OLD SHEP AND THE CENTRAL PARK SHEEP

by Franklin H. North

From the children's magazine St. Nicholas, August 1884

" YEA — IP ! yea—ip !! yea—a—ip !!! " came in loud, hoarse tones across the Central Park playground, and the sheep anear and afar, startled from their browse, turned about and, with mouths grass-tufted, looked in the direction of the shepherd and then in that of his aide-decamp, the dog, Shep, that is wont to bring them their orders. Even the young lambs playing " follow-my-leader " on the steep rocks to the south of the field, that have not yet come to look upon life seriously, paused in their gambols and craned their necks, as if to say: "Well, what's up now?" They soon learned.

" Hoo, Shep ! Hoo !" shouted the shepherd to his dog, and before the last sounds had left his lips,  the collie was flying across the grassy slope that separated him from the flock.

The message with which Shep was intrusted was something like this: " Close order all! Stand by to run for the fold ! Storm coming ! "

Now, the awkward, noisy boatswain of a big ship, charged with the same kind of order, would have almost split the ear with his shrill pipings and his still more boisterous bawling of "All hands on deck to shorten sail!" And the buglers of a squadron of cavalry, in delivering such a command as Shep bore, would have frightened every living thing within hearing, by their wild trumpetings to "Saddle horses !" " Mount horses ! " and the like.

Shep has a much better way than these. He runs around and around the flock, repeating in a pleasant, low tone the orders to march that he has received. The stranger who does n't know anything about sheep and about the collie, or Scotch sheep-dog, would naturally enough look upon his barking as the ordinary meaningless jabbering of uneducated dogs. But if you should listen to Shep while he is repeating his orders to the flock, you would find that his barkings, though usually low-toned, are sometimes emphasized; that some are short and some long; and that each is expressive of a distinct idea when taken in conjunction with his look of annoyance as he runs after a stray sheep, and of satisfaction when, in answer to the nudge of his nose, the straggler turns toward the flock.

It is a language which the sheep may be said to understand almost perfectly, and the laggards, or possibly those hard of hearing, run up to him now and then, as if they had lost a word or two, and were anxious to gather the exact wording of the orders. For sheep, like girls and boys, and even heir elders, have a curiosity to know just what is going on about them.

On the afternoon when they were being called in much earlier than usual, because of a threatened storm, it was evident that the sheep were somewhat puzzled, and that the collie was having not a little trouble with them.

Sheep, of course, don't carry watches, and therefore can not tell exactly what the hour is, but they have other means of knowing. The shepherd will tell you that his flock know it is time to go home when the afternoon sun sinks behind the peaked roof of the fold; and as Shep, probably because  he was not so instructed, did not explain the cause of the unusual orders, they could only conclude that they had really been out on the velvety, fragrant meadow the allotted time, or else that the machinery that worked that great golden orb which usually gilds the western sky at their bedtime, was not in good running order.

The shepherd knows that sheep must not be left out in the rain, as the water rots their hoofs, and always alert, he spies a coming storm with almost the same readiness as the mariner, though the latter has a barometer to aid him.

After the flock has traversed the entire extent of field, on its way homeward, it comes upon the public drive-way that separates the play-ground from the sheep-fold. It is here that the shepherd and his assistant, Shep, have the most trouble with the flock. Fast-driven horses almost run over the sheep, and children show a desire to catch the lambs.

But Shep is equal to the emergency, and, at every moment, seems to be just where he is most needed. Now he has stood his ground in the middle of the road and stopped a pair of high-stepping horses, and again he is flying down the bridle-path to turn homeward a frightened sheep.

All the attentions paid to Shep by strangers, at such times, are thrown away. Neither the seductive callings of the spectators nor the whistling and hooting of the boys have any effect. Shep keeps busily moving hither and thither, from one part of the flock to the other, infusing courage into the timid lambs, and pushing the wild ones with his nose when they show any inclination to stray.

In fine weather, the sheep usually go out on the meadow at half-past five o'clock in the morning and return to their fold at half-past six in the evening. Sometimes, as on Saturdays during May, for example, the meadow is given up to the boys and girls as a play-ground ; and it is safe to say that the disappointment of the boys and girls when they arrive at the Park and find the red flag flying, is not a whit keener than that of the sheep when, on coming out into the yard of a morning, they discover that the stars and stripes are waving from the staff in the middle of their favorite feeding-ground. For this tells them that those curious animals that have only two legs instead of four, and wear all kinds of strange and many-colored clothing, are to be allowed to trample the young grass with unsparing feet, or to play at ball, which sport, in the estimation of a sheep, seems, no doubt, a meaningless and foolish mode of enjoying one's self on a beautiful, green meadow.

But sheep, too, have their games, or rather the lambs have; and among the grassy hillocks and rocky bluffs on either side of the field there is rare sport for them.

The curiosity of the lambs sometimes leads them to approach children on the paths that border the green ; but petting or playing with the lambs is now forbidden, because children and their nurses are inclined to offer them all kinds of cakes and even brown paper, india-rubber rattles, and shoestrings. And such articles of diet as those last named, though consumed by the goat with evident relish, have a serious and sometimes fatal effect upon the digestion of the lamb.

But, while visitors are not permitted to approach the flock, it is not long since an exception was made to this rule. A lad with paralyzed limbs used to be wheeled each bright day down the narrow path that skirts the favorite play-ground of the lambs at the south of the field, and from his highcushioned seat he would look wistfully at the white-fleeced lambs near by as though he would like to make their nearer acquaintance. At last, one day, some of the lambs, attracted by the sweet clover he held in his hand, cautiously approached and nibbled at the proffered grasses, which consisted of the common variety of clover, the white and the hare's-foot, a very delicious food for them. From that moment the boy and the lambs were firm friends; and, the kindly shepherd having given his consent, the poor little invalid visited the flock daily. Indeed, it happened ere long, that whenever noon came and the visitor did not appear, some of the lambs were wont to pause in their gambols and look eagerly up the winding, hilly path, as if disappointed that the little man with the fresh clovers was not in sight.

Those who saw him say that it was a pleasure to watch the lambs gather around him, peer into his face and even crowd the woman away from the back of the little three-wheeled carriage in their endeavors to pluck the fresh clover over his shoulder. But each day his face seemed to grow whiter and thinner, and his hands feebler; and one day in the autumn, when the foliage that overhung the path had become red and yellow, and brown and purple, and the soft southerly breeze had changed to cool-ish winds from the westward, the well-known tricycle did not appear. The bright sun reached the meridian and began to sink into the south-west, but the bearer of the clovers came not, and the lambs were forced to content themselves with the young grass clinging to the hillocks. A few days later, a sad-faced woman in a black gown appeared at the point in the path that had been frequented by the little invalid, and sat for hours upon a bench near by. It was the same woman who had come with the boy, and when the lambs discovered that she brought with her the same grasses they were wont to receive, they ventured to approach and eat them out of her lap. But by and by came the bleak, chilling winds and the snow, and the woman appeared no more.

The sheep-fold stands upon an elevation facing the point where the western bridle-path touches the main road. It is a stone and brick building, having two wings, a connecting archway in the rear and a large yard in front. In this yard are several boxes, each containing a great chunk of rock-salt, and when the sheep return from their feeding-ground, they push and crowd one another for good positions about these boxes, for they are very fond of salt. If you should look at the chunks of salt, you would see that they are honey-combed in every direction by the sheep's rough tongues.

The sheep wander about the yard till night-fall, and then straggle into the pens to sleep on the fresh straw provided for them by the shepherd.

The flock is composed entirely of Southdowns, a variety believed to be native to the Downs of Sussex, in England, and said by Mr. Henry Woods, of Merton, one of the best English authorities, to have existed before the conquest of Eng land, and to be one of the purest and most unmixed breeds of sheep in Britain.

The building where the Central Park sheep are housed is not a model fold. It looks more like a fortress than a sheep-fold, and it seems to have been constructed under the misapprehension that sheep require all the conveniences of the human family. The fold is pierced with port-holes, like a block-house, or the gun-deck of a man- of-war. These holes, however, are now stopped up with cobble-stones, but before this was done there were many mishaps; the lambs, in a spirit of investigation, often squeezed through the holes to see where they led, and fell into the depths below, a distance of eight or ten feet.

At either end of the fold, there are rooms with fine panels and furnished with oaken book-cases and tables. The intention of the builders was to make libraries of these rooms; but the sheep in the Park, though they do a great deal of thinking, and no doubt at times hold long conversations with one another, or with Shep, their guardian, don't care much for reading, and don't require any books. This fact, however, seems not to have become apparent to the builders until after the library was completed, and these costly rooms have been used, not as reading-rooms, but for storing the wool that is clipped from the sheep.

Inside the fold, there are two parallel rows of pens, each having beneath it a diminutive row of the same shape. These pens are filled with hay in the indoor season,— when the ground is covered with snow,— the tall pens being for the sheep, the short ones for the lambs.

At one end of the fold, distant only a few feet from the sheep, lies the collie. Indeed, Shep would not be at ease away from the sheep, for, though eighteen years old, he has lived among them from his infancy. Like many another shepherd dog, Shep, when but a few weeks old, was put under the care of a ewe whose lambs had been taken from her to make room for him, and hence he doubtless feels himself a sort of kinsman of the flock. Even for a collie, Shep is unusually sagacious, and in many instances has shown an intelligence almost human.

A few years ago, Shep being even then an old dog, an attempt was made to supersede him with a younger dog of more acute hearing. So poor old Shep was led away; and, evidently divining what was going on, showed many signs of distress. He was given to a gentleman who owns a farm in Putnam County, New York — more than fifty miles distant from New York City. Arrived at the farm, Shep was wont to sit on the lawn before the house and look intently in the direction whence he had been brought. Neither the kindly words of his new master nor the marrowy bones plentifully bestowed upon him by his mistress, served to cheer up his faithful old heart or lessen his longing to be back with the flock he loved so well.

One day the Park Superintendent came up to the farm on a visit, and Shep's heart beat with delight; for he imagined, though wrongly, that it was for him that the visitor had come. His new master took the superintendent out into a field to see some fine cows, and Shep followed; but the cows became restive at the sight of the dog.

"Go home, Shep!" said his new master, turning sharply upon him. Shep, when he got this command, brightened up immediately. His eyes opened wide and his bushy tail, which had drooped ever since he took up his new quarters, rose high in the air and curled over his back with its wonted grace. He understood the words of the order perfectly; but he knew only one " home," and that was in the Central Park sheep-fold, and with an alacrity that did credit to his aged limbs, he bounded off in the direction where he knew it stood. He had come by way of a steam-boat that landed at Poughkeepsie, and with a sagacity that might be looked for in a human being, but could hardly be expected in the canine family, he found his way at once to the wharf. There, not being able to read the time-table posted upon the wharf- shed, he sat down behind some barrels and waited patiently for the boat to come. But the boat started from the upper Hudson and did not call at Poughkeepsie until late in the afternoon. Shep seemed to know that it would come at last, however, and he improved the interval in taking a few quiet dozes under the shed.

When the boat arrived, almost the first passenger to get aboard was Shep ; he made the embarkation in just three bounds, and forgetting all about buying a ticket, hid himself at once among some great cases of merchandise lying on the main deck, where he remained, composed and comfortable, during the journey. The shepherd, who told this story of his collie, did not say if, upon the arrival of the boat at New York, the captain demanded Shep's ticket. But, if he did, it is safe to say he didn't get it, for Shep left Poughkeepsie with nothing but his shaggy hair on his back. The boat, in due time, reached the wharf at the foot of West Twenty-third Street, New York City; and, as may be imagined, Shep did not tarry on the way between the wharf and the Central Park. Long before his fellow-passengers had their luggage safely landed, Shep had reached the fold and was being hailed by the sheep with unmistakable evidences of delight. And from that day, the Park Superintendent, Mr. Conklin, a warm-hearted man, would not permit any one to remove the faithful collie from the fold.

Shep, much to his disappointment, found another and a younger dog in his former position of protector of the flock, but he was at once appointed as instructor to the young dog, a position he yet holds and in which he is giving great satisfaction.

The younger collie is called Shep Junior, and, though a very intelligent dog and making good progress in the collie language, is given o'er much to frivolity, and has by no means yet secured the confidence of the sheep. They naturally regard him as not entirely worthy of their confidence; for on several occasions he has shown an inclination to take part in the play of the lambs, which puts an end to all sport at once, since he is both awkward and rough. And upon one occasion he intruded upon a game of " Follow-my-leader," and snapped savagely at a lamb who had jumped, out of its turn, from the rocky hillock that skirts the southerly end of the pasture.

There is reason to believe that old Shep, who made a dash to the spot to rescue the lamb, scolded him soundly, for it is said that, after a few vigorous barks from the old dog, young Shep crouched down and sneaked off the field in the direction of the fold, trailing his bushy tail in the dust behind him.

If you should visit the Park some fine morning, you might see young Shep taking his lessons. He is never whipped, not even when he does wrong or makes mistakes, because that breaks the spirit of a collie, as indeed of any other kind of dog, and a shepherd dog must of all things be brave. When he doesn't carry out an order correctly, or in such a way that the sheep can understand him, old Shep is sent with the same order and Shep Junior is made to keep still and watch him until it is executed. His first lesson is simply to guard a hat or a coat or stick thrown upon the grass by the shepherd, and he is left out with it sometimes until late in the evening to show him the importance of fidelity, the very first essential in a shepherd dog. Next he is taught to gather the sheep, to take them to the right, then to the left. After this he is sent on the trail of a lost sheep, with instructions to bring it back slowly. The most important lesson, and one young Shep has not yet learned, is that of going among the flock and finding out if any of them are missing. This, as may be imagined, is by no means an easy task with a flock of eighty-two ewes and sixty-nine lambs. But old Shep can do it, for he knows every member of the flock, though to the ordinary observer they all look almost exactly alike. Indeed old Shep can, if his master the shepherd is not mistaken, perform a feat more wonderful than this. The shepherd says that Shep, when uncertain whether some of the flock have not strayed up the bridlepath on their way home, while he was busy in keeping troublesome boys away, will take his stand at the gate of the fold and touch each sheep with his fore-paw as it passes in. At such times he has the air of a farmer counting his cattle as they come home at night, and he wears an expression as if his mind were occupied with an intricate sum in addition. Whether he is really counting the sheep or not can not be said positively; but he has been known, after noting each sheep as it passed, to rush off up the bridle-path and return with a straggler. This does much to prove that the shepherd's assertion that old Shep can count the sheep is possibly not far from the truth. And Mr. Conklin, the Park Superintendent, an authority on sheep and sheep-dogs, says that every well- trained collie knows by sight the individual members of his flock, and, by going among them, can tell if any are missing. In the annual sheep-trials in England, he has seen a collie, he says, successfully carry out an order to select three sheep from the flock, and conduct them safely along a dangerous and winding path.

One morning Shep, having safely conveyed the flock to the end of the green, and made sure that no vagrant dogs were about, returned for his younger namesake, whose school-hours were about to begin.

While trotting leisurely back with his charge, he heard the shepherd calling loudly for him, and soon made the startling discovery that the sheep were nowhere to be seen. A wild dash brought him to his master's side. He looked up into the shepherd's face, cocked his head on one side, assumed an expression of apprehension, and gave three sharp, short barks and two long ones, followed by a low wail. Translated into our language, this meant:" I say, old man, where are the sheep?" At the same time Shep's tail, which, under ordinary circumstances, curls gayly upward in a semicircle, fell about ten points, which indicated a lack of confidence in the shepherd and a general depression in his own spirits. For Shep's tail is an infallible index of the condition of his spirits, just as the rising and falling of a column of mercury in the thermometer indicates the temperature of the air.

The only response Shep got was : " They 're a' awa! "

No sooner did he hear this than he was bounding over the grassy undulations to the northward, for he knew that the sheep, when chased by vagrant animals, generally make for the steep declivity that lies northward and eastward of the playground. Shep was right in his conclusion that his wards had fled thither. Perched all over the sharp, steep rocks and boulders were the sheep. But it was not a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf that was awkwardly stumbling over the rocks with blood-stained fangs, but a great shaggy butcher's dog. In an instant Shep took in the situation. With three springs he was close up to the marauder, and at the end of the fourth the powerful freebooter found himself possessed of what seemed to be a permanent appendage to his left ear that was far from comfortable. As an earring it was too heavy, and as an ornament it was by no means attractive. He barked and growled savagely and tried to shake Shep off, but it was no use. The more he shook himself, the more firmly Shep's sharp teeth buried themselves in his ear, and when he was beginning to howl with pain, the shepherd came up and with his great oaken staff gave him a good beating before Shep got the word to let the prisoner go.

Young Shep, like old Shep, is a pure-blooded collie, and bore away the honors in his class at the last bench show of dogs in New York. He is short of nose, bright and mild of eye, and looks very sagacious. His body is heavily covered with long and woolly hair, which stands out boldly in a thick mass and forms a most effectual screen against the heat of the blazing sun or the cold, sleety blasts of the winter's winds. The tail is very bushy and curves upward toward the end. The color of the hair is almost black, sprinkled with tan, and there is a white spot on the throat. Were it not for this white spot, he could not be called a pure-blooded collie.

Young Shep is certainly an apt pupil, as you may see if you visit the fold when he is taking his lessons. He is very intelligent, and though, as already said, he has not yet mastered the only language the sheep understand, he spends much of his time in thinking.

Sheep dogs, like old Shep and young Shep, rarely get bones, and, consequently, when they do have the good fortune to receive such a delicacy, they are inclined to take very good care of it.

Young Shep, when he had picked the bone to his complete satisfaction for the time, used to dig a hole in the yard, and put the bone in it, thus making provision in time of plenty for a possible famine in the future. Seeing this, old Shep, who, if he is losing his hearing, is by no means parting with his scent, got into the habit of going about the yard when in want of a nibble, and digging up the youngster's favorite bones. This was too much for young Shep, and he set himself to outwit the learned canine professor. Being given an unusually delicious and delicate chicken-bone one day, just after his dinner, he looked around for a safe depository until his appetite should return and he could enjoy the feast to his heart's content. As said before, young Shep is a thinking dog, and it did not take him long to hit upon a plan by which the voracious appetite of his revered instructor might be foiled — at least in so far as the appropriation of his junior's property was concerned.

He first dug an unusually deep pit, scratching away with his fore-paws for a long time. In the bottom of the deep hole he carefully buried the juicy chicken-bone, covering it with a good supply of fresh clay. The hole was now only half full, and young Shep was seen searching the yard from end to end. Finally he found what he sought! It was an old bone that had been picked clean and even the edges of which had been nibbled off. This he carried over to the newly made hole, into which he dropped it, covering it in turn with a bountiful supply of clay.

The next day old Shep bethought him that he would like a good bone to nibble. So he searched about the yard. The newly turned earth assured him that a bone was below, and his nose affirmed it. He went to work with a will, and his labors were soon rewarded by the sight of a bone. But such a bone ! No meat adhered to its sides, and it was almost white in some places from exposure to the weather. Old Shep just toyed with it for a few moments and then carried it to the farther end of the yard, where he dropped it. Meantime, young Shep had come to the door of the fold and had seen what was going on with ill-concealed anxiety. No sooner had old Shep retired from the vicinity of the hole, however, than the younger dog was there, digging with all his might; and a few minutes later Old Shep, at the other end of the yard, saw him extract from the same hole where he himself had been digging, a fine juicy chicken-bone, that almost made his mouth water.

Now that young Shep’s studies are nearly completed, old Shep is kept much of the time chained up in the dark recesses of the fold, and it is indeed a pitiable sight to see the noble old fellow as he sits with watery eyes and looks up wistfully in the shepherd’s face in hopes he will relent and let him go out once more with the sheep and watch them as they clip the sprouting herbage on the neighboring hill-sides. But the fact is, old Shep is very deaf, and all his faculties are waning, for he is eighteen years of age.

“’E’s studied o’er mickle,” says the shepherd, “’E’s a’most wore out ‘is mind, an’ nocht will do ‘im now but to wa’ till it’s a’ over an’ ‘e’s na moor.”

That’s it. The faithful old collie has done his work and done it well, and he must now step aside.

“He was a gash an faithfu’ tyke
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke;
His honest, sonsie. baws'nt face.
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His.breast was white; hjs touzie back
Weel clad wi’ coat o glossy black;
His gaucy tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung o’er his hurdies wi' a swirl.”'

This is Burns's description of the mountain collie in the " Twa Dogs," and a faithful picture also of old Shep, of the Central Park sheep-fold.

*Gash, shrewd: tyke, dog; lap, leaped; sheugh, ditch; sonsie, good-natured: baws'nt, brindled; ilka, every; touzie, shaggy; gaucy, big; hurdies, hips.