Gus isn't really "Gus the Goose's" name, but it might as well be to account for his wild lifestyle. Every waking minute is concentrated on "watching" after Waldo the Great Pyrenees, a collie-sized, black and white, shaggy dog that has to concentrate on 150 sheep he and a dog buddy are guarding.

Waldo, by the way, isn't his name either, but for this column he had to be called something and his eyes do look a little sad. They live on Hayne Culler's farm on the North Road, among freshly grazed green fields, under big, spreading pecan trees.

The thing about these two is that they were babied and raised for weeks in the same cage. Think about that -- a baby guard dog and a goose. By the time of release, their family relationship had grown stronger than blood. Bud Furtick, animal wholesaler in Springfield, who sold them to Hayne, explained that the former owner wanted the new owner to promise he would never separate the two.

Gus honks

and pecks

If Waldo suddenly leaps across the orchard to greet a visitor, Gus hightails it behind him. Should it be a human who reaches out to pat Waldo's head, he had better watch out. Gus will emit a haunting honk and a peck never to be forgotten.

Waldo and a fellow guard watch over 150 Katahdin (central Maine) sheep in one field while three more of their breed supervise another 150 Barbadian sheep a mile across the highway. The reason for three instead of two is that the second herd is near a swamp which has been home to many a coyote in past years. To them, nothing is tastier than fresh mutton.

Fifteen years ago when Bud Furtick, a farm animal dealer from Springfield, dropped by for a visit, Hayne complained of all the hours spent mowing grass in the expansive pecan orchard. Bud said, "You need to get a flock of sheep; they'll keep it shorter than your mower."

Thus Hayne bought a few dozen rams, ewes and lambs. These are "hair" sheep raised for meat; not "wool" sheep which don't thrive in Carolina climate.

Bud proved right. Within a few weeks, the grass was shortened; within six months, nearly every one of the ewes had produced a lamb, most of which, when matured, were trucked down to Miami where the mutton appetite of new and a few old Americans is ravenous. Although not a big money crop, the sheep proved a good diversion from the regular routines required by corn, cotton, soybeans, etc.

Coyotes attack

"The present price for lamb is good," says Jesse Eargle of Clemson's Extension Service, "but the state has no widespread sheep production. A grown lamb presently sells for about a dollar a pound."

From the beginning, Hayne liked the minimal care the animals required.

"Our only chores were to vaccinate them twice a year and provide a little hay in the winter. But nothing is perfect. By the end of the first year, many of the little lambs began disappearing. First, one or two, then a dozen. I suspected coyotes, the wolf-like predators out West. They'd been discovered in Georgia, and were widely rumored to have been brought in to cut down on that state's zooming supply of deer," Hayne said.

He consulted Bud again.

"You need a few Great Pyrenees dogs," his friend counseled. "With them around, the coyotes will skedaddle in no time."

Thus Hayne became owner of several of the handsome black and white pups, which originally came from Siberia before rising in status to be the guard dogs of nobility in the Pyrenees Mountains between France and Spain.

"What a change. In a few weeks, no lambs were disappearing," he said. They grew up healthy and fat, filling up two Florida-bound loads a year.

Ram butting

"These dogs are amazing," Hayne adds. "You ought to see them work. During the day, they lie around and doze, only occasionally running out to make one of the little ones canter back the main herd."

All the sheep feed slowly all day with occasional time out for a lively ram-butting session or a nap. With a few exceptions, the young rams are the ones headed for Florida when big enough. The mothers produce half ewes, but they remain on the farm to birth more lambs.

Five years ago Hayne added to his sheep farming by bringing in another breed, the Katahdin, which originated in the state of Maine. They are somewhat larger and produce more meat, he says, but he still raises the Barbadians because of their big and interesting horns.

"I enjoy looking at them. Today our herds are about even and, of course, we never mix them," Hayne said.

They all graze slowly all day under the ever-watchful eyes of Waldo and his fellow guards. Then, as dusk begins to creep in, the Pyrenees show off their great talent, circling around and around the flock, which responds by moving in closer and closer until night falls and they have found a tight pack. The dogs keep vigil from about ten yards away, remaining alert all the dark hours.

"We never see what they do to discourage a coyotes from sneaking in, selecting one lamb and dragging him off. And we have never found a dead lamb the next morning. Apparently, they keep them scared and at a long distance. We haven't lost a lamb in years."

Exactly what help Gus is in all this, Hayne can't define, "but she has let us know that she's here to stay."

Retired editor and public relations executive Thomas Langford's column is titled "Some Edisto stories." Let him know if you have stories to share: 803-534-2097.

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