Yesterday, a couple of hours after feeding the girls a light breakfast, I prepared the tools and location of the task, and then set out down the hill to the sheep pen to capture them. I had the whole day, and didn’t feel pressured by time, only by the rising heat. Fortunately, the shearing location is usually at least partially shady throughout the day, so I thought we would manage the heat by going slow and taking frequent water breaks. That worked for me, but I found they weren’t interested in drinking water while they were under pressure, no matter how many times I offered it to them.
Figure 1 Lily, before.
Lily, the more dominant sister, was the first to be caught. After I chased them into the little barn, she attempted to leap out as I approached the doorway. I was prepared with a wide noose of webbed lungeline, which I managed to throw over her head and shoulders as she dashed by. After some spectacular jumping and bucking on her part, I was able to attach a lead rope to her collar, and snub her to a post within their pen. Next, Fiona, who is usually less assertive, led me on a merry extended chase around the pen as she was not about to go in the barn so I could repeat my capture method. It took about fifteen minutes for her to tire enough to let me sidle near, so I could throw the noose over her head and get a lead rope on her, too. Needless to say, I was also winded by this point, so we all caught our breath before I had to haul them out of the pen and up the hill.
This is the third year now of shearing, so I think once they got past the gate, they began to remember the way, as they suddenly stopped resisting quite so hard. That’s not to say they went eagerly! They still put out a lot of noise and some major balking. I decided to start shearing with Fiona, thinking she would be the easier one, so I tied Lily to a nearby tree and put the halter and crossties on Fiona. My mistake! Fiona was not interested in being sheared, and fought nearly every step of the process.
For those of you who think sheep are big, woolly, amiable stuffed animals, take a close look at the photos. Lily and Fiona are Scottish Blackface sheep, and the ewes and rams both come equipped with impressive horns, as well as more than a bit of “spirit,” as other, more experienced shepherds describe them. These two full sisters frequently entertain themselves by backing about a dozen feet apart, then charging full speed toward each other and bashing horns. The sound of this is startling. They can kick like mules with both back legs at a time, and will, in any position they find themselves in that is not to their liking. The first year of shearing I was covered in bruises from the waist down, as I learned this the hard way.
Figure 2 Fiona, after.
When Fiona was finally done, which took about an hour (I think most of the pros can do forty to sixty sheep per hour), I went to collect Lily. Just as I reached for her, she lunged against the tether and her collar broke. Fiona and I both watched as Lily fled for the home pen. Ah, well. I tied Fiona, and went to recapture Lily. Another fifteen minute chase around the pen, but this time it was far hotter, so when Lily finally gave up and I was able to lasso her, we were both panting hard.
In the end, Lily proved far more docile than Fiona, and stood stoically while I worked. I managed to get her fleece off almost intact, which gave me the tiniest sense of accomplishment. Neither wanted their hooves trimmed, so that was a rodeo each time I picked up a leg, but we got it done. Four hours total, from initial capture to finish. They each got a handful of grain, and I got a glass of cold tonic water (for pain!) sans gin, and a beer.
Some of you, well, probably most of you, may wonder why I even keep sheep, especially if they’re such a bother, and even potentially dangerous at times. I can’t explain it entirely, because even I don’t always understand why. But this I do know--having sheep makes me a shepherd, and shepherding is a venerable human tradition going back ten thousand years, if not more. The essentials of being a shepherd haven’t changed much in all that time, and it’s an occupation that’s really never been gender exclusive. Girls and boys, men and women, have all herded sheep for millennia.
Figure 3 Lily, her shorn fleece before her, and yes, I know that's a lot of rope. You had to have been there. Also, I never did like those iris that much anyway.Sheep are a primal force in the shaping of human culture, language and religion. Humans and sheep have co-evolved together in a sense, for a very long time. Sheep are a metaphorical force as well as literal. The Bible uses sheep and shepherds in many ways to illustrate different lessons and parables. Sheep appear in the oldest of mosaics, pottery, and other art and artifacts of human history. Sheep have fed and clothed us for thousands of years, and continue to do so. Their wool is alive, as anyone can tell you who’s held a freshly shorn bit in their hand and felt the inherent warmth. A favorite old saying I particularly like declares “you can’t spin wool from a dead sheep.”
Far more intelligent and observant than most people know, sheep are very good at being what they are. They know their names and respond to them, and not only bond with their own kind, but readily form social bonds with other species, including humans and horses. Mine are especially fond of one of the pony geldings, and will flock with him whenever they can, even if there is a fence in the way. They play with the border collies, butting back when the dogs try to grip them through the fence, and will tease the dogs into this game, somewhat like the cat that will sit on a fencepost, just out of reach. Both of them will eat out of my hand if there is a fence between us; enough of a barrier to make them feel safe. To them I am, and will always be, a predator, but in a strange place or situation, they look to me for leadership. They will follow me closely, head to heels, as Fiona did when Lily broke free again on the way back to the pen when we were finished, and I had to lead Fiona back separately.
Several times over the past few years, I’ve had the distinct impression they were deliberately and thoughtfully trying to engage my attention and communicate a practical need to me, similar to a particularly intelligent dog attempting to convey a complex desire. Not through telepathy or esoteric means, but their own sort of animal sign language. Hard to explain unless you’re a shepherd yourself. I admire the odd juxtaposition of independence, courage, resourcefulness, gregariousness and quiet strength they embody. And ultimately, when they are most afraid and don’t have their own solution, their faith in me. Sheep are a gift to humans. They have given us far more than they are ever given credit for. Besides, I just like the way they look.
