Working Breed

When we picked up our dog, Henry, at the Humane Society, every staff member, most dog walkers, and half the other folks there to adopt animals told us the same thing: "Remember, he's a working breed. He needs a job. Without a job, he will get bored, and destructive, and depressed."

Half husky, half blue heeler. They aren't wrong. Henry's heart pumps the blood of the long-running huskies, and the fast-sprinting cattle dogs. The wolves that dot the husky side of his heritage are a bit closer to the surface than I would have guessed; he's taken to hunting rabbits on our property, with a surprising, and, honestly, slightly disturbing, level of success. I've found numerous sad, tattered rabbit skins scattered about, and once had the poor timing to walk out just as he ripped the head off a screaming rabbit. It was like having a front seat to one of the nature films I used to watch as a kid.

His instinct for herding extends even to us. He will leap along beside us, nipping at us. He doesn't often make actual contact with us, but he snaps his mouth shut in a way that makes a strange, and highly...shall we say *encouraging* popping sound. During an off-leash run with BJ, Henry darted under the fence, and started trying to herd the neighbors cattle: "He was doing a pretty good job of it too, until this really BIG cow faced him down, and wasn't having any of his nonsense." BJ told me. "The 'really BIG cow'?" I asked, "You mean, THE BULL?!" "Oh," he said, "Yeah, that makes sense."

Henry is a good dog. A little wild, but happy and friendly. That's actually why I picked him. His happy, wild energy reminded me of Sam. I've never really had a dog before, and my training attempts are a bit rudimentary. Pretty soon, Henry will start obedience training. Once he's got the basics down, we will see if he can be trained as a Search and Rescue dog. A good job for a happy, wild, energetic dog. In the meantime, he's my running buddy, he's herding Sam, and he's hunting rabbits.

The "working breed" issue got me thinking: humans are a working breed. For almost all of our history, we were, on a daily basis, expected to work for our survival. Not too long ago, if you wanted food, you grew it. Clothes, you made them. Shelter, you built it. Our world has changed immeasurably, but I'm not sure our brains changed fast enough to keep up. We sit at desks. And while sitting at those desks gains us a paycheck, which we use to buy the things we need to survive, it doesn't scratch that immediate itch. That feeling of needing to do something doesn't really go away. Some people channel that urge into arts and crafts, or various hobbies, all of which are viewed as being somehow indulgent. In these days, when "time is money" and a pair of socks costs $2 at a big box store, spending hours in a chair knitting a pair of socks from yarn that cost you $15 doesn't make much sense. It makes even less sense to raise the sheep, shear it, make yarn, and knit those socks. But we see more and more people trying to get back to "old ways" of doing things. We snicker at "trends" and "hipsters" and "Pintrest", ignoring the deeper reasons behind it all.

I see, in society, the urge to do things for ourselves. More and more. I've had delusions of "Little House on the Prairie" since I was in elementary school. I always wanted to knit, sew, quilt, garden, make bread, and raise chickens. As a kid, those things made me weird. (Ok, those weren't the only things that made me weird, but they were a big factor). Lately, however, it doesn't turn many heads. Community education classes on canning and knitting fill up quickly. The urban chicken movement is spreading quickly, with many major cities allowing coops in back yards. More and more people are challenging city officials about rules prohibiting vegetable gardens in front yards. Community gardens are so full, they have waiting lists that stretch for years. And, if my realtor friends can be trusted, we are far from the only ones who packed our bags, waved goodbye to the city, and settled down on a gravel road.

Since I worry about the flip side (bored, destructive, depressed), I'm trying to make these things a normal part of my kid's lives. Bryn is interested in sewing, having watched my mother transform chunks of fabric into clothes that she loves. Sam loves to stack firewood, and I think we will be helpful for weeding in the garden this summer...once he realizes what is and weed, and what is a carefully cultivated eggplant, of course. Astrid has a ways to go before she can do much besides choke herself with dirt clods and rocks, but she will be out there with me.  Despite living on his own, Ian will be dragged out to help when the garden demands heavy lifting, or when the woodpile requires replenishment. I want them to put in effort on things that will yield direct, tangible results. You weed the garden, and we eat the squash. You chop and stack the wood, and sit by the fire's warmth. You cut and stitch the fabric, and you have something to wear.

It's faster, and cheaper, to go to the store. Spend a few more hours sitting at a desk, and pay for what you need or want. But that's not what we are wired for. That's not what we evolved to do. That's not what drives us. So, no matter what our culture wants to tell you, go do that indulgent, time-consuming hobby. Make toys or furniture from wood. Milk a goat and make cheese. Spend the entire day sitting at home, intermittently playing with dough, and end up with a really good loaf of bread to have with dinner. Scratch that itch. It's what we were born for.