It was from out of the hills that the two came. One was sick and the other had come to escort his sick
friend. Both were employed as sheep herders in the rural and bleak Montana territory. Sheep adapted well
to the long and lonely grasslands of the vast expanse of the Central Northwest, the area that had been
traversed by Lewis and Clark and once inhabited by the Ute tribe of Native Americans. And in an area once
roamed by vast herds of bison, ranchers had found that the hearty sheep could withstand the harsh climate
much better than the herds of cattle, which they had tried to raise on the lush and grassy plains. Sheep are
easy to herd. They do not require large contingents of cowboys to keep them in line. Sheep generally herd
together rather easily, and usually not more than a handful of herders are required for an equal number of
sheep.
In this case a couple of herders less would not present an undue burden, so when one of them came down
with some unknown ailment, he headed to town, accompanied by one of the others so as to assure a safe
arrival.
Town, in this case was Fort Benton, Montana, near the Missouri River. No one recalls the name of the sick
sheep herder, and to be sure his ailment turned out in the end to be lethal. The sick sheep herder whose
name we do not know, met his end, and his remains were shipped back East to grieving relatives.
Accompanying the coffin to the local train station was the friend who had accompanied him to town from the
hills. And so ends the story of the one sheep herder, and so began the saga of the other.
The surviving herder, the accompanying friend had some shortcomings. Even though he was a strong and
dependable herder there was something about him that rendered it impossible for him to comprehend all of
what had happened. While the remains of the deceased sheep herder were shipped out of town, the other
remained behind in local Fort Benton. Not totally comprehending the situation that had befallen his friend,
the one who stayed behind began some sort of vigil. At first the locals noticed that instead of returning to
the hills to his appointed task, the remaining one was seen instead to be frequenting the train station each
day. Beginning from the day the remains of the sick sheep herder were shipped east, the one who was left
behind remained in the vicinity of the train station, stalking the tracks, never leaving the spot from whence
his friend had departed.
The townspeople took notice and had pity. One by one they paid a visit to the apparently grieving friend,
trying in turn to encourage him to give up his vigil and return to the hills. He would not be dissuaded – no,
he would stay the course. Perhaps it was that his friend had indeed only been very sick. Surely he was not
dead. Surely he would return, and the two would retreat again into the hills to herd the sheep.
Days passed, and even though the faithful friend would receive sustenance from the local townsfolk –
enough to sustain life – he would not leave his post. No matter the weather – no matter the extreme of
temperature the faithful and loyal friend would continue his vigil, gazing longingly in the direction the train
had taken when his sick friend had left. To be sure many trains came and went and stopped at the station
daily. And with each train the loyal friend would stand by with anticipation, hoping to see the return of his
friend, but each day he would be greeted with the same disappointment.
Many trains would pass through Fort Benton. Word of the loyal friend would spread across the country.
People from far away would go out of their way to pass through the lonely town just for a chance to see the
friend whose lonely vigil kept him tied to his post. Several years would pass, and those years would find
the friend continuing his lonely vigil. In fact more than five years would pass until that vigil would come to
an end. And eventually, older and less nimble, the faithful friend who would stand by the trains as they
passed through the station would finally find himself unable to avoid the train itself.
The “accident” was inevitable, and for the locals it came as a mixed relief. The sad and grievous situation
that had haunted their town for nearly six years had finally come to its inevitable – although inglorious –
end. But the faithfulness and loyalty of that special friend had not gone unnoticed. In time the local
townsfolk would decide to honor the friend for his unwavering and selfless faithfulness and loyalty. They
would bury him on a hill overlooking the train station and erect a monument, dedicated to the friend and his
loyalty as a faithful companion. And even though the original monument eventually fell into disrepair, it has
been refurbished; and even though nearly seventy years has passed since the second friend died, people
still go out of their way to see the monument and visit the site of the lonely train station. Even though there
are no more trains – the trains having stopped many years ago -- people arrive in their cars by the
thousands each year to visit the monument on the hill and gaze upon the grave site, which still exists in the
same spot as so many years ago.
Regarding the sheep herder who had died and whose remains were shipped East nothing is known – not
even his name. However, the friend who remained behind and about whose faithful vigilance this story is
written does have a name, and that name is known around the globe. Well, not everyone has heard of him,
but many hundreds of thousands have. His name was given to him by the townsfolk those many years ago.
The townsfolk could not stand by and watch the loyal friend endure his vigil for nearly six years without at
the very least giving him a name. Standing by patient and loyal to the end the friend had indeed earned a
name – a name that was to known across the nation, and that endures to this day. Never a more reliable
friend has a man ever known. Of course not …, after all, he was his master’s best friend. “Old Shep” -- the
English Sheepdog.
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Oak in my journal, or email me one of your own stories.
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