Sheep(ish) Recollections

On a zoom call with friends several weeks ago we discussed where we would like to live for a year outside of the US if we had a chance. In thinking about that fantasy, I realized that all the places I wanted to reside had sheep—New Zealand, Scotland, Wales, Ireland. I have a storied relationship with sheep.

My dad was a farmer with diversified crops and livestock. Not many farmers had sheep, but my dad did. My affinity for sheep came from him. After he retired from farming and moved to an acreage, he still kept a few sheep in a nearby pasture.

Dad liked to tell the story of how as a 3-year-old, I followed him all over the farm “helping” do chores. One time I was in the sheep yard and a ewe came and butted me down. As he tells it, I got up and she knocked me down again. I think my father watching this happen bordered a bit on child abuse, but unknowingly that ewe perhaps taught me a valuable lesson about getting up every time you get pushed down.

I saw a similar situation when I was hiking in Wales. Sheep were wandering around a parking lot near a trailhead and one of them pushed a little girl who was holding an ice cream cone. The parents quickly grabbed the child, but the sheep seized the ice cream cone.

Most sheep, however, are mild mannered and not always the brightest of animals. If you can get one sheep to go the direction you want, they all follow generally without exception.

Spring brings the lambing season. We almost always had an orphan lamb or two to feed when I was growing up. They could be orphaned because their mom died or had no milk, or mom refused to own them, or sometimes if triplets were born, one was just too small to survive with the others. The baby lambs came into the house and were put in a large box with a heat lamp. Feedings were with warm milk in a nipple topped pop bottle every few hours until the lambs could be put back in the barn with the others and fed twice a day with the bottle.

My first 4-H lambs were named Mercury, Venus, Neptune, and Pluto. I showed Mercury and Pluto at the County 4-H Fair and got one blue ribbon and one red ribbon. After the fair, we took them to Wilson’s meat packing plant in Cedar Rapids. I cried when I had to let them go. Dad made it clear that we raised livestock to sell, and I would have more lambs in the future. The money I got from them went to buying my first used 3-speed bike, and I did feel less sad.

I learned about sheep management over the years and had almost 30 of my own ewes by the time I graduated from high school. I sold them back to my dad and was able to finance my first two years of college tuition.

Although I struggle with the ethics of eating animal protein, lamb is my favorite meat. A friend who had grown up in Washington DC came with me to visit my parents many years ago. She said to me, “Now I am not going to meet an animal on your farm and then eat it for dinner that night, am I?” I assured her that it did not work that way. Mom fixed lamb when I came home because she knew I enjoyed it. After blessing our food at the dinner table, mom said, “Do you remember that little crippled lamb we bottle fed last spring?” My friend was horrified. It is what it is on the farm.

Volunteering with a Stuffed Sheep at Sheep Lakes

I do not see many domestic sheep these days. My favorite volunteer activity, however, is with the Bighorn Brigade at Sheep Lakes in Rocky Mountain National Park. The Bighorn Sheep come from high in the Mummy Range to Sheep Lakes periodically to eat the minerals in the mud that they crave in the late spring and summer. The Brigade interprets the area for visitors and assists with traffic control when the sheep cross the busy road. I am thrilled when the sheep arrive, and even happier when they safely head home to high in the mountains.

Regardless of where and what kind, sheep make me smile.