We are currently hosting a series of sheepdog training days here at the farm. Organised by the Wool Board and part-funded by the good old EU, these sessions are run by a local old-timer called Bill, who has had a lifetime of working with and training dogs. A sprightly septuagenarian, what he lacks in eloquence (when you see him at the far end of the field, dancing up and down, waving his arms and shouting “Noooooo”, you soon realise that its your attention, not the dogs, that he wants to attract), he more than makes up for with a telepathic ability to communicate with our canine partners.

This was demonstrated most strikingly this week when a lady from the village popped up to our training session with a ‘problem’ dog. The young collie belonged to her neighbour, and besides regularly biting the owners’ partner; it would stand guard over the stairs in the house every evening, refusing to allow them to go to bed.

As the lady drove up I sneaked a peek at the troubled beast through the car window, and it threw itself at the glass, snarling and growling. ‘Bill’s going to have his work cut out here’ I thought and wondered to myself if I should load the gun before letting such a beast loose on my sheep. I needn’t have worried though – within five minutes, Bill had the dog fawning at his feet and then proceeded to introduce him to the flock. Despite the puppy having never seen sheep before, Bill soon had him rounding them up like a veteran with a display that put the rest of us to shame.

My own youngster (Morag – 18 months) has already developed into the most useful dog I have ever owned. A stark contrast to this time last year when I was seriously contemplating giving her up for a pet - and indeed had three offers of homes queuing, as she has a lovely temperament.

To give you a ‘for instance’ – a couple of weeks ago we had to get the rams back to the home farm to introduce them to this year’s harem. They were residing at the time in a 4 acre field the over side of the village. This would normally entail in me taking at least half a dozen portable hurdles, with which I could construct a ‘funnel’ to guide the rams into the horsebox. Once the rams were shifted I would then have to return to the field to collect the hurdles.

These days though – with our training freshly imprinted on our minds – we roll up to the field, simply open the tailgate and stand back to admire Morag as she retrieves the rams single handed and herds them neatly into the trailer. No stress, no shouting, and only half the carbon emissions – can’t be bad!