'My Welsh collie bitch was pure professional, dedicated to sheep, and the human relationship limited to the working world. Nell was the normal black and white with a touch of red here and there which the Welsh say denotes Scottish ancestry and to be sought after. She was smallish and light boned, quick, and with one purpose in mind, to work sheep as required and as often as possible.

At her age she was practically untrained, possibly having been out with her mother when she was working and had learned from example but nothing more.

The day 300 mature and variegated ewes were delivered on the top fields I walked with her up the track and went through the gate quietly. These were sheep who had lived their lives on the mountain, a rough, tough lot who had seen dogs come and dogs go, and they collected in the middle of the field, stamping their feet and showing truculent agression.

I stood still and Nell sank low and inched towards them without a sound, and as they say 'gave them the eye'. It was a battle of wills and in ten minutes was over and victory complete: just for practice we turned the flock around and walked them round the 20 acres, stopping and starting them from time to time.

And this was a raw young dog and even rawer shepherd, neither of whom knew the right commands.

As time went on we developed a sort of wordless communication, almost telepathic, and could perform all sorts of complicated operations like separating a particular ewe without disturbing the flock, and were even in occasional demand from the neighbours'.