All We Need

I trudged up the rugged slope and pulled my hood down lower, my boots slipping on wet rock. A few ewes eyed me warily in the distance. The wind howled like a pack of coyotes, whipping rain into my face and trickling icy droplets down the back of my neck.

I shivered ... but not just from the cold.

Stewart and his sheepdog had been missing for five days.

My small farm was nestled beside the old shepherd's sprawling ranch in a remote, mountainous area of British Columbia. We made a point of helping each other so I knew the dangerous terrain well—treacherous rocky slopes inhabited by Grizzly bear, wolf and cougar.

None of us in the search party held out much hope for Stewart—or his dog.

“Stewart! Gael!” I shouted.

Nothing.

I raised my freezing wet fingers to my lips and tried to whistle Gael’s recall whistle, but only managed a spluttering, hollow sound. Frustrated, I shook the rain from my hands and tried again. This time my usual sharp whistle cut the air.

A prickle shot down my spine. Something...something over the wind, I was sure of it. I paused and yanked my hood back, every sense tingling.

“Gael? Stewart!”

A faint whine to my right.

I charged through some low scrub and froze at the edge of a low embankment.

Stewart lay crumpled about a dozen feet below me on his side. Gael, his loyal Border Collie, was curled in a tight ball and pressed against his front, her head resting against his chest. Wet fur plastered to her skinny frame, her hip bones too prominent. Gael lifted her head slightly and glared at me, then set it back on his chest.

“Stewart! STEWART!” He didn’t move. My stomach twisted in fear as I yanked my phone out of an inner pocket and messaged my location to the search party, then scrambled down the slick embankment.

Gael raised her head again and growled as I approached, her lips curled in warning.

I slowed down and eased toward her. “Easy, girl. It’s me. It’s just me.” Although I’d been to Stewart’s many times, Gael never let me—or anyone else—touch her. Only Stewart.

“I’m here to help.”

Gael sniffed the air. She stopped growling but watched me suspiciously with her soft amber eyes.

I knelt down beside Stewart and felt for a pulse. His skin was icy and still beneath my fingers.

He was gone.

I sat back and swallowed hard against the lump building in my throat, thankful for the pounding rain running down my face.

The man had been like a father to me the past several months—comforting when I lost my faithful old sheepdog Jock, pitching in when I struggled to save my flock from a decimating illness.

Last time I’d seen Stewart, he’d mentioned his “ol’ ticker wasn’t working as well as it should”. He held out a worn little black book, saying it was for Gael’s care, just in case. Caught off-guard, I stalled, half-joking that Gael hated me. I just couldn’t bring myself to replace old Jock...not yet. Stewart didn't push. He had simply stuck the book back into his pocket and told me to think about it.

I jerked backed to reality as the other members of the search party swirled around me, many in orange vests. The rain began to slack off.

A medic named Kevin dropped to his knees beside Stewart’s body. A bearded fellow bent down to drag Gael away from the body.

Gael snapped at the stranger.

The man yanked his hand away and kicked at Gael, missing her—and Kevin—by inches.

Gael jumped aside, snarling.

“Whoa, easy, Jim,” Kevin cried out, throwing his hand up to stop another kick.

My jumble of emotions boiled over like soup on a stove. I leaped up and lunged at Jim. My hands hit him in the middle of the chest, shoving him away from Gael. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jim stumbled back a step but regained his balance. His hands curled into fists and he stepped forward. “What’s it to you?”

I held my ground. “Leave her be.”

A couple of others jumped between us, including the leader of the search party, an old grizzled farmer from down the road.

“Settle down,” growled the farmer, his arms out like a referee. “We’re all tired. Everyone’s hurtin’. Stew was a good man.”

I took a deep breath, nodded, then turned from the altercation. I crouched down sideways to Gael and patted my leg, my voice soft. “Gael, here. Gael, that’ll do.”

Gael hesitated. Her eyes flicked suspiciously from side-to-side, sizing up each person. She glanced down at Stewart, almost as if to beg his forgiveness, and then edged to me, ears back and tail between her legs.

“Atta girl, Gael. I’ve got you.” I spoke in a whisper. My voice would’ve cracked had I tried anything louder.

She leaned against my leg, but turned her back to me, still watching over Stewart’s prone form.

I didn’t try petting her just yet. It was a tentative alliance.

Kevin held up something small wrapped in plastic and looked at me. “I guess this is yours? I found it in his coat pocket.”

Puzzled, I reached out and took the package.

It was Stewart's dog-eared little black book with my name clearly written on the protective wrapping.

The old shepherd had known I would say yes.

I brought Gael home and put Jock's old blanket near the wood stove with some food. Gael curled into a tiny, trembling ball on the blanket. She ate a few bites but refused to look at me. I settled on my ratty couch, opened the little black book and began flipping through the pages.

Stewart had written at length about Gael's training, her feeding, her quirks, sheep management—the notebook held a lifetime of shepherding wisdom.

I reached the last page and stared at the final words in the book.

If you made it this far, I know you’ll do a good job with Gael. When she’s truly your dog, take her to the north field and let her run free. There’s no greater reward.

I didn’t know what it meant. The north field was a meadow that bordered Stewart’s farm and my own with a common trail to it.

Feeling a bit silly but wanting to honour the old shepherd’s wishes, I took Gael to the north field the next day. She refused to move from the gate, just stared back down the trail—waiting for Stewart.

I tried the next day, and the next day after that, and the next—but it was always the same.

When we got home after the fourth time, I tossed the book in a drawer and forgot about it.

Instead, I threw myself into getting Gael healthy. Over time, the trust between us grew. Gael gained weight and tentatively showed a renewed interest in working livestock.

But we struggled to become a team.

So I cracked open the little black book again, learning about Gael through Stewart’s eyes … but I always avoided that last page.

Step by painful step, we started working on the farm together.

Several months went by and I could feel the bond growing stronger between us, although she still didn’t like me petting her. My livestock management improved dramatically with Gael—and help from the little black book. The flock flourished and soon there were dozens of lambs bouncing through my fields.

Finally, one day in late spring, the chores finished for the day, I called Gael and she came running off the field, her eyes sparkling. As I stood watching the sheep, I felt a nudge at my side. I glanced down, and Gael pushed her nose into my fingers again, almost grinning, giving me permission. I reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

Her eyes never left mine.

That night she jumped onto the couch and curled up beside me, pressing into my leg.

And something inside me clicked.

I picked up the little black book, flipped past all the instructions to the last page and stared again at the words written there…

If you made it this far, I know you’ll do a good job with Gael. When she’s truly your dog, take her to the north field and let her run free. There’s no greater reward.

Perhaps it was time.

The next morning dawned bright and warm. The birds sang like it was a celebration.

Gael and I walked up the trail to the north field. My heart was beating a bit faster than usual and my hand shook slightly as I reached for the gate latch. But when I pushed open the gate, Gael bounded through, leaping and chasing with unbridled enthusiasm, coming back to me like a child pulling on a parent’s hand in excitement, then charging off again.

Laughing, I ran after her. Gael raced to a large tree in the centre of the field and began to dig with a joy that filled my soul. I wandered over, feeling content. There were divots all around the tree. Obviously, a place she had loved to dig when Stewart would bring her here.

Suddenly, I heard her nails scrape against metal. I crouched down to look. An old cookie tin was visible through the dirt.

I helped Gael dig until I could get my fingers around the edges. Curious, I pulled off the lid. A note sat on top of a cloth covering the rest of the contents.

I picked up the note and read:

If you’ve found this, it’s likely because you have earned the love and loyalty of my dear Gael enough for her to play this game. There was no greater gift for me than her joy—and I hope you feel the same. But, as a thank you for your love of her, you’ve also earned this…

I lifted the cloth to see what was underneath.

My jaw dropped.

The cookie tin was stuffed full of money—large bills, fifteen, maybe twenty thousand dollars. Gael pawed at me and I put my arm around her, stroking her.

“Good girl, Gael, good girl.”

I could almost feel Stewart’s hand on my shoulder.

My farm—Gael’s home—was safe.

I stared at the box for a long time. Then, smiling, I set the cloth and note back on top of the money, closed the lid and covered it with dirt.

Brushing myself off, I stood and began walking back toward the gate.

Gael bounded joyously ahead. At the gate, she turned and waited, her eyes fixed on me instead of the trail, a slightly quizzical look on her face.

“We’ll come back to play, Gael. But, as for the rest of it, right now we’ve got all we need.”

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