'Separate them out from the rest; the ones to be shed will have collars on'.
'And then what?'
'Then the dog has to gather them all again, and pen them'.
'Is that all?'
'It's not easy, dear. Not like moving that bunch of woolly fools of ours up and down a field. It all has to be done quickly, without any mistakes. You lose points if you make mistakes'.
'Have you ever been in a trial, Mum?'
'Yes. Here. When I was younger'.
'Did you make any mistakes?'
'Of course', said Fly. 'Everyone does. It's very difficult, working a small number of strange sheep, in strange country. You'll see'.
By the end of the day Babe had seen a great deal. The course was not an easy one, and the sheep were very different from those at home. They were fast and wild, and, good though the dogs were, there were many mistakes made, at the gates, in the shedding-ring, at the final penning.
Babe watched every run intently,, and Hogget watched Babe, and Fly watched them both.
What's the boss up to, she thought, as they drove home. He's surely never thinking that one day Babe might... no, he couldn't be that daft! Sheep-pig indeed! All right for the little chap to run round our place for a bit of fun, but to think of him competing in trials, even a little local one like today's, well, really! She remembered something he had said in his early duck-herding days.
'I suppose you'd say', she remarked, 'that those dogs just weren't polite enough?'
'That's right', said Babe.
Chapter 8
'Oh Ma!'
Fly's suspicions about what the farmer was up to grew rapidly over the next weeks. It soon became obvious to her that he was constructing, on his own land, a practice course. From the top of the field where the rustlers had come, the circuit which he laid out ran all round the farm, studded with hazards to be negotiated. Some were existing gateways or gaps. Some he made, with hurdles, or lines of posts between which the sheep had to be driven. Some were extremely difficult. One, for example, a plank bridge over a stream, was so narrow that it could only be crossed in single file, and the most honeyed words were needed from Babe to persuade the animals to cross.
Then, in the home paddock, Hogget made a rough shedding-ring with a circle of large stones, and beyond it, a final pen, a small hurdle enclosure no bigger than a tiny room, with a gate to close its mouth when he pulled on a rope.
Every day the farmer would send Fly to cut out five sheep from the flock, and take them to the top of the hill, and hold them there. Then, starting Babe from the gate at the lower end of the farmyard, Hogget would send him away to run them through the course.
'Away to me, Pig!' he would say, or 'Come by, Pig!' and off Babe would scamper as fast as his trotters could carry him, as the farmer pulled out his big old pocket watch and noted the time. There was only one problem. His trotters wouldn't carry him all that fast.
Here at home, Fly realised, his lack of speed didn't matter much. Whichever five sheep were selected were only too anxious to oblige Babe, and would huury eagerly to do whatevere he wanted. But with strange sheep it will be different, thought Fly. If the boss really does intend to run him in a trial. Which it looks as though he does! She watched his tubby pinky-white shape as he crested the hill.
That evening at suppertime she watched again as he tucked into his food. Up till now it had never worried her how much he ate. He's a growing boy, she had thought fondly. Now she thought, he's a greedy boy too.
'Babe', she said, as with a grunt of content he licked the last morsels off the end of his snout. His little tin trough was as shiningly clean as though Mrs Hogget had washed it in her sink, and his tummy was as tight as a drum.
'Yes, Mum?'
'You like being a... sheep-pig, don't you?'
'Oh yes, Mum!'
'And you'd like to be really good at it, wouldn't you? The greatest? Better than any other sheep-pig?'
'D'you think there are any others?'
'Well, no. Better than any sheep-dog, then?'
'Oh yes, I'd love to be! But I don't really think that's possible. You see, although sheep do seem to go very well for me, and do what I ask... I mean, do what I tell them, I'm nothing like as fast as a dog and never could be'.
'No. But you could be a jolly sight faster than you are'.
'How?'
'Well, there are two things you'd have to do, dear', said Fly.
'First, you'd have to go into proper training. One little run around a day's not enough. You'd have to practise hard - jogging, cross-country running, sprinting, distance work. I'd help you of course'.
It all sounded fun to Babe.
'Great!' he said. 'But you said 'two things'. What's the second?'
'Eat less', said Fly. 'You'd have to go on a diet'.
Any ordinary pig would have rebelled at this point. Pigs enjoy eating, and they also enjoy lying around most of the day thinking about eating again. But Babe was no ordinary pig, and he set out enthusiastically to do what Fly suggested.
Under her watchful eye he ate wisely but not too well, and every afternoon he trained, to a programme which she had worked out, trotting right round the boundaries of the farm perhaps, or running up to the top of the hill and back again, or racing up and down the home paddock. Hogget thought that Pig was just playing, but he couldn't help noticing how he had grown; not fatter, as a sty-kept pig would have done, but stronger and wirier. There was nothing of the piglet about him any more; he looked lean and racy and hard-muscled, and he was now almost as big as the sheep he herded. And the day came when that strength and hardness were to stand him in good stead.
One beautiful morning, when the sky was clear and cloudless, and the air so crisp and fresh that you could almost taste it, Babe woke feeling on top of the world. Like a trained athlete, he felt so charged with energy that he simply couldn't keep still. He bounced about the stable floor on all four feet, shaking his head about and uttering a series of short sharp squeaks.
'You're full of it this morning', said Fly with a yawn. 'You'd better run to the top of the hill and back to work it off'.
'OK Mum!' said Babe, and off he shot while Fly settled comfortably back in the straw.
Dashing across the home paddock, Babe bounded up the hill and looked about for the sheep. Though he knew he would see them later on, he felt so pleased with life that he thought he would like to share that feeling with Ma and all the others, before he ran home again; just to say 'Hello! Good morning, everybody! Isn't it a lovely day!' They were, he knew, in the most distant of all the fields on the farm, right away up at the top of the lane.
He looked across, expecting that they would be grazing quietly or lying comfortably and cudding in the morning sun, only to see them galloping madly in every direction. On the breeze came cries of 'Wolf!' but not in the usual bored, almost automatic, tones of complaint that they used when Fly worked them. These were yells of real terror, desperate calls for help. As he watched, two other animals came in sight, one large, one small, and he heard the sound of barking and yapping as they dashed about after the fleeing sheep. 'You get some wolves z'll chase sheep and kill 'em' - Ma's exact words came back to Babe, and without a second thought he set off as fast as he could go in the direction of the noise.
What a sight greeted him when he arrived in the far field! The flock, usually so tightly bunched, was scattered everywhere, eyes bulging, mouths open, heads hanging in their evident distress, and it was clear that the dogs had been at their worrying for some time. A few sheep had tried in their terror to jump the wire fencing and had become caught up in it, some had fallen into the ditches and got stuck. Some were limping as they ran about, and on the
