The Trick

The following story is absolutely true. If you've ever lived with a Border Collie, you wont doubt me for one minute. Enjoy and read on...

My best friend and I waited anxiously at the Air Freight Depot in Spokane, Washington, for the delivery of our Border Collie Pups, arriving all the way from McLeansborough, Illinois. Unrelated for future breeding purposes, both were from champion stock and were being ‘shipped together in a safe and light weight crate,’ as promised by the breeder.
Certain the pups were flown in one of those new fiberglass animal carriers, our conversation was starting to get a little heated over which one of us would get to keep the shipping crate. When from behind the counter and over the din of noise in the open freight hanger could be heard the unmistakable of sound growling animals.
“Well, here we are ladies. They look a little worse for wear, but it was a bit of long flight and after all, they were stuck in Chicago for a few extra hours,” said the attendant, pushing the crate with his foot from behind the counter. There they were in a wooden lettuce crate, water can wired to one corner, wet and soiled newspaper beneath the dirty black and white snarling pups, their teeth locked together in obvious loathing.
“Ah, it’s ok with me, you can keep the crate… really, I don’t mind,” pretending generosity.
“Yeah… sure,” she replied. “Which one is which do you think?” She opened the crate and bravely reached in to separate the scrapping puppies. Hers was the larger pup, a male she had already registered as ‘Bramble’ and mine was the small female, Chrissy, who was to become our 'hired hand', working goats and sheep on our small British Columbia farm.
At only eight weeks old, Chrissy demonstrated her superior Border Collie intellect. We would throw or hide different toys in separate places and when told to retrieve a specific toy, she’d fetch the correct item every time.
Our pups were sent to us with training instructions and although I did my best to follow the directions to the letter, I was a total failure. Training sessions usually ended up with either my mouth feeling like dry cotton from my futile attempts at various kinds of whistle commands described in the book, or I’d be left standing with my arms flailing around in the air trying to get her attention with supposed hand signals. Fortunately it was only me that ended up confused and exasperated for our little gal was a lot smarter than me and was able to figure out on her own what was required and off she’d go and do it.
When there was no work for her to do, she would invent her own entertainment, usually pitting her fine brain against that of the farm cat and mealtimes provided the greatest opportunity for outwitting the poor unsuspecting feline. She would hunker down behind the kitchen cabinet and stare unblinking at the cat’s food dish, quietly waiting for the cat. Queen Pine Cone would approach the kibble dish. Chrissy, holding her breath, body tense and frozen, would wait for the cat to be fully engaged in her repast when she would leap out from behind the cabinet and hit the bowl with both front paws, sending kibble and cat flying in all directions. After a few such encounters, Queen Pine Cone stopped coming to her kibble dish, but Chrissy wouldn’t allow the game to end that easily. Taking the edge of the cat’s bowl carefully between her teeth, dragging it to another place on the kitchen floor, and moving to a new hiding place behind the stove, the game was on once again. To save Queen Pine Cone from eventual starvation, we built her a special feeding table, elevating her well above the collie’s reach.
Our son had an uncanny talent for training dogs, and with such an enthusiastic pupil, his ability as a trainer excelled. First, he taught her the shell game using a dried pea and three small matching bowls. She picked the right bowl every time but soon lost interest. Ready to move on to something new, one afternoon he proudly demonstrated the new 'card' trick he had taught the keen-eyed little collie.
Whenever he had an audience, he would call her over and shuffle a deck of cards. Fanning the deck face down in front of her and in a firm voice he would command, "Pick one… Just one card!" Dutifully, and with the intense eye and focus Border Collies are well known for, she would step forward and gently pull one card from the deck spread before her. For dramatic effect, the boy would hold the card up for all to see. He would then place the card back in the deck and reshuffle. Once again he fanned the cards out face down before her and in his strongest voice commanded, "Chrissy, which card was it?" With the same intensity, she would run her nose over the cards and gently pull out the correct card between her teeth. With a theatrical flourish our son waved the card before their audience for all to see.
This went on for most of the summer and as word spread in our small farming community, the duo became mildly famous in a ‘big fish, small pond’ kind of way. Curious friends and neighbors came, eager to see the show but Chrissy was getting more and more reluctant to perform.
One afternoon as guests gathered to see the boy and his dog perform the trick, her old enthusiasm for the game had surprisingly returned. Much to our son’s delight, she was back to her old self and eager to perform. He began his usual routine and all went well until she was asked to retrieve the one correct card. Her nose brushed over the cards once, then twice, and with a small hop forward, she gingerly removed a mouthful of cards from his hands and dropped them. Looking puzzled he asked her again and she grabbed another mouthful of cards, sat back down, tail wagging, panting pink tongue bouncing from the side of her mouth. She tilted her grinning face up at him to await his next command. As more cards fell to the ground, one by one their snickering audience began to drift away.
"I knew coming here was a waste of time," remarked one disgruntled visitor.
"Yeah, and I could have finished baling up my hay this afternoon. Now I gotta work 'til dark," said another.
In desperation while still trying to sound in control, he gave the command again and again she removed several cards at once and dropped them to the ground. He pleaded with her, "There's hardly any cards left… Pleeeez, ya dumb dog, just pick the right card!" By the time everyone had gone, she had pulled all but one card from his hands. There he stood holding one card, THE card. That was the last time she was ever asked to perform the ' trick.'