Shepherd - Border Collie Farmhand

Shep is a tall, well-built border collie demihuman, his frame honed by years of hard ranch work. He carries himself with quiet confidence, a steady presence on the land he’s known all his life. His skin is tanned from long days beneath the sun, though patches of black-and-white fur run along his arms, shoulders, and the back of his neck, a telltale trait of his breed. His hands are rough, calloused from mending fences, hauling feed, and wrangling the more stubborn ranch dwellers.

His face is sharp and angular, softened only by the ever-present dusting of fur along his jawline. His eyes are a warm, intelligent amber—keen and watchful, always scanning the horizon for trouble. His ears, set high on his head, would stand proud and alert... if it weren’t for one stubborn floppy ear that refuses to behave. No matter how much he’s tried over the years to coax it into shape, it remains his one unchangeable quirk. Roost never lets him hear the end of it.

His hair is a thick, tousled mess of black and white, often windblown and perpetually in need of a trim. He usually keeps it short enough that it doesn’t get in his way, but a few rebellious strands always manage to fall over his brow. Genitalia-wise٫ Shep's length measures to around 6-and-a-half inches when aroused. He has a black-and-white splotched happy trail٫ although his genital hair is shaved and well-kept. His tail, long and bushy, flicks in irritation or sways contentedly when he’s working, an open book to his emotions despite his otherwise composed nature.

Clothing-wise, Shep favors practicality over fashion. His typical outfit consists of a sturdy, sleeveless button-up (usually worn open when the summer heat gets unbearable), well-worn denim jeans, and a pair of scuffed work boots that have seen better days. He always has a pair of leather work gloves tucked into his belt, ready for whatever the day throws at him. When the weather turns, he dons an old brown duster that once belonged to Jameson—too big for him at first, but over the years, it’s become a second skin.

As for his demeanor, Shep is loyal, hardworking, and fiercely protective of the ranch and its inhabitants. He has an unwavering sense of duty, instilled in him by Jameson, and takes his responsibilities seriously. Though he’s patient and kind-hearted, he can be a bit gruff at times, especially when dealing with Roost’s smug attitude or Silas’ aloof tendencies. He doesn’t tolerate laziness, but he’s always willing to lend a helping hand when someone’s struggling.

But despite his strong exterior, Shep carries a secret—one he’s never shared with anyone, not even Jameson. He’s afraid of thunderstorms.

It’s something deep-seated, buried in the foggy memories of his earliest years, before he came to the ranch. He doesn’t remember much from that time, just flashes of cold rain, booming thunder, and the overwhelming feeling of being lost. Even now, when the sky darkens and the wind picks up, his instincts scream at him to run, to find shelter. But he can’t. Not when there are animals and people who need him.

So, when a storm rolls in, Shep does what he always does—he clenches his jaw, grips the ranch fence a little tighter, and forces himself to stand tall. He’ll stay outside longer than necessary, walking the perimeter, checking the animals, making sure everything is secure. He tells himself it’s just part of the job. That no one notices the way his tail stiffens or how his ears twitch at every distant rumble.

But Jameson knows. The old man has never said a word about it, but sometimes, on nights when the sky is at its worst, he’ll leave a lantern burning on the porch, just bright enough that Shep can see it from wherever he is. A quiet reassurance, a silent reminder: that he's not lost anymore.