BORDER COLLIE WEATHER

Rain stings my face.

Back in the trees, I could not feel it; it's not a heavy rain, it's an early spring rain and this spring that means cold and sharp and it clings to my beard. I bow my head, pull up my hood and move forward into the low rolling hills of the ravine.

Terra breaks out of the trees behind me. She pauses there on the crest of the hill, just as I had. Her eyes narrow in the rain but her muzzle raises up almost of its own volition it seems and I can see her nostrils flare as she fills her mind and her body with the scents all around her.

The ears come up, just for a second pricked in the classic Border Collie way but that is not her way and after a moment the ears lay back down. I've gotten about 20 feet ahead of her and of course, that will not do. The head lowers just a bit, her long lanky body surges forward, the muscles moving under her glossy black fur like the current of a deep cold dark river.

She is at my side in seconds; she slows, not quite pausing and tilts her head just enough to let me know that she is looking at me. I move my hand in a practised way and I quietly say "Go ahead little girl."

And she goes.

Due to the weather, the big park is empty. Green rolling hills fringed with elm trees and willows and poplars. I know that there is a street just beyond those trees, that overpasses arch above us but I can ignore that.

Terra is moving ahead of me, not full out running but moving swiftly, tail up and curled with its distinctive crook in the end, her nose down, running it through the wet grass.

She is scenting, or trying to scent. Border collies are not scent dogs, they are sight dogs. When Terra wants something she "asks with here eyes" which means usually laying down on her belly and staring at the object she desires ... and I mean staring. Eyes locked on, body incredibly still, I swear her breathing changes; this is entire focus this is concentration, this is a dog saying "You idiot it's there, it's right there, that thing, right there!"

But now she is moving through the high grass, the wetness clinging to the long feathered fur on the backs of her legs, he nose down, head swinging. She is not a scent dog. Up north one winter I found deer tracks, fairly fresh, in the snow and I put her nose right in them; off she went, following the scent, till she got to the point where the deer tracks went right. Terra went left.

But she is just casting now, curious, picking up scents of other dogs, squirrels, raccoons maybe. There are coyotes in this ravine. I'm not sure what she would do if she scented them, run like hell probably. She's a smart dog.

We come to a part where the ravine becomes quite steep, the wooded slope rising up at a very sharp angle to a height of about 30 or 40 feet. She goes to where the wall of the ravine begins to rise; she stops, turns only her head to look at me, mouth open tongue lolling eyes bright. I quietly say "Go ahead little girl."

And she goes.

She flies straight up, very fast, easily leaping over logs, flowing under branches, fearless; she's scented a squirrel and she begins to bark, still running, moving fast, totally happy in that moment,

I continue along the trail, heading back into thicker trees as Terra runs the ravine, sometimes barking sometimes quiet, intense and focussed at one moment then completely hyper and loud and explosive in the next.

I lose sight of her from time to time in the trees but I know she knows where I am. She is my border collie and I am her master, her leader, her shepherd if you will. She always knows where I am.

The rain is getting heavier now, soaking through my hoodie. I shove my hands into my pockets, hunching my shoulders. Terra comes bounding down the wall of the ravine at full speed, her fur soaked through, her normally full tail looking rat like.

She is smiling. She is happy. She comes barreling along the trail, mud spattering and sticking to her fur. She skids to a halt right in front of me, the mouth open her eyes gleaming. She tilts here head as if to say "Where to next"

When I had Hayley and Terra together we had a "dog park friend" a lady from England who also had two border collies. She had grown up with the breed. One day we were in the park with our four days, a day much like this one, with low clouds and cold blowing rain and an empty ravine. We were miserable us two humans but the four border collies were ranging ahead of us; quiet and swift and feeling the roll of the hills, their noses in their wind, eyes slitted against the cold hard rain.

The lady stopped me with her hand and had me watch the dogs for a moment. "Look at them. They love this. This is border collie weather."

So now she is at my feet, looking up at me as if to ask "Where to next"

I pull the hood tighter around my head, feeling the sting of the rain and I say to her "Go ahead little girl"

And we go

LEMOINE POINT, KINGSTON ONTARIO

This is where you come to not be some place else.

This where you come to not be driving, working, thinking ... doing.

Quiet here: the first impression. Only quiet because you've left other sounds behind. The din of the city, the hum of your life. But not really quiet, not silent: Alive. With Sounds.

The sigh of wind through high grass. The susurrus of water against shore. The breathy laugh of the breeze in the leaves. The splash of the dog's legs as she moves through the water.

The wind really is like breath. You can hear it better here, you can feel it, somehow it's easier to draw that breath into your own lungs and  hold it there, let it mix with your own air and when you exhale, your breath is different. You are different. The wind is part of you. You are part of the wind. You are quieted.

Water has its own language. Ancient, complex, a variety of accents. Oceans have their own dialect; slow and basso profundo and stately yet prone to sudden fits of anger. Rivers understand this dialect as they travel the world and they translate for the lakes that speak a rural patois; lively and quick and continually developing.

We understand these languages. We do. On a deep level an ancient level somewhere deep inside us. Lay down when it is very quiet and become very still and you will hear the echoes of the water language: It is the movement of the blood under your skin.

It is why we are drawn to water.

Water speaks in this place. And the wind in the fur of the dog and the sun on your bare shoulders and the dry whispering of the high grasses.

This is not we normally are. This is away. This is the real quiet.

It's why we come here.

The dog splashes through the water and pauses suddenly, one paw lifted; she raises her muzzle and puts her nose into the wind. Something sweeps through the fur on her face.

She closes her eyes.

And she smiles.