1
The collie pups—Star, Gwen, Nevis, and Shep—pushed their way to the front of the crowd gathered at the bottom of the hill. A hushed silence fell across the dogs and humans who were watching. It was the final round of the National Sheepdog Trials, and it looked like Bleak Tarn, the old, gnarled collie and five-time champion, would win again.
But there was one dog remaining—one dog who still had to run the course.
Gwen nudged Star with her paw. “Look—here comes your mom.”
The pups watched Star’s mom, Lillabelle of Langdale Pike, trot alongside her shepherd. The black-and-white collie waited at the starting line for the signal, and then she was off. She raced up the hillside in a long curve toward the small flock of sheep grazing in the far field. She leaped the low wall and came up behind the sheep, slowing down as she did so. She knew that if she ran in too fast, she would scare them and they would scatter. The sheep saw her and drew together. Lillabelle kept her head low and crept closer to them, and the small flock set off steadily down the hillside toward the crowd.
“That was perfect!” said Nevis.
“If the rest of the trial goes this well, your mom might win,” said Shep.
Lillabelle guided the sheep through narrow gates, then drove them into a circle marked on the ground. Next, she had to single out the ewe with the green spot painted on her back. She circled the sheep, keeping them in a tight group, and when she saw the ewe on the outside of the flock, she swiftly trotted in and herded it away.
The crowd held their breath.
Maybe Lillabelle’s performance was good enough to beat Bleak Tarn, but there was one last part of the trial to complete. It was the most difficult part of all. Lillabelle had to herd the sheep into the square pen and shut the gate. It wouldn’t be easy. The sheep were getting bored and restless. They wanted to be back out on the hillside with the other flocks.
Lillabelle kept them calm. If she charged in now, all would be lost. She tried to forget the crowd watching her. She also tried to forget Bleak Tarn, who would be willing her to fail.
Keeping her belly low to the ground, she crept forward. The sheep bunched together more tightly, looking for an escape route to the hillside. But Lillabelle kept them moving, and before they knew it, the sheep had followed one another into the pen. The shepherd swung the gate shut, and the crowd exploded with applause.
She had done it. Bleak Tarn had been beaten at last.
There was a new winner now.
A new champion.
Lillabelle of Langdale Pike had won the National Sheepdog Trials.
* * *
Gwen turned to Star. “Your mom is awesome,” she said.
“The best!” said Shep.
“My dad said she would win,” said Nevis.
Star puffed out her chest in pride. Her mom was a champion sheepdog. Everyone said Star would be a champion too. Star hoped so. She hoped one day she would win the National Sheepdog Trials and make her mom proud.
Star was looking forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow was the beginning of the pups’ sheepdog training, and Star couldn’t wait.
* * *
The next morning, Star, Gwen, Nevis, and Shep gathered in the classroom.
“Right,” said Major Bones. “It’s time to get started on your basic sheepherding skills. We’ll go out to the field and see if Hilda and Mabel are ready for us.”
The four collie pups followed Major Bones outside. Major Bones was a teacher at the Sausage Dreams Puppy Academy for Working Dogs. There were all sorts of puppies at the Puppy Academy. There were pups who were training to be guide dogs, pups who wanted to be hearing dogs (to help people who are deaf), and pups who wanted to be water-rescue dogs. But Star wanted to be a sheepdog like her mom. She was a border collie, after all, and border collies had sheepherding in their blood.
Hilda and Mabel, the academy sheep, weren’t in the field. They were in the barn, sitting on hay bales, chitchatting and knitting woolen blankets for dogs in rescue shelters.
“Ooh, hello, my dears,” Hilda bleated, seeing the collie pups.
“Hello,” baa-ed Mabel.
Hilda put her knitting down. “Well, if it isn’t little Gwen, Shep, Nevis, and Star,” she bleated. She gave Star a little wink. “We’re expecting great things from you.”
“Great things,” baa-ed Mabel in agreement.
Star smiled to herself. She imagined winning the National Sheepdog Trials: Star of Langdale Pike, the new champion.
“No need for idle talk,” barked Major Bones. “Let’s get started.”
“Right-ho, right-ho,” bleated Hilda. “Just give me time. My legs don’t move as fast as they used to.”
“Not as fast,” baa-ed Mabel.
They climbed down from their hay bales and hobbled outside into the field.
Hilda and Mabel had lived at the Puppy Academy longer than anyone could remember and had taught many young collies the basics of herding sheep. They were gentle, kind, and patient sheep, although they could manage only a slow shuffle around the field these days.
“Now then, young’uns,” said Hilda, “Mabel and I will stand over there.” She pointed to the far end of the field. “And you have to run around us and drive us through that gate and into that pen there.”
“That pen there,” baa-ed Mabel.
“Remember,” said Hilda, “run a wide curve and keep it nice and steady.”
“Nice and steady,” baa-ed Mabel.
Star watched Hilda and Mabel totter across the field. She could feel excitement fizz through her. She was about to herd sheep for the first time—ever. Her paws twitched. Her nose twitched. Her muscles felt like coiled springs just waiting to bounce.
Star was the last to take her turn. She watched Gwen, then Nevis, then Shep, herd Hilda and Mabel across the field and into the pen. Once or twice, Hilda pretended to hobble away but let the pups herd her back again.
All the time Star was watching them, she felt her muscles tighten even more. She wanted it to be her turn. She wanted to be herding Hilda and Mabel. Her heart thumped inside her chest. The tip of her tail tingled with excitement. She couldn’t keep her feet still. She jumped up and down on the spot.
Major Bones waited for Hilda and Mabel to shuffle back to the far end of the field, and then he turned to Star. But before he could say GO, Star was off, streaking across the field in a blur of black-and-white fur. She leaped the fence, did a midair half spin, and flew like a bullet toward Hilda and Mabel.
“Ooh, heavens!” bleated Hilda, breaking into a trot.
“Oh, lordy!” baa-ed Mabel, running off in a different direction.
Star ran around them to herd them up again.
“Ooh, me knees,” bleated Hilda, stumbling on a rock.
“Slow down, young’un,” baa-ed Mabel. “We’re not spring lambs anymore.”
But Star couldn’t slow down. She was a sheepdog, and she had to herd these sheep. She ran around them in circles to keep them together. Round and round. Faster and faster. Round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round.
“Ooh! I’m quite dizzy,” bleated Hilda.
“My head’s spinning,” baa-ed Mabel. “I think I need to lie down.”
“Me too, dear,” agreed Hilda.
“STAR!” bellowed Major Bones. “Come back at once.”
Star stopped running. She looked back at Major Bones and then at Hilda and Mabel. What had she done? She hadn’t even managed to herd them through the gates. She watched the two old ewes head back to the barn in dizzy circles.
Gwen, Shep, and Nevis were staring at her with their mouths wide open.
Star was supposed to be a sheepdog, the daughter of a champion, but her first attempt at herding had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Text copyright © 2015 by Gill Lewis
Illustrations copyright © 2015 by Sarah Horne
