After losing hands, Gladys farmer turned to herd dogs

There are two dates Roy Johnson often recites.

October 4, 1984: The day an accident with a hay baler left him with no hands.

January 18, 1985: The day Johnson got his first border collie pup.

The pup, named Rosco, would bring a new life to Johnson by teaching the man how dogs work.

Johnson, who retired from his job less than two weeks before the accident, had planned to work as a cattle farmer and at the Lynchburg livestock market. But the gift of the dog gave Johnson another path — one that would take him throughout North America and earn him a reputation as a top trainer.

“The only good thing about losing my hands, I guess, was the introduction to these dogs,” he said. “They’ve taken us all over the world in competition.”

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About a dozen border collies currently call Johnson’s Gladys farm home. Some are there temporarily, while Johnson trains them. Others have lived on the 84-acre farm for most of their lives. Among the pack is a national champion cattle herder named Sonny.

Sonny, who is the great grandson of Rosco, Johnson’s first dog, is the only border collie to have competed at the U.S. Border Collie Handlers Association national cattledog finals five years in a row and place in the top 20 each year, Johnson said. In 2007, he won.

Sonny, 11, no longer works as much as he used to, but his intense instinct to herd and obey is palpable.

If Johnson says “lie down,” Sonny flattens on the ground. If Johnson says “come by,” Sonny moves the animals to the left.

All he wants in return is a pat on the head and perhaps a swim to cool off.

To show off Sonny’s skills, Johnson takes him to the birds.

Behind the barn is a large pen with about three dozen ducks. Johnson opens the gate and Sonny slides in, crouches down and waits for his command. Johnson flips a whistle into his mouth and says, “Now watch this.”

Sonny launches from the ground and moves the quacking swarm around the pen. The ducks march in quick time as the dog is told to bring them to the left, then to the right. After the ducks have circled the pen, Johnson is ready to show off Sonny’s other talents.

“That’ll do,” Johnson says softly.

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Rosco was payment for Johnson to pick up a load of sheep from a neighbor. He came into Johnson’s life at a time when the man was trying to rediscover himself and his meaning in the world.

“That dog, myself, we did a lot of walking and spent a lot of time together,” Johnson said. “He taught me everything.”

Rosco instinctively knew his job — to herd livestock around the farm. If Johnson wanted the cows in the barn, Rosco would bring them up the hill. If Johnson needed the sheep to change pastures, Rosco would move them along.

While Rosco taught a man how dogs work, it was up to Johnson to observe the lessons.

A year after the accident, Johnson brought Rosco to his first sheepdog trial in Leesburg, where he finished fourth. During the competition, Johnson watched every single dog and owner to see how they moved and worked. He could tell who was rough on their dogs and how those animals responded.

Over the years, Johnson has trained hundreds of dogs, including those belonging to other farmers. They aren’t trained just for show or competition, but to work.

“No two dogs will work alike,” Johnson said. “You gotta use different words and commands to get them started.”

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Penned in a 12-acre rolling pasture are about two dozen 300- to 400-pound calves and about 150 sheep. The calves are loafing around in a far corner under a tree. The sheep are just a few yards from Johnson and Sonny, Johnson’s wife, Debbie, and her dog Abby.

Roy Johnson wants to move the calves in closer, so he sends Sonny off with a command of “come by.” The dog takes the long way, running around the perimeter of the field, clearing it to make sure no hazards are there.

He’s now so far away from Johnson that he can’t hear vocal commands, so Johnson pulls out a whistle to send the signals. He blows several times before the dog hears him and stops. Then, once another command is sent, he starts moving again.

Sonny rouses the lounging beasts and runs behind, alongside, in front of and through the slowly moving herd. If a group of calves breaks off, Sonny runs over to move them back on track. Roy has to whistle a few times to help the dog see who he’s missing.

Once they’ve arrived, Sonny heads down to the pond for a cooling dip. It’s now Abby’s turn.

Abby is 8. She’s been working most her life, though her skills aren’t as sharp as Sonny’s.

She is sent to take the sheep out. The herd takes off in perfect unison; the pattering of small hooves fills the air. If one sheep moves, the rest usually follow — resulting in a sea of white and tan schooling through the pasture as if they were fish.

Abby isn’t supposed to let the sheep through a small fence in the rear of the pasture. But she can’t cut the herd off in time, so it filters through and stops behind the fence. She runs through the fence and tries to corral them. Debbie whistles loudly and shouts, but Abby can’t hear her, so Debbie rushes down and correctly shows the dog what she was supposed to do.

“This is hard on a dog. The natural ability for a border collie is to bring the animals back to you,” Roy Johnson said. “If you got a fence there, you’re gonna have to bring a man down there to show ’em.”

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Roy and Debbie met in the late 1970s when they both worked at The News and The Daily Advance. Roy retired in September 1984 from his job in the paper’s composing room, where he worked for 20 years while farming on the side. Debbie left several years earlier to stay at home with the children.

Less than two weeks after his last day, Johnson’s hands were caught in a horrific accident with a hay baler. He hung in the air for more than 30 minutes shouting for help.

Johnson was in the hospital for 20 days after the accident. On the 21st day, a therapist brought in a pair of prosthetic hands with hooks on the ends and laid them on the bed. She told Johnson when he learned to write all his childrens’ names, his name and could put his clothes on, he could go home. He left the next morning.

Life for the couple changed forever. “It was harder on her than it was on me,” Roy said. “She had to put up with a man who lost his hands and gone crazy.”

Debbie Johnson said, “he was determined that whatever he could do before, he was going to figure out a way to do it again and getting through that was probably the hardest part.

“He’d get frustrated if he couldn’t do something, but he’d stand there and work it out. He’d really, really work it out.”

Roy relearned how to do most everything he used to, including driving, writing and caring for the animals. He even installed a horseshoe type closure on all the dog cages so he could open and close them without help. The only things he needs assistance with are tying his shoes and cleaning his glasses. Debbie now does most of the animal vaccinations.

“I can’t be cooped up,” he said. “It might take me longer than it takes you, but I can get it done.”

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A herd dog is no good unless he listens. He has to listen to be trained to move livestock around the land.

“If they don’t want to work, you can’t put it into them,” Johnson said. “Be firm with your dog, but respect your dog, too. Don’t ask them to do something you wouldn’t want to do.”

The first thing Johnson teaches a pup is how to walk with him. He’ll put the dog on a short leash and walk it up and down the road. Eventually, the dog will stop straining and pretty soon the leash can come off.

After about month, if the dog is willing to learn more, Johnson will teach him how to lie down and bring the animals home. When the owner comes back, Johnson will spend a day explaining the commands.

While Johnson still farms cattle and sheep, he said he’s considering giving up most of that so he can spend more time with his dogs and taking them to compete.

“To trial, you go all over the United States, and I just enjoy the dogs more, really,” he said.

One of Johnson’s favorite things about his dogs is their work ethic. If he asks a work dog to do something, they don’t complain about the weather or whether the field is muddy.

But not all border collies can make the cut to be a good farm dog. They have to be willing to learn.

“If you get a dog as good as Sonny or a good working dog, you better count your blessings because they’re really far and few between.”