A Jersey Girl Does Some Sheep Sitting

If you’re on this website you probably know that Savage Hart Farm is owned and operated by Todd and Peggy Allen.  I’m Peggy’s sister, Eileen (pictured carrying a bale of hay from last fall).

Let’s lay out some ground rules: livestock, including our docile sheep friends, are rarely left alone overnight.  It’s a 365 day a year undertaking,  so occasionally when Todd and Peg need to be away for a weekend, they ask someone to sheep sit, and I always hope they ask me.

Taking care of their sheep in the summer, when the furry four legs are out on pasture is a piece of cake: check the water, check the electric fence, enjoy yourself in the Green Mountains, spend some time in the hammock reading novels, and in my case, practice the Jersey rendition of sheep whispering.  No, not everyone from New Jersey yells and bullies despite the charming example our illustrious governor puts forth.

Last weekend was my much anticipated opportunity.  The weather is perfect, the eighteen lambs born in April are sturdy and strong, and the balance of the 42 size flock are a known quantity to me. My plans are all set.

Todd and Peg left Friday afternoon and I settled into paradise.  I welcomed the guests who were staying in the apartment for the weekend and spent the evening reading in an Adirondack chair overlooking the valley, watching the sun set in a gentle blaze of pinks and oranges, and generally counted my many blessings.

Saturday dawned in the soft light of mist that would soon burn off; the sheep were happy as, well, sheep in a verdant pasture, and I set off to climb Mt. Ascutney, which is about a half hour drive away.  The hike was perfect: cool weather, empty trails, which frankly I don’t understand on a perfect Saturday in August, but there it was, and the spectacular 360 degree view from the watch tower at the top of Ascutney.  Then I meandered back to the car for a total trip of about 8 miles.  I got back to Savage Hart with that delicious sensation of being physically tired and completely happy.

I checked on the sheep, who were delighted to see me and wanted to hear all about my day, and I was equally happy to tell them how beautiful my day’s hike was.  All good, then back to the stress of reading and contemplating what I might have for dinner.

Apparently my description of hiking was too enticing for the sheep because by 6:30 they had pushed a section of metal fence down and decided to head for the hills themselves.  Who knew they could be so industrious?  The saving grace is that the whole property is surrounded by a fence, so Ascutney was out of the question for this adventure seeking flock, but I was equally sure I had to round them back up into their designated section of pasture or I would be spending the night with them to make sure they were safe.

What ensued over the next three hours would have made snippets of a viral YouTube, that (thank God) was never videoed as there were no witnesses to the events.

Naturally, I began by talking to the flock and explaining that this just wouldn’t do, they had to come back to the shed area for the night.  They were singularly disinterested in my opinion.  They had tasted the freedom of a new, uneaten section of pasture, and while Ascutney might have been nice, they thought the view from where they were was just fine, thank you very much.

Plan B: when reason fails, try bribery.  I got a bucket of grain and was able to woo the older sheep with me towards the shed.  The lambs, who have only experienced ewe milk and grass, don’t know from grain, but they do follow their mamas.  Most of the time.  After much cajoling, including a few stern words, I had about half of them back in their spot, closed the metal gate and headed back for the rest.  It was now around 7:30, but I was confidant that I could pull this off.  More the fool me.

I’m back to wooing with grain and get another bunch close to the metal gate, crack it open just a smidge and invite them in.  The ones in the shed area smell more grain, knock down the fence, tackle me pretty solidly, bang the grain container from my hand, and head back out again. Fabulous.  I am back at square one with all the flock down in the far corner giggling and congratulating themselves on having completely outwitted the flatlander from Jersey.

It’s now 8:00 and I am starting to panic.  Here’s the thing of it:  I adore my sister and brother-in-law and I am convinced that I am going to lose their beloved flock.  And ya know what’s worse: if I do, they won’t be angry at me, they’ll be heartbroken and forgiving, and I will curl up and whither away with guilt and grief.  Sounds melodramatic, but the light is fading, I am completely exhausted and the flock is still out and about; all in all, not a situation conducive to logical reasoning.

I try the grain again with pretty much the same results.  The light is still fading and no moon is rising.  I try dragging a section of temporary fencing to coral them, which was an unmitigated disaster.  I go get a flashlight.  News flash: sheep do not like it when you shine a light at them.  You might was well learn from my mistakes.

9:00…… I decide to act like a sheep herding dog.  This part would have made the video for sure.  I open the metal gate completely, get behind the whole flock and start making gentle sweeps from the back, moving them slowly and softly towards the shed.  Back and forth I went making clucking, soothing sounds and ever so slowly got them moving in the right direction, without their being terribly aware of it.  By 9:30 I had them all back in their area and banged the hell out of the rebar that held that metal gate in place.

I caught up with Peg and Todd by phone; they were their kind, reassuring selves, and it was all so much easier to talk about in retrospect.  I slept like a rock for eight hours.

The next morning I went down to visit the flock to see if anyone was traumatized, but they all assured me that life was fine and they forgave me all.  I went back up to the house and then they proceeded to knock down another section of fence and head out again.  Sigh.  But life is always more manageable in the daylight and I just parked myself in a chair with a book until Peg and Todd came home.  FYI: corralling sheep is just so much easier with three people, especially when two of the three actually know what they are doing.

I hope my sheep sitting days are not over.  I certainly know that my visits to a little corner of paradise known as Savage Hart Farm  will continue forever.

Eileen

Editor’s Note:  This is the second time we have welcomed Eileen as a guest poster.  Her first post, Not A Typical Jersey Girl Weekend, was written over two years ago at the end of our first lambing season.