I brought a Border Collie back home to Vancouver from Wales -

Hear, O seeker of wisdom, the words of Jane Siberry, who declared: “I brought a Border Collie back home to Vancouver from Wales—where some of my ancestors are from—and needed to challenge him in other ways than just being my pet. So I investigated sheep herding and took a few lessons, and decided I was probably learning more than my dog!” These words, though gentle and even humorous, conceal within them an ancient truth: that in striving to teach another, we often become the true students, and that in guiding, we ourselves are guided.

The Border Collie, born of the hills of Wales, is no ordinary creature. It is bred for purpose, for work, for the gathering of scattered sheep upon rugged land. To keep such a dog merely as a pet is to cage its spirit; to honor it, one must allow it to do what it was created to do. Jane Siberry, in her humility, recognized this truth, and sought not to diminish her companion’s nature but to elevate it. And in so doing, she herself was elevated—for she found that in the ancient art of sheep herding, the lessons of patience, focus, and partnership became her own teachers.

This wisdom is not new. The ancients knew that in tending animals, man is also tended. The shepherds of Israel, guiding their flocks beneath the stars, spoke of their sheep as mirrors of the human soul: wandering, stubborn, yet in need of gentle guidance. King David, before he was king, learned leadership not from courts or crowns, but from watching over lambs. And when he wrote, “The Lord is my shepherd,” he acknowledged the sacred truth that to guide others—be they sheep, men, or even dogs—is also to be guided in humility, vigilance, and care.

Jane’s words remind us also of the bond between ancestry and living practice. In returning to Wales through her Collie, she walked not only into the life of her dog, but into the echo of her own lineage. She was reminded that we are all bound to the labors and lessons of those before us. Just as her ancestors lived with sheep and land, she too found herself drawn into that eternal rhythm, humbled by the same tasks that shaped their lives. Thus the dog, the land, and the woman became woven together in one fabric of tradition and learning.

O listener, do not overlook the humor in her reflection: “I was probably learning more than my dog!” This is the laugh of wisdom, for the proud teacher soon discovers that every lesson is a mirror. In attempting to shape another being, we see ourselves more clearly—our impatience, our pride, our clumsiness, but also our capacity for growth. The student, whether human or animal, becomes a silent master, teaching us through their very existence.

The lesson here is mighty: do not seek only to instruct, but be ready to be instructed. Whether you are raising a child, training a dog, leading a people, or guiding a friend, know that the process of teaching is also the process of being taught. Every act of guidance is an act of humility, every partnership an invitation to transformation. The wise traveler on life’s road knows this: that no one leads without also being led.

Practical action follows: if you walk with animals, observe them closely; they are teachers of instinct, loyalty, and patience. If you walk with children, let their wonder remind you of simplicity. If you walk with companions, learn from their strengths as they learn from yours. Approach every act of teaching as a dialogue, not a monologue. In this way, like Jane Siberry, you will discover that the path of guidance is also the path of growth.

Thus I say to you: honor the Border Collie, honor the sheep, honor the task and the bond. For in the effort to guide life, you are guided. In the attempt to teach, you are taught. And in the journey to shape another, you may find yourself, at last, being shaped into something greater.