I Dodged a Bullet

This morning after I dressed and made the coffee, I stepped into my poop-encrusted rubber boots and headed out for the morning paper (a walk of about 300 yards) and glanced at the wooden trough in the girls’ area.  It’s normally weighted down with two bags of rocks, but it had been knocked over and somehow dragged about fourteen feet from its usual resting place. Eleanor, our curious, cute, smart white lamb was on the far side, doing what I supposed (no really hoped) was nibbling grass crumbs.   As I approached and she didn’t look up with the others, I knew that something was wrong.  I got through the gate, talking to myself – if she bucks, if she twists, what should I do? – and knelt by her side; she still as could be, me feeling about her neck. I pushed aside all that wonderful soft thick fleece, trying to determine how to get her head out from a very tight triangle of wooden slats, and I realized that I couldn’t solve this alone. I left Eleanor with a promise to her that I’d be right back and I ran to get Todd.   We shifted the fallen trough and I got nervous about how close all this pressure was to her neck.  Todd had built the wooden structure with deck screws and we suddenly knew that the best solution was to unscrew some slats.  Thank God for cordless power drills. Todd headed to the house for the tool while I stroked Eleanor and assured both of us it would be okay. Moments after Todd returned with the drill, we had Eleanor free. Although it was earlier than our usual feeding visit, we piled high the trough with a rewarding half bale of hay. As always, the ladies lined up – Eleanor first – and began chomping away.

Once back in the house, I did what I can’t seem to help doing – asking myself “what if.” Eleanor likely had been stuck out there for hours. What if she had broken her neck in her struggle to get free? I asked my husband, “Todd, if she’d broken her neck, we would have had to put her down. Could you have done that?”  Todd, who has spent more time day-to-day with the sheep doing the manual work – the routine of water, hay, minerals, and general support – replied, “yes, without question.”  And because I’m not a true farmer yet, I gratefully believe him.

Peggy