IN SEARCH OF THE LAST SHETLAND SHEEPDOG BREEDERS IN SHETLAND
invited was speaking the local dialect, and even when she tried to speak proper English, or Scottish, it was very hard to understand a word. My recordings were undecipherable. Fortunately, Mrs. Jamieson later explained to me what the discussion was all about. According to her friend, the “Shetland Sheepdog” was the working dog, not the Sheltie as we know him now. The first dogs were the Shetland Collie, a type smaller than the Scottish Collie but larger than the Sheltie as we know it now. They could work fast, herding the sheep and bringing them into the farm. However, they had a shorter coat, one that was very water-resistant. Mrs. Jamieson was trying to convince her that the Sheltie, as a breed, is now called “Shetland Sheepdog,” hence the confusing discussion. And maybe she was right. The working dogs that I saw in the fields were all Border-Collie-like, far from the small Sheltie that we know from the shows. This became more clear to me later on my journey. The next day, Mrs. Jamieson arranged for me to visit her par- ent’s farm where the sheep would be ear-marked that day. A black Border Collie was already very busy collecting the sheep accord- ing to his master’s commands, and not long after that, they were safely behind the fences while the dog kept focus on them like no other breed can focus on sheep. A chocolate-colored Border was also around, but obviously, he was older and no longer nervous— but still fit for the job. And there was a Sheltie around too, but he seemed more interested in herding the chicken instead of the sheep, as if he knew that herding the sheep was not his task. And suddenly, I realized the advantage of keeping a smaller, less ner- vous dog to keep an eye on the farm; killing vermin, barking when necessary, herding the chickens, pigs, and sheep on the farm, and being company to the family and the children, all while the larger “Shetland (Border) Collie” was the dog for the big and fast work in the prairies. It’s something you often saw on farms in the old days; a big dog outside, often chained, and a small companion dog inside the house. Mrs. Jamieson told me that the small Shelties you see nowa- days were never typical. They have always been a bit larger. She showed me some old photos that she’d dug up from the drawer of her cupboard. “See how the Shetland Ponies were shipped to Scotland?” she asked. She showed me a photo of several ponies in a large rowboat, and one pony being pushed by the locals to step into the boat to be taken to a larger ship waiting further in the sea. The ponies didn’t look like the Shetland Ponies as we see them now; they were larger, but smaller than the Icelandic horse. “That’s the way they were transported to Scotland to work in the mines,
The following morning, I had to head for my next place to stay and I had to be on time for the ferry. Once on the boat, I was look- ing for some change to pay for the transit. A nice man told me to say to the ferryman that I was with him in his car and I’d offered to come along with him by car as far as I needed. So, no need to pay for the ferry, as the tariff for a car includes its passengers. It was a rather long drive. Suddenly, he asked me if I already found traces of the Shetland Sheepdog. I was surprised by this and wondered how he could know about my intention to visit Shetland. “We met at the hotel... the Northern Lights... remember?” he asked. “I was there when you arrived, and in Shetland we don’t easily forget!” And from one moment to another, the long way didn’t seem so long anymore. He dropped me at my next B&B, about 10 minutes’ drive from his place on the Isle of Walls. Mrs. Catherine Jamieson ran not just a B&B, but, with the help of the tourist office, I found out that she was the only breeder of Shelties left on the islands. My arrival was immediately reported by a little oversized Sheltie, or was it a rather small-sized Rough Col- lie? Anyway, the welcome was warm, the place very nice, but mod- ern this time, and I was her only guest at the moment. I was late in the short summer season, as I was told. We immediately started to chat about the dogs, and she showed a lot of very interesting photos and very old postcards. She participated regularly in the annual small dog show, held as part of the Agricultural Fair. The next day, I’d planned to hike around and discover the area. There were no restrictions to trespass the prairies and fields, pro- vided you don’t leave any waste and you close the gates behind you. It was a lovely day and I wandered through the fields that were nothing like the steep hills and peat, pit-covered heather on Unst. There were many abandoned roofless cottages and barns around and I stumbled upon a carcass of a sheep, and a skull. I had to admit that this area would be more suited for a Sheltie, though it could never work as fast as a Border Collie. But on the other hand, these Shelties were a lot bigger than show-bred Shelties. Later in the evening, Mrs. Jamieson showed me some more photos, and on one of them, there was a more Border-Collie-like Sheltie, black and tan, that had won a medal. Mrs. Jamieson knew about the purpose of my trip, as I’d spoken to her on the phone when I booked my stay, and as a nice surprise, she had invited a few friends of hers who also owned Shelties, bred by her. When the bell rang and Mrs. Jamieson opened the door, a vivid conversation started not only among the ladies but also among the dogs. The house was full from one second to another. Unfortunately, the friend who was
86 | SHOWSIGHT MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2021
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