Shepherd

"We caught this morning, morning's dauphin" Hopkins

We came across a shepherd ( Berger ) yesterday morning on a walk in the mountains. We were following a noisy, rushing creek, fresh after rain, up a steep mountainside. As we came out of the thick forest there was a mob of sheep on the other side of the creek - a dog barked - to warn us to keep our distance or to keep the sheep away from a cliff we weren't sure. There were 200 or more in a mob making a symphony with their bells as they slowly made their way across the steep mountainside. The sheep are a wonderful local breed, all with horns, pronounced roman noses and long rough looking wool, mostly white but a few black and brown ones as well. Full of character as sheep are - they will stand on a ridge and gaze at you as you struggle past, with an amused, aloof sort of air, unafraid and completely at home on the mountainside. They are all milking sheep, producing the milk that is used to make the delicious Brebis fromage we eat on all our walks. There were two big, white Pyrenean mountain dogs with the sheep keeping a watchful eye on us across the creek. We rounded a corner and there was the berger lying on the grass in the morning sun with another mountain dog and a smaller cattle dog - a Labris - the local working dog - an endearing, scruffy, untidy looking breed, rather self contained but as tough as nails and friendly once they get to know you.

We said "Bon Jour" and he came over and we stood in the warm autumn sun, the air fresh from the rain and the cool morning and talked as his sheep crossed the creek and moved over to us, all around us and past us, on up the mountain grazing the last of the summer grass. He said they follow his scent around the mountains. He comes from Oloron St Marie, a town about 1 hours drive away down the valley and lives in a little cabin in this beautiful valley for the 3 months of summer - July, August, September. He milks the sheep twice a day for the first 4 to 6 weeks and makes cheese, then they are dried off and roam the mountains higher and higher until the first snows arrive. He stays with his sheep the whole time and brings them back to an enclosure near his cabin at night. We were told there are bears in this valley and when we ask him about bears, he says yes, they are about and he points to a very large white dog and says "This is my protection".

We talked about the price of wool and meat, as you do, and prices are down, as they inevitably are, but cheese is good ! He said he will descend from the mountains on Sunday. He is possibly in his late twenties, a quiet, comtemplative person, comfortable with silence, as you might imagine. We say "Au Revoir", he hoists a good sized pack onto his back and moves away up the mountain close to his sheep and sits down on the grass in the sun with his bear protection and the little cattle dog - the other dogs are on the edge of the mob watching.

Much later, on our way down the mountain we hear and see the mob and the berger on the steep valley side above us returning slowly to the cabin, through the trees and the lengthening shadows - the bells, sheep, dogs, a man with a pack on his back, dying light - we stand and watch -silent in the late afternoon.