![]() ![]() Having recently seen two beagles through their last days, and having just adopted a nervous Airedale, we had no need for another dog. It did not strike us at the time as a fortunate occurrence. We wondered what accident, what inattention or perhaps cruelty, had brought him to our door. Soon he was on our deck and asking to come inside, apparently acclimated to houses and people. That evening the collie came to meet me, ate while I stood by, and afterward allowed me to touch him, pat his head, pull out a few burrs. ![]() I walked away and he ate, eagerly if a bit warily, and then retreated, without quite disappearing, into the woods. I moved in and he backed off, keeping the five yards between us. I put the bowl down and backed off five yards he came forward. The next morning I brought out another bowlful, and a thin, half-grown border collie allowed himself to be seen in our side yard. Two hours later, the bowl was glisteningly empty. There was no sign of the visitor, but I had a feeling of being watched as I set the bowl down and left. As I approached it faded away, so I returned to the house, filled a bowl with dog food, and took it down to the garden. Several hours later, while pursuing outside chores, I spotted, 50 yards away, the outline of a dog silhouetted against a tree. I waited for a few moments, but there were no more flashes, no sounds to break the silence on the mountainside where my wife and I live, and I returned up the slope to our house. I had heard about border collies, but I had never met one until a winter’s day in 1990 when I was taking vegetable scraps to the garden compost bin and caught a flash of black and white disappearing into the surrounding woods.
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