Our most recent guest stood looking over the West field and as I walked over to join her she said, “I’ve counted the sheep a few times and I think some are missing.” I stopped breathing, turned from her and headed to the gate to see what was wrong.
Two days earlier, Todd and I had spent nearly four hours rearranging sheep. All summer and fall, the father and son rams along with their wether (translate: castrated male) companions have had the narrow East field to themselves. Up over the top, past the new barn lies the West field where twenty four sheep have been munching grass on what is about five acres of enclosed pasture.
For seventeen days we have been graining fifteen girls we intend to breed, and since sorting sheep is a pain, the seven lambs and the two cormo wethers have also enjoyed the protein rich supplement of grain and dried corn kernels. The purpose of graining during this specific time period, a routine called “flushing,” is to help jump start the menstrual cycle and to get them somewhat in sync so that lambing season doesn’t go on forever. We’ll know in about five months if it worked. It certainly helped this past lambing season. Our first attempt at breeding came after a summer and fall where everyone got grain every day – lambing season lasted the whole month of April 2013. Last year, they ate grass all summer and fall until we did the flushing routine – lambing season this year lasted a little more than a week.
Day 18 marks the day to rearrange portable fencing, panels, ewes, rams, and lambs. We started with the fencing. Until now, we have relied on Calvin, our three year old ram to do all the work. Today, we will divide the West field in two so that we can set up two separate breeding groups – one for Calvin and one for his son Nash – with the intent of creating some genetic diversity and avoiding too much inbreeding.
The summer shelter we built in May sits in the center of the West field. We set up two lines of portable fencing running from the shelter up to the top of the field and two lines running from the back of the shelter to the edge of permanent fencing at the bottom. We decided to double the fencing in order to create a “no-ram’s land” between the two internal paddocks just to make certain the boys and their girls stay in separate groups. And in the shelter, Todd also secured panels inside to create two separate sheltered sections.
Now to rearrange the flock. Several moves need to take place: 1) get all the sheep in the West field up into the chute so we can separate breeding ewes from lambs/wethers and separate the breeding ewes into two groups, one for Calvin and one for Nash; 2) bring Calvin and Nash up from the East field and secured in the shed; 3) move the ewes back on to the West Field in their assigned paddocks; 4) move the lambs and the two Cormo wethers past the shed that holds Calvin and Nash, over to the East field, and finally; 5) get Calvin and Nash out of the shed and on to the West field each in their assigned paddock with ladies awaiting. An ideal time to have a sheep dog. But we don’t have a sheep dog. We’re the dogs.
We have no real trouble getting our original flock of Corriedales up in the chute. What becomes frustrating, tedious, and annoying is convincing the skittish, big, you-say-dumb, I-say-smart Cormo ewes and two wethers to join them. We need these nine sheep in the chute or the whole rearranging plan for the day is done. We get a few in, but we need them all. Over and over again, I tease them with the promise of grain at the same time Todd is in back clapping and shoo-ing them toward the opening. We set up a run with portable fencing, but it doesn’t work. We redo the run so it’s higher up the field. That doesn’t work. I’m just a few feet from the gate, walking along with them, ready to swing the gate shut and each time, one will pause, turn and bolt back into the field and the rest follow. “The last two weeks, we should have been graining them in the chute,” Todd says. And he’s right. If we had walked all the sheep up into the chute each morning before giving them their version of crack cocaine, we’d have had them all up there today in minutes. A note for next year.
What’s clear is that these last sheep could care less about the grain. They’ve had plenty already today. Tired, frustrated and irritated, we both stand back, each of us trying to think of our options. I’m ready to wait until the next day and try bringing them into the chute with the morning’s grain. I don’t say this out loud because the moment I think it, I’m hit with the notion that I always want to quit and postpone tough situations. Instead, I stand still, trying to shake off the negative mood. Todd suggests we squeeze the ones we have in the chute up toward the top so that the open section of the chute is longer and deeper, giving the stragglers more opportunity to go inside before bolting. It’s an easy fix and only takes minutes.
Back in the field the laggards start once again to meander toward us. It’s clear that while the grain is of no interest, the bulk of the flock matters. They want to be with the rest of the gang. From behind Todd claps, a few start to move, and suddenly they are trotting up into the extended chute and I rush to swing the gate shut. One fifth of the mission accomplished.
It takes no time to get Calvin and Nash in the shed. It takes no time to follow the chart we’ve created and to sort the ewes into the Calvin and Nash groups and put them out in the proper field, until we realize we mixed up the sheep and need to bring Calvin’s group back up and switch out Jewel for Hillary.
With the ewes back in the field, properly divided, we’re ready to move the lambs and the two Cormo wethers from the top of the West chute, across the barnyard and on to the East field. The shortest distance is to take them straight through the open door of the new barn, across the cement floor and out the back side toward the East field chute.
We set up some portable fencing and open the chute. And then, as they say, more shit happens. The lambs are clueless, but the two big wethers want nothing to do with the barn. They run in circles, scare the hell out of the lambs, refuse to pass through the barn door, and start to get tangled in the temporary fencing.
We put them back in the West field chute, reset the fencing and try anew. Again, chaos. One wether charges through the edge of the portable fencing, the rest follow and they all end up in the barn yard. Can nothing go right? I’m braced for another round of begging and cajoling, but in just minutes the group makes its own way to the East field chute and walk right through. Todd shuts the gate and the job is nearly finished.
Easily we move Calvin and Nash out of the shed and into the West field chute. Nash goes his way into the southern paddock, Calvin into the northern one. Instantly, the boys begin sniffing rumps, licking sides, pawing legs, and panting their way around all the girls. While their job has begun, ours is done. Four hours of working through the problems, relying on what we’ve learned by the beginning of this junior year of shepherding, improvising because we’ve not learned enough.
And so two days later it was discouraging to hear our guest say sheep were missing. Coming through the West field gate, the problem is obvious. Nash, along with two ewes, had managed to get out of their own paddock and into Calvin’s. And Calvin was pissed. Over and over he was shoving and charging Nash. As he bent low to run at Nash again, I realized his skull was bloody.
We quickly bring Calvin and his crew, along with Nash and the two runway ewes back in the chute, pull the three runaways out and put them back in their proper place. Todd walked along the temporary fencing and into the summer shed to see where the escape had occurred. The mesh on one panel in the shed was bent – leaving a pretty small hole – but it was bent toward Nash’s side which didn’t make sense. Since they weren’t spilling the beans, Todd simply added a second layer of paneling, this time with a tarp.
This morning, 24 hours later, everyone is where they are supposed to be.
Who knows if Nash managed to knock up one of Calvin’s girls and who knows if Calvin did the same to the two ewes that followed Nash into the wrong paddock. There is a science to breeding. And there is stupidity, luck (both good and bad), and trying-our-best, as well.
Peggy