Pound-wise England : Dog Days Cherished in the English Countryside

We were sampling the country pleasures of Northumberland, that “undiscovered” tourist territory in the north of England where you’re a lot closer to Edinburgh than London in more ways than one.

We had spent the night in a manor house hotel with topiary trees lining the driveway in front and swans floating on a pond in back. Fortified by a substantial English breakfast, we chugged along a zigzag, two-lane road that seemed all the more narrow because waist-high limestone walls hugged both sides.

Our only complaint: no pull-offs for photo opportunities. Scenery was the essence of post-card pastoral--crumbling castles and grazing sheep all over the place. So this was how the British country gentry lived.

Our expectations of an idyllic, rustic weekend hadn’t included a traffic jam caused by sheep crossing through a hole in the wall on one side of the road to reach the entrance to their barnyard on the other. The asphalt was covered with wall-to-wall baa -ing bedlam, with honking cars backed up around a dangerous curve. Nothing the farm boy could do seemed to speed the protesting animals’ progress.

In our frustration at the delay, we almost missed the hand-lettered marker: International Sheep Dog Society Dog Trials. The arrow pointed off somewhere to our side of the road. A friend had told us sheep dog trials are as British country gentry as it gets. Why not go see for ourselves?

We made a sharp turn onto a rutted dirt lane, then bumped across undulating fields until we spotted what we figured had to be the trials in progress.

Spectators of varied age and status, seated in folding chairs or sprawled on blankets, were lined up along the edge of a large meadow dotted with white fence barriers. They watched as a black and white border collie dashed this way and that, moving 10 sheep around a course the size of a football field.

The canine workaholic moved the flock a lot further, a lot faster and with infinitely more ease than the farm boy back on the road. When the dog finished by driving the sheep into a pen at the end of the field, the onlookers applauded politely, muttered things like “Good show” or “Well done,” and made notes on their scorecards.

The drill on the field was as incomprehensible to our American urban eyes as cricket or rugby, but the action on the sidelines was better than Masterpiece Theater for insight into what makes the British tick.

And what a setting. Alnwick Castle, an 11th-Century border fortress high on a hill, overlooks lush green fields crosshatched with ancient limestone walls and dotted with thick clumps of trees. On this hazy September afternoon last year, cotton-ball clouds scattered around a Wedgwood blue sky made the landscape reminiscent of a 19th-Century oil painting.

Families gathered around picnic lunches spread on plaid blankets bordering the course, calling out greetings to friends passing by. Aging gentlemen propped up by canes became animated discussing sheep dog bloodlines. Genial nods in our direction indicated we were welcome, and if we had any questions, answers would be provided at length.

The only tense faces belonged to the handlers getting themselves and their dogs ready to start their turn on the course.

Dogs were everywhere, not only the black and white border collie competitors but the garden-variety pooches that accompany their British masters wherever they go. Spectators and best friends on leashes took breaks from the action on the field to stroll along the meadow midway.

Crayon-colored tents offered sheepherding mementoes of every description, from health dog food and formal canine portraits, herder’s whistles and crooks to lanolin cosmetics, sheepskins and sweat shirts with randy ram motifs.

A canteen operated by the local women’s club offered coffee, tea and scones, dry sandwiches, mediocre stew and lukewarm ale, to be shared at wobbly tables while sitting on wiggly benches. Our guess was that the gentry came prepared with their own picnics. We wished we had, too.

The knee-deep north country dialect thwarted conversation for us (our Midwest twangs didn’t do much for them, either), but there could be no mistaking the unbounded pride in the dogs out there on the field.

When it comes to working sheep dogs, the United Kingdom considers itself kennel to the world. One good sheep dog, anyone at the trials will tell you, is worth many thousands of dollars. A well-trained dog can cover 20 to 30 miles a day gathering sheep on the hill--a job that would take 10 people on horseback. And that same dog can guard 1,000 sheep settled in for the night.

A. Philip Hendry, the dapper, brisk-mannered International Sheep Dog Society secretary-treasurer, took time to fill us in on the significance of the competitions.

The ISDS was formed in 1906 for the purpose of giving the shepherd pride in his calling and improving the skills of the sheep dog, he said. The program had succeeded so well, dog trials have become a minor sport in the UK, bringing the winners the kind of acclaim they’d gain in taking home a soccer or rugby trophy.

At the final three-day championship (this year to be held Sept. 12-14), shepherds call upon their dogs to meet ever-increasing challenges in number of sheep handled and distance covered. The dog that the judges determine is best wins his owner $1,000, a trophy and a small fortune in stud fees. Everybody profits because breeders and buyers can window-shop bloodlines and invest wisely according to what they can afford. As a bonus, it’s an outing for the family.

Fifty-seven dogs, winners in local competitions in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, go to the championship trials, with the location moving from England to Scotland to Wales. This year’s championship will be in Carmichael, Strathclyde, Scotland; in 1992 it will be in Aberystwyth, Wales. Preliminaries for the championship trials go on year-round.

While the championship is clearly the big time for dogs, we were enchanted by the strictly local trials, where the age range of the handlers runs from 10 to 80 and the younger dogs herd ducks instead of sheep.

The only trick is to find them. The events are not well-advertised and usually take place on farms or on a mountainside. But that, quite honestly, is part of their charm. Check the event calendar at the Los Angeles British Tourist Authority office before leaving home. Or in London, try the British Travel Centre or look in the local newspapers and keep an eye peeled for signs along the back roads. And don’t forget to take a picnic.

GUIDEBOOK: Sheep Dog Trials in England

Getting there: Express bus service allows easy access to Northumberland from throughout Britain. Direct service from all major British cities to Berwick-upon-Tweed, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Durham and Darlington. Typical journey time from London’s Kings Cross Station to Durham is three hours. Rental cars booked at rail stations or airport. Region is well-served by the A1/A1M Motorway from the south, A19 from York and M6 to Manchester.

Dog trials: Dates and places for International Sheep Dog Society Trials throughout Britain can be obtained by calling the British Tourist Authority in Los Angeles or British Travel Centre in London. Monthly calendars of events list many of the shows, which usually are on Saturday, from 8 a.m. through the afternoon, depending on the number of entries. There are no advance ticket sales for the 1991 International Sheep Dog Society Trials, Sept. 12-14 in Carmichael, Strathclyde, Scotland. Cost is about $3.50 per person plus $3.50 to park. Hours are 8 a.m.-7 p.m., depending on the number of entries.

For more information: Contact the British Tourist Authority, 350 S. Figueroa St., Suite 450, Los Angeles 90071, (213) 628-3525, or in London, the British Travel Centre, 12 Regent St., 730-3400.