I seem to have a talent for camping right in the way of invading hordes of sheep. It happened again yesterday. Once again I met and talked a little bit to a Peruvian shepherd. But this time I met the employers, a ranching couple, who showed up with a camper/trailer.
The shepherd used 10 dogs, supplied by the rancher of course. Half of them were big Anatolian shepherds:
The shepherd didn't know the name of the Anatolians. Perhaps he only knew the name of a couple of the dogs who acted more like pets.
There were 1800 sheep! They were intended for meat, not for wool.
The shepherd was from Peru -- from a small village at 14,000 feet in the Andes. He spoke Spanish and whatever they call the indigenous Indian language there. I was glad to hear that he has a smartphone with a Translate app on it.
The rancher told me a story about one of his former shepherds. When you leave the USA, you can only take $10,000 with you. One of the shepherds had $11,000. The customs office put on some squinty eyes and asked, "So what was your business in the US?" The shepherd replied, "Pastor," which is Spanish for shepherd.
The customs officers was embarrassed and apologetic and said, "Oh I'm sorry 'Father'," and let the shepherd pass through.
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| When you live at 14,000 feet in the Andes, you learn to wear serious hats. |
Long-suffering readers of this blog know my standard stump speech: that a minute of Western authenticity means more to me than a thousand minutes of scenery tourism. An authentic experience is not something you can buy, like a bag of sugary treats at the convenience store.
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