Amanda: More on the Canadian Championships

There was a small but high caliber field for the Canadian Championships, at the Open level. You can see by looking at an order, familiar handlers and their dogs. It was no surprise therefore that the standard of the running was very high, small number of dogs notwithstanding. The sheep were spotted on horseback by the Chris and Wendy Schmaltz about four hundred yards up the big roomy field. We ran on four Columbians and while they were range type ewes, they came from the flock of Dale Montgomery so they were not the raw type we sometimes get at western trials. The sheep were quite accustomed to dogs. They penned much more easily, for instance, than the sheep at Kingston did. They tolerated people excessively well and for the most part, moved off the dogs, although as the trial wore on, and they were rerun, some moved less well.

The ten spots for the double lift final were coveted ones. The scores allowed for many people to remain hopeful in trial two, of putting together the two good scores that would take them into the double lift final on Sunday. Scot Glen lead the qualifying with Don with two very good runs. Three of us got two dogs in, Scot Glen, Peter Gonnet of Saskatchewan. and me, the eastern girl.

Monty tore his two mid toenails from their bed, on his front right paw. What a mess, leading into a heavy few weeks of trialling. I wrapped him, treated him with Previcox and Tuff’nup, form Viki Close. Running him was iffy every day. What an annoyance. He ran quite well considering the handicap. Roz on the other hand let down the side in all respects with a startling absence of left flank, that left her handler gobsmacked. Hormones? Heat? Something set her off on the wrong foot and she stayed there for the duration of her run.

No one knew who had won until the last score was posted although many guessed. In the end, it was Michael Gallagher, of Kingston by way of Ireland who won the Championship with his dependable Flo. Scot Glen was second with his equally dependable Don.

I started down the road to Soldier Hollow that night. I was aiming for Joni Titgien’s place in Clearmont Wyoming, a ten hour drive from Shaunavon. I elected to break it up and it turned out well. The border crossing was one of the most unpleasant I have endured in a long time with the border agents scouring my camper for anything dangerous, like passion fruits and dog food that might contain lamb, or beef. Things that could be the ruin of the USA. He found some old drugs that I think belonged to Mich Ferraro and warned me of the hazards of brining dangerous narcotics into the USA. I couldn’t have agreed more.

I drove through spectacular northern Montana. I seemed to be driving the only vehicle on the road–miles of two lane highway, not meeting a soul. I crossed the Missouri River, a big one, by Montana standards, at dusk. I noticed a campground and turned in for a fabulous night on the banks of the Missouri. On the sixty acre campground, there could not have been more than three campers–lots of room for happy dogs. The mosquitoes must have been what kept people away. But what would a gal from southern Ontario care about a swarm of mosquitoes? The water ran, the bugs hummed, and the dogs and I had a long, comfortable sleep. I was bound away across the wide Missouri. This one, the Missouri, was a greedy river, taking so much water from all the ground in its reach, taking it to the Mississippi.

The next morning’s drive was not so bad and getting to Blake and Joni’s place was downright good. I plugged in–air conditioning. We took the dogs for a swim in the Clearwater Creek. Blake cooked walleye (we call that pickerel in Canada) for supper. I had some carrots that my customs guy missed, from my garden. Joni baked potatoes from hers. We would work dogs in the morning.

Jamie Michele VanRhyn had worked hard to bring us a complicated prize selection. One of the items I got was “skunk off”. I couldn’t imagine when I would use such a thing, not having had a skunk problem for over fifteen years. Hazel was my last one, in New Jersey, at night, outside a church yard. Roz was sprayed by a skunk here at Joni’s this morning. I will be eternally grateful for the skunk off, which seems to have worked along with swims and baths.

There are thousands of acres form which to chose to run dogs here. The alfalfa fields are being hayed any time, so too tall. the other places were more interesting anyway. We looked at the setting for her spring trial and she showed the wonderful alternatives.

We loaded up Joni’s cache of yearling range finewools to one of her far spots to run dogs back and forth. She chose a spot that would challenge met young dogs, up a steep climb and buried in sage brush. Howell, not worldly, was fooled but learned handily. Feist got it right away. Great schooling, not just on the sheep but the setting, with the young dogs having to use their imaginations to find them. They will both be smarter next time out. Couldn’t have been better. We shopped at Wyoming’s version of Prairie Fire, form Beach North Dakota and came home. Me cleaning my camper. Joni getting hers ready for Soldier Hollow.