bellwether
a wether or other male sheep that leads the flock, usually bearing a bell.
a person or thing that assumes the leadership or forefront, as of a profession or industry: Paris is a bellwether of the fashion industry.
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He was ready. He had trained for this moment since he was a child. His friend was there, holding him back. But not for long. Soon, he would be set loose. Soon he would do the task he knew, deep in his bones, that he was born to do.
His friend let him go. He ran. He ran and he sped by. The large, fluffy ones stood by, mostly ignoring him. These were his wards. His charges. Those he had to protect. His job was to ensure they all stayed together and that they would go home at night. And he knew he would be good at it.
He ran, feeling his blood surging through every bit of his body. The fluffy ones backed away. He was looking for one in particular. The largest of them. The one with the sound maker dangling from its neck. It was hard to find that one, but he would keep going until he did.
Finally, he found the one he was looking for. He started yelling at the fluffy one. He yelled and he ran. The fluffy one ran too, away from him. It was the fluffy one’s nature, and he knew that would happen. He yelled, and he chased. The other fluffy ones followed the one with the bell. It was their way. That was why he chased the bell bearing fluffy one. That one was the leader. The rest followed that one. Once he got that one where he wanted, the rest would follow.
Sure they would need his guidance to follow properly, but that was what he was there for. He would run and yell, keeping all the fluffy ones in one big group. One group that would follow their leader. The leader who he was bringing home. Once all of them were home, his friend would bar the entry way. That would ensure the fluffy ones would stay home for the night.
The belled fluffy one tried to get away. It ran and turned in ways that were supposed to be confusing. It was trying to escape, to get away and not go home. If that happened, all the others would follow suit. And that would mean disaster. It would mean he had failed at his job. The one job he knew he could do better than anything else. And he would not let that happen.
He ran harder, looping around and cutting off the lead fluffy one. He yelled and even got close enough to touch. He nipped at its side. Not hard enough to hurt, but just to tell it to turn away. And it did. He went right for the entry to home. It went through. The other fluffy ones started following. The entry was too small for all of them at once, so they filtered through only a few at a time.
Some of them started to wander off, but he was there, yelling and running and guiding them home. He had done it. He had succeeded on his first try. All of the fluffy ones were home, and he ran and yelled and jumped to celebrate. He rushed through the closing entry and rushed to his friend. He jumped and his friend rubbed him and told him what a good job he had done. And he was happy. He had truly earned the title that his friend called him. Today he truly was the Good Boy.
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I'm looking after my cousin's dogs for the week, so I guess it's understandable that I have dogs on the brain. It's an interesting experience, for sure. Can't say I'm much of a dog person though. I've got nothing against everyone's favorite good boys and girls, but I'm more of a cat person.
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