Zouk
I vividly remember the first time I saw her.......Zouk.
She was ten months old, frantically hopping up and down, tethered to the end
of a three foot chain inside Roger Deschambeault's barn.
Her papillon looks struck me. Unhooking her from the chain and leashing her,
we walked across the street towards the trial field. Unknowingly, it was to
be the first of many such walks together. After an hour or so of sitting with
me, Zouk looked calmly into my face. It was then that the connection had been
made and our purpose together became evident and accepted by both of us, we
were going to learn the sport of herding together.
As a child, we remember our first dog. The one that stayed with you when you
were home sick from school or slept at the end of the bed to scare away the
childish fears that came with the night.
Do you remember your first trial dog? Not your best trial dog, but the one
that got you involved in herding, the one that made you want to team up and
learn this sport together, when you and this first dog, were both truly
novice. The one that helped you to understand what teamwork was all about,
that taught you about reading sheep, body language, timing and patience. This
is the dog that taught you all the subtle nuances involved with sheep
herding. This is the dog that made you the handler you are today. This was my
Zouk.
In the beginning as a novice handler with my first dog, it all seemed so
overwhelming, but my mentor helped me learn it step by step. It can't be
forced, it is not your will over theirs, but one of a combined partnership
and mental connection to accomplish the task at hand.
This she taught me.
This past summer when Greg was away, I wanted to train Zouk's pups. With no
one to hold out, I asked Zouk to hold the sheep at the far end of the field
so the pups in turn could pick them up. So unspoken and yet, she understood
what her job was. Once the pup picked up the sheep, Zouk moved to the side
and remained at the lower end of the field for further instruction.
How she alone, would go out to our back field, not visible from the barn, and
in short time, the flock would round the corner in calm unison, with Zouk
elegantly bringing up the rear. She would walk them right into the pen for
the night. Once the gate was latched, I would turn around to thank her for a
job well done. She would wag then jump up trustingly into my arms, thankful
for letting her do what she was meant to do, herd sheep.
It struck me at these times, how so very far we had come together and that
we understood what each of us expected of the other.
This spring of 2001, diligently, respectfully and lovingly trained, and
having worked our way through the ranks of the lower classes, Zouk and I
would have entered, for the first time, The Open Class together.
How wrongfully fate stole that from both of us. How, for reasons unclear,
fate broke up such a devoted team. Four and a half years together was not
nearly enough, and for reasons I will never understand, that was all we were
meant to have. But how so very grateful I was to have that time with such a
wonderful teacher.
Border Bay Junction Farm has lost Miss Zouk.
As magnificently and stoically as she fought over the last five weeks, the
unexplained brain disease fought harder. It seemed to take a small piece of
her away day by day.
Early in the morning on February 12th, after one of her seizures, which she
seemed to be having more of recently, we sat silently on the sunroom floor
together, Zouk sleeping peacefully in my arms. It was 6am, twilight, that
time that is hard to adequately describe in words......magical, peaceful,
lonely.
Looking out the windows toward the east, the sky was turning a lavender shade
of pink as the sun was just about ready to break the horizon line. I looked
to the west. The bright, half moon still sparkled amongst the stars in the
night sky. Zouk and I, tired and quiet, were in the middle. Somewhere between
day and night, light and dark,
life and death.
That is when I knew Zouk needed my help.
February 13th, Greg and I held her lovingly as she lay sleeping on her spot
on the sun drenched deck, a place she liked to sleep often. With our friend
and vet Eve, we released her from her physical pain and sent her spirit to
run with her Scottish ancestors.
We already miss her desperately, but are thankful for the time she was in our
lives, thankful for her mentoring of me in this sport of herding, thankful
for her unconditional love and beautiful, happy face that graced our lives
and thankful to see little bits of her in her beautiful pups, Lola, Maya,
Vedda and Zeb, her legacy, which we will all do our best to honor as we trial
in the future.
By Cokie Hamm