Most every morning, the dogs and I take a walk through the farmland behind the house. There are perils- you have to watch your step (because animals aren’t too picky about where they leave their calling cards) but for the most part it’s great fun. At any time you can run up on things like cows snuffling for acorns, goats teetering on a fallen tree or grazing sheep drifting across a green pasture like clouds across the sky.
For the most part the animals ignore us, unless one of them makes eye contact with the little dogs. Princess Pickle and Fat Cookie take that as a territorial affront and start barking their guts out which usually results in me yelling, “shut up” loud enough to be heard all the way in Villa Rica. But for the most part, walking in the animal kingdom is a real pleasure.
On Monday morning, after the rainstorm had passed and mist was rising out of the ground, we went for our walk. The dogs crisscrossed ahead, noses pressed to the ground. I kept to the trail- my clunky rain boots were slippery and not designed for off-road travel. As we started home along the ridge behind the house, I looked down at the stream. There, by the water, stood a lone ewe. I stopped for a minute to see what she was up to. Then I saw, huddled around her feet, a pair of lambs.
The coyotes have been bad this year (already killing a calf and several lambs and baby goats on neighboring farms) so I knew it wasn’t safe for these new babies to be isolated in the woods. Johnny was already headed for the shop and my nephew and his family were already at work. So I called sister Vesta.
In our family, livestock safety takes priority over all other things, so she headed right over. She arrived wearing pants tucked into good farm boots. Perched atop her head was a stretched out, hand-knit boggin, striped in black and green.
I know we were a sight, two little old ladies trudging through the chilly woods, she in her boggin and me in my Merry Christmas fleece pajama bottoms. We made our careful way down the incline, down toward the sheep and her lambs. We slid a couple of times, when the soaked ground gave way underfoot, but thankfully nobody broke a hip.
As we fumbled down the hill, the ewe bolted, taking her offspring with her. I went wide around them, to try and drive them back. Vesta went straight after the lambs and quick as a wink, caught one in each hand.
These lambs wrestled with Vesta for a second, but eventually she got them both tucked up under her arms. Then she started walking back up the hill, back toward home. I headed over so I could help carry a lamb and everything was going fine, until Vesta’s stretched out boggin started to migrate. With each step my sister took, the hat shifted slowly down until at last it completely covered her eyes. The lambs were starting to wriggle away.
By now I had reached them and reached out to grab a lamb. But the muddy ground betrayed us and both Vesta and I stumbled and rolled down the hill. Somehow, Vesta retained a grip on her lamb but mine got away, running for dear life behind it’s galloping mama.
Vesta and I stood up, puffing and laughing. She handed me the lamb, told me to stay there and that she was going for reinforcements. I stood there next to the stream and watched her walk out of sight. The air was cold and a fine-sifting rain had started to fall. I put my flannel coat over my heads, like a tent, and had a look at the lamb. It was a boy- the dried up umbilical cord was still attached. I tucked him into my vest and settled in to wait.
I was surprised how soft his wool was. He smelled clean, like warm lanolin. He didn’t weigh much more than five pounds so I balanced him with one arm, his ribcage resting in my hand. I could feel his little heart still hammering with fear. The lamb bleated plaintively and I listened for his mama, hoping to hear her answer but by now she was too far off to hear him.
About this time, Vesta returned with my great-niece Amelia. She’s the shepherd in the family. She took possession of the lamb and we all fanned out, searching for the missing sheep. Finally Amelia found them and quick as a wink, she grabbed up the other lamb. Now that both lambs were subdued, the ewe stopped in her tracks and docilely followed Amelia all the way to her house, back to the safe pasture.
After everybody got settled in (the Pyrenees sheepdogs had to inspect the proceedings) we all perched for a minute, watching the lambs. The mama was still wary about the dogs, but the lambs ate hungrily, butting the mama’s udder to make the milk let loose. We spent a peaceful five or ten minutes there, but busy days called us away and we all went our separate ways, content to know that the lambs were safe.