baa

My farmer friends ran a small hobby flock of sheep on a large cattle property. The wool was only good for the wife’s craft and hand knit projects where the natural tones enhanced the overall effect of the garments. Last year a lamb was orphaned at birth. The lamb was of no real value but my friends cared about their stock and the orphan was taken in, inside that is.

The lamb rapidly made their laundry home, and then their kitchen. By the time she was several months old she had made it all the way into their living room. The situation became untenable. 

Although she could stay in the house yard there were foxes at night and, because she was still too tiny to put up a fight, she was put on a chain alongside the farm dogs. She had her own little house, just like the dogs, and was let off for a run when the dogs were working. When the dogs were fed so was she and, like the dogs, she came to her name when called. She even went for outings in the back of the farm utility.

But this couldn’t go on forever and the day came to reintroduced her to the flock. When pushed through the gate to the sheep paddock she stood there trembling, backed up to the gate as tight as she could get. There she stood all day. As night came the wife relented and bought her back in, putting her on the chain again alongside the dogs. 

My friends worried about what some might think, keeping a sheep chained up with working dogs. So, knowing that I struggled to keep my steep block tidy, my farmer friends wondered if I would be interested in a free four-legged lawnmower? To tell the truth it was quite a timely request as my temperamental pull start mower had finally given it up for good. I had no garden to speak off and the prospect of a sheep keeping the grass down wasn’t exactly unappealing.

‘Would they bring her over?’ No need, she will be more than happy in the back of my station wagon I’m told. Apparently she is house and car trained. This is when I should have asked more questions but between helping out a friend, and my own self-interest, I was blinded to the bit of weirdness going on.

Sure enough the sheep was very relaxed in the back of my car. My dog was in the front passenger seat, as is his rightful place. When I pulled up at home and opened the passenger side door the dog jumped out and so did the sheep, over the back seat, into the front seat and out the car door. I made a grab for her but that was totally unnecessary as she readily followed my dog through the side gate and around to my back door. It is here that I made my biggest mistake. I let her, along with the dog, into the laundry. 

So, there we all were, in the laundry. The dog, my old border collie that came with me when I left my farm, making it obvious what he thought of my predicament.

Back outside we all went. When I had gone a few steps off the verandah I turned furtively for the back door and snuck back inside. I held the back door open the smallest bit and called my dog quietly, hoping that he would be faster than the sheep. He squeezed past me and I closed the door just before the sheep got a foot in. If a sheep could look wounded and aggrieved then this one did. 

I hadn’t put any water out for the sheep. In a little while I thought, once she moved away from the back door. But she didn’t. Right I thought, out the front door and back through the side gate while she isn’t watching. I left the dog inside with strict instructions to keep the sheep’s attention. We are mates that dog and I, he focused on the task. 

My plan worked fine, in the side gate, water bucket sorted. But there was no way I could get back out the side gate, or inside the back door, without that sheep. Eventually I gave up and let her into the laundry, closed the back door on them, sheep and dog that is, went out through the side gate and inside again by the front door. Once back inside I found my dog and the sheep comfortably curled up together in the laundry.  I rang my farmer friends. They told me to get a chain for her, ‘hadn’t I kept her collar?’

Next morning I set up the chain run, diligently supervised by my dog, and then let the sheep out. While I casually patted the dog I reached over and put the sheep on the chain. Great, I now have a chained up sheep in my fully fenced backyard! The dog made a good show of being able to saunter off with me.

Then the baaing started. 

Neighbours may have problems with dogs that bark all night but try explaining a baaing sheep. No, she doesn’t need water. No, she is not tangled up in the chain. No, she doesn’t need another sheep to keep her company. No, I do not need a Council Permit to have a sheep in my backyard. But, in spite of my protestations, I was kindly given another sheep by my concerned neighbours to keep her company, their grandchildren’s pet. Seemed their daughter, the children’s mother, was only too happy to help out.

Both sheep got along famously. I gave the chain up as a bad joke. The constant baaing had stopped during the day; the sheep ate my grass commendably well and without complaint while the sun was up. My dog and I came and went by the front door. However, the baaing continued at night until I surrendered my principles and let both sheep into the laundry to sleep. The dog began sleeping with me.

I did my washing during the day, after I put the sheep out. I was careful not to even hint at opening the laundry door into the kitchen. I knew that those two sheep would make themselves at home, in front of the wood fired oven, before I blinked. I tried to ignore my disturbing cravings for a roast dinner; the dog thought it was hilarious.

Then came the night that I had to stay away. I explained this to my farmer friends and the wife volunteered to sheep sit. She arrived late in the afternoon, I showed her around and we said hello to the sheep. She looked at me a little curiously when I explained that the sheep slept in the laundry. Saying that I would call later I hefted my overnight bag over my shoulder. As I got to the front door I called the dog and we both headed for the car. My dog looked concerned, a touch apprehensive; he clearly thought I’d forgotten something. 

After a couple of hours driving the dog and I arrived at my parents’ home. We both got a big greeting and were shown to our room. The dog always slept with me now; the sheep did him a favour there.  

Dinner was great, lots of family, and I headed for bed comfortable and relaxed, smiling to myself about the many familiar and happy conversations we’d had. Most hadn’t believed my sheep stories but it was fun to tell them, to share the silliness, to laughingly decline the generous offers to buy me a lawnmower. Before I turned the light out, sitting up in bed with the dog, I called home. 

The phone rang out. I tried again, still no answer. My dog had his head on his paws watching me with his trade mark clued-up, knowing look. I decided to try once more and after several rings the phone was picked up – and I heard baaing. 

It took some time before my farmer friend spoke, nervously expressing her hope that I wouldn’t mind, ‘but the sheep seemed so lonely without you and the dog so I brought them in to sit with me while I watched the television.’

I looked at my smug dog and remembered who it was that gave me the first of my two sheep. I muttered a few words under my breath, briefly contemplated how I would ever re-establish any sort of sheep free zone at home, or even if I would bother. Then, ever so nonchalantly, I said into the phone, ‘see you tomorrow then’. 

Wasn’t much more to say really as I wasn’t sure whether I was speaking to my friend or the sheep over the phone. Baa!