked. ‘It is! It’s Fucking Tan!’

Layla and I looked at each other and laughed.

‘Er… yeah, it is,’ I said.

‘Hi, Fucking Tan! Good to see you, Fucking Tan. How are you doing, Fucking Tan?’

Layla and I stood at the roadside looking startled. We were four miles from home and had no idea Tan had gained this reputation, let alone been known to anyone outside the farm.

‘Bye, Fucking Tan!’ she said, as she trotted on up the road. ‘See you soon, Fucking Tan.’

We later found out that Fucking Tan had acquired her nickname during lambing season, when she was supposed to be assisting with moving the ewes from one enclosure to another. Instead of doing what she was instructed to do, she herded the sheep wherever the fuck she liked, making the whole process far more difficult than it would have been without her. The farmers vocalised their frustration: ‘That fucking dog! Fucking Tan!’ The woman we saw had kept her horses in a stable next to where the lambing took place, so had often witnessed the antics of Fucking Tan.

Tan gets regular exercise and lots of excitement from all our excursions together, and we enjoy spending time with her, without all the responsibilities of owning another dog. Everyone is very happy with the arrangement. Except Layla, who constantly tries to convince us to adopt Tan. Here is Layla’s birthday present to Rachel earlier this year.

Tan and I have a special bond. Every time she sees me lacing up my walking boots outside our house, she races straight over, barks excitedly and sticks her nose and obscenely long tongue in my face. She seems very fond of me and I am very fond of her.

There’s a certain trust and understanding between us, built over hundreds of miles of walks together. Tan knows when I’m about to take her out even before I’ve finished getting ready. Her eyes light up, and her entire body language changes, showing just how much she enjoys our time together.

Our relationship changed dramatically a couple of weeks ago.

I was out walking my usual loop with the dogs, and I passed through a gateway about a mile from home. Next to the gate was a rook scarer - a device designed to frighten off birds from the crops. It had not been there the day before. The dogs were curious of this new, mysterious contraption on our walk, but knowing what it was, I encouraged them past it as quickly as possible.

When we were about 10 metres beyond it, the rook scarer went off with a sudden, deafening bang. Ludo rushed over to me and stood closely to my legs. Tan did the same, and I gave them both some affection and tried to reassure them it was nothing to worry about. Milo, our neighbour’s big and boisterous Labrador who also joins us for walks, wasn’t in the least bit fazed by it and bounded up to the rook scarer wanting to check it out. I called Milo away, and as we headed off across the field it went off again. Milo bounded up to it excitedly like before, Ludo squashed even closer to me, but Tan this time raced off across the field in the direction of home.

We finished the walk and Tan had made it home safely and was sitting in her kennel. She seemed okay and was happy to see me.

The following morning, I took all three dogs out for a walk again, this time to a different field, far away from the rook scarer. Five minutes into the walk, Tan turned and fled. I didn’t hear a noise, and neither Milo nor Ludo reacted, but it’s possible Tan had heard it again from across the fields. Later that day, I took the dogs out again. This time, Tan only made it as far as the end of the driveway before turning and heading back.

The next day, she was out in the yard and excited to see me, but when Ludo, Milo and I began walking up the driveway, she refused to come with us.

The next morning, Tan wouldn’t even leave her kennel when she saw me.

I decided she just needed time.

A couple of days later, I met our neighbour in the yard. She had just got back from walking the loop with Tan and Milo. The crop had been harvested, the rook scarer was no longer there, and Tan had walked the whole way without any bother.

I called Tan over. Usually, this was her cue to bound over to me, looking for some love and affection. Instead, she looked up, made brief eye contact with me, and then skulked off to her kennel.

She has obviously associated the trauma of the rook scarer with me and holds me fully responsible. It feels like I have let her down big time.

This was two weeks ago.

She’s now happy for me to go and pet her but still won’t come for a walk with me. If she sees me in the yard, her head drops and she creeps back to the security of her kennel.

It’s going to take a long while to win back her trust, but I’m determined to do it. I'll have to try to build it back gradually, and hope I'll get to see that needy, loving face of hers sitting next to my desk again soon.