I told a little fib in my last column; I stated I have never owned sheep. In my own defense, I never owned wool sheep, but I did, in fact, have a few hair sheep – sheep that were more like small deer and just as wild.
My adventure began when I came home one day and saw a flash of brown run from my front pasture, around to a little loafing shed. There I found four very nervous Barbados ewes.
I called my dad at work to see if he knew anything about the ewes, only to be told that he had taken off to go to the sale barn. He was busted.
When he came back to my house later that evening, I asked if he realized they were Barbados, which are not known to be snuggly or tame. He said he thought they would help keep the weeds down, plus we would never have to shear them.
Over the next couple of days, the ewes and I developed our routine; I would walk out the back door in the morning to feed and they would run off. When I would get home in the evening, they would run off.
About a week later, only three ewes ran off when I walked outside; I found the other ewe and her brand new lamb in the loafing shed.
That evening, my dad came by to see the new addition and asked if it had nursed. I said it seemed to be doing OK, but the ewe’s udder just didn’t look right.
“Can you catcher her?” my dad asked. I told him I guess we would find out. We devised a plan to run her and the other ewes into the alley between the barn and a feed pen, then corner the ewe. All appeared to be going OK, until I walked into the alley. One ewe might have gone over the top of the panels, two went under, but I was able to grab the new momma; it was a rodeo, but I got her. Her lamb scurried under the panels and into the pen with the steers, which began chasing the newborn. Dad tried to get the steers away from the lamb and I threw my shoe, the only thing I could get my hands on other than the ewe, at one to distract him. We managed to get momma and baby reunited and they took off back to the loafing shed. As fast as that lamb made laps round that pen, I knew it would be just fine, and it was.
The other ewes soon began to lamb out as well, but I still couldn’t get near them and the lambs were just as wild.
About a month or so later, I came home to yet another surprise, a Barbados ram with impressive, curled horns. I named him Dodge; he was a runner as well.
As time went on, I had to explain to people that the exotic looking animals were not goats, but haired sheep; that they were not part of the deer family, but they could jump as high as my head; and no, I had no idea what we were going to do with them.
We sold ram lambs, but Dodge and the girls just kept having babies. It became difficult to catch them because they figured when I moved their feed into the alley that meant someone was going to get caught. I also didn’t have another pasture where I could separate the ram lambs from their moms or sisters, or Dodge from his daughters.
Finally, we had a flock dispersal. At the sale, I reminded Dad that just because he had a trailer on, it didn’t mean he had to buy anything. It was touch and go there for a little while, but the trailer was empty when we left.
I will grant PETA one thing, these sheep might have been just fine in the wilds of Dallas County, Mo., but their unique look would have made them a target for those thinking they had stumbled across exotic deer-like creatures, not domesticated – and I use that term loosely – sheep. Then there were predator dangers and “wild” sheep running in front of vehicles. They were dependant on me to keep them safe.
So again PETA, your argument about allowing sheep to roam free still doesn’t hold much water.
Julie
