The next morning, he waited patiently while the lambs nursed and the larger sheep drank from the stream and nibbled tender branches. When they seemed adequately prepared to begin their trek back to the village, MO-126 approached them from the opposite direction he needed them to go.
The old wether raised its wooly head, turning it to one side and then the other to allow both of its widely spaced eyes to get a good look at the unfamiliar dog. MO-126 stared back at it, trying to look authoritative and determined. He could not be sure if the sheep noticed or what it meant to them if they did. He observed dogs herding sheep before, and different dogs apparently used different techniques. Some barked and nipped at the sheep’s heels, and others seemed to push them from a distance and stop and glare at them if they went the wrong way. He would try the last method first. It suited his personality better.
He took a step toward the wether, but it did not budge. Instead, it lowered its head and stomped its front feet as if it planned to butt him. He suspected the demonstration was just for show. Sheep, as a rule, were more sheepish. This old male might have delusions about being a mountain goat or harbor other wooly ideas.
MO-126 moved back and rethought his herding strategy. If he could just get this large one moving, the others were sure to follow. Apparently, subtlety would not work, so he moved farther back to give him space for a good start. Then, he turned and raced toward the wether, barking as he came. This time, the male sheep reacted more the way sheep should. It ran, and the others ran with it. Now he simply needed to make sure they stayed together and went the right way.
Once the sheep were moving, herding them came to him almost intuitively. The instinct must have been buried somewhere in his canine programming. He gauged his speed, direction, and distance from the flock to direct them the way he needed them to go. It required no more barking.
Confident of his continued progress, he made another call to his partner. “I’ll be there in a couple hours, probably less. How are things at the village?”
“Things change little in these places from one century to the next, so it’s unlikely much could happen in a day,” was the trader’s accurate, albeit somewhat sarcastic reply.
“I meant about Galinda.”
“She’s still here.”
“Did you remember to feed her?”
“I slipped her some bread, cheese, and water last night after everyone else was asleep. I almost had to force her to take it. She said she needed to chase out her demon. Trust me; getting involved in this is not a good idea.”
“We’re not getting involved. We’re just helping out. Once they get their sheep back, they’ll all realize it was a mistake and everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. We’re dealing with primitive minds here.”
“Maybe, but they all can’t be insane.”
“Sanity is a culturally relative term,” the trader claimed. “When you get here, just keep the sheep away from the rest of the villagers’ flocks, if you can.”
“Why?”
“Just a precaution. I’ve been working with these primitives a bit longer than you have, and I think things might get complicated.”
“You haven’t been working with them that much longer, just a few centuries,” MO-126 protested.
“I’ve also worked more closely with them. I don’t think this is going to turn out as neatly as you expect.”
“All right. I think you’re being overly pessimistic, but I’ll try to keep them separated. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m getting the hang of this sheepdog job. I’ll call again when I get there.”
MO-126 closed the link. He did not understand why the trade android expected trouble. Everything was quite simple. The villagers thought the sheep were abducted by demons, but when the sheep returned, the primitives would realize they were mistaken. Obviously, the sheep just wandered off, and the trader’s heroic dog found them and brought them back safe and sound. Mystery solved. Case closed. He would get a grateful pat on the head, and everyone would go home happy.