What's good for the goose is good for the gander?!

Ever seen the movie "Babe" starring the adorable, bubble gum pink sheep-herding pig? That might give you an idea about my here-to-fore unpublicized, undisclosed and somewhat embarrassing passion. This summer Addie and I are committing ourselves to our favorite past time: herding geese. Every Friday, we cruise through rose and vegetable farms to Half Moon Bay, then swing south along the coast on gorgeous California Route 1 to a farm in Pescadero.

There we join several batty, barrel-chested, country women who herd sheep, ducks and geese. We wave Little Bo Peep-esque crooks at our canines (who are undoubtedly smarter and quicker than we at this activity) and shout commands like: away to me! go by! get out! walk up... walk up... WALK UP!! It is a foreign language, but you should see how accurately and quietly Addie follows every command, even when she knows I know I'm screwing up. She understands better than I how to push a flock of geese off a fence, circle them in the center of the pen and flush them through a few gates. It's kind of embarrassing to admit on, say, a first date that herding sheep is a favorite past time, but man is it a rush to see Addie exercising her ability to work a pen! The herding instinct has been bred into the Australian Sheppard over hundreds of years and it’s so cool to see her manage a gaggle of farm animals and it's fun to learn how to improve *my* skills. After all, the only ancestral instincts I have are how to consume G&T's, Mint Milanos and Triscuits.

As an "urbane" city-dweller and San Francisco-is-the-most-cosmopolitan-place-in-the-world snob, I was quick to up-turn my nose at the unfashionable ladies and their inferior, but cute (I'm not a hater), doggies. I was also very verbal (to myself) in drawing large distinctions between The Ladies and me--and my dog. I mean, I am NOT one of them, and neither is Addie. To wit: we try to eliminate facial hair, we use correct grammar, we did not stockpile canned food and flashlights in the basement in preparation for the Millenium Bug... in short, we have LIVES, people! Full disclosure: I was v. annoyed at how impressed these mother hens were with my little brother, just because he happens to be a vet and memorably treated a bleeding lamb that fell victim to Falcon, the German Sheppard. But I digress... then I noticed I was on the edge of my seat listening to The Ladies describe vet clinic scandals, busting up puppy mills and, most recently, the miraculous recovery of stolen Betty Sue, the miniature Sheltie. I love this stuff!!! Turns out we are all equally "pazza" about dogs. Given that I actually have more in common with The Ladies than I originally allowed, I now recognize their deep wisdom... obviously. I like to solicit their advice on how to get the damned geese out of a corner or what Addie's chances are of going to Nationals.

The Ladies may not look as chic as I do sporting my sweet-girl outfit (Carharts, aviators) but being older, they are certainly wiser. And their dogs are pretty good at what they do, too.