Their covered bodies lay that night,
By lonely flowing Dee,
Six puppies now were sleeping for
Their lives were not to be.
Pups that year were surplus,
Their lives were short and cruel;
Where sheep will roam in vales and hills,
The collie’s but a tool.
Their eyes were closed, not weeping
They slept in slumber deep,
Less demand for sheepdogs,
Made collie prices cheap;
So in a sack and no road back,
The river was their end,
Which frantic mother sheepdog,
Could never comprehend.
She howled at night and prowled till dawn,
Until she found her brood,
In shallow banks of river where,
Her pups were buried crude.
Whimpering, she pulled them out,
And licked each puppy clean,
Then one by one she carried them
To where they’re better seen.
One by one she lined her pups,
On threshold plain to see,
Each puppy begged one question,
The question was, why me?
When farmer’s wife at break of dawn
Gazed on her doorway’s step,
The crime of River Dee laid bare,
In single row they slept.
Michael (Walsh). 30.08.13
This story is true and took place in rural Wales where sheep are a mainstay of the economy. The following year, the pregnant collie slipped up into the mountains to give birth to her next litter in secret where the farmer could not find them.