Cousin's Post

 

I’m the Cousin mentioned in a couple of Kelly’s blogs.  When Kelly asked me to take care of Kinnaird Farm for nine days, I was excited to think I would be a shepherd for a week.  That excitement turned to nervous tension after my two-day training stint.  All I could think was, “This is a lot of responsibility!”

Truer words were never spoken when I learned that two lambs had been attacked and killed, and another one attacked but saved by Kelly’s quick actions. Plus, there was a new dog being added to the mix, a beautiful white Maremma named Millie, who was still adjusting to her new home and work duties.

So I came on Friday afternoon, a day before I was to go solo, and thought, “I can do this...I think.”  Well, the next day was the reckoning.

Kelly’s already described Saturday morning in lots of great detail but I just want to add a few of my own impressions.   OK, it started with Henrietta spitting at me. And what Kelly didn’t tell you was that she laughed really hard when this happened.  I just wanted to get the junk out of my hair and wash my face as fast as possible.  She continued to laugh.

Shortly after, the laugh turned stone cold sober when she found Maybell’s lamb torn and suffering. I couldn’t believe it.  They were supposed to be leaving in a few hours and leaving me here ALONE.  Get a grip, I thought.  So I realized that I could either flinch and not face reality, or I could rise to the occasion.

When Kelly’s hubby came to put the lamb out of its misery, I wouldn’t turn away. A farm is a place of life and death, and having worked in a profession in which I often sat beside dying humans, I felt I owed it to the lamb to be a witness at its death.  When the first shot didn’t work, it was disappointing both for the shooter and the witness. A second shot was fired and the lamb died quickly. Thank God.

Then we had to deal with the carcass. I’ve never helped with disposing an animal of that size. Both Kelly and I had blood on our hands after we put it in a wheel barrow to take to the small barn. And then we handled the body again as we put it into feed bags. After a neighbour from down the road came to take it away, I thought, “Well, at least my week was “pre-disastered.” Surely, nothing else would happen. Little did I know.

In the midst of all this, Millie the guard dog had been spooked and ran away.  After Kelly and hubby left for the airport, it was a waiting game to see when she would return.  She did, and thus began three solid days of trying to get her to trust me.

She would come close and then take off. She didn’t want to eat her food.  She sat at the end of the driveway chasing cars and bicyclists. She darted in front of a motorcycle. The motorcyclist was not happy.  She darted in front of a car. The driver yelled, “Tie up your damn dog!” I suddenly had visions of an angry guy driving up the laneway.  I felt relief when it didn’t happen.

On Monday evening Millie was on the other side of the road and saw something she didn’t like. She leapt about four feet off the ground into the long grass and was hell bent for murder.  I had to accept I couldn’t control her but all of a sudden Beau dog took off to follow her.   That scared me.  Next I was running into the long grass watching as Millie bounded around and around wildly.  I was yelling for Beau to come back, and he was ignoring me – very unusual for such an obedient dog.  He’d been caught up in the frenzy.  I got him to come back within about six feet of me and then he decided he needed to follow Millie again.  Yes, he followed her right into the muddy stream.  When he finally heeded my call he came back caked in a couple inches of mud.  Beau had to be wiped off and then hosed off.

Slowly, Millie accepted me and was really starved for affection. One afternoon, I sat with all three dogs on the front lawn.  My dog, Raffi, was right at my back.  Beau sat to my left and Millie to my right.  I was in dog heaven.

Photo:  Millie under the Snowball Bush

Photo - left:  Beau dog, the ball guy

Photo - below:  Raffi, enjoying his farm vacation

Tuesday dawned overcast and the forecast said to expect rain that day.  Rain threatened but held off.  After supper, my husband and I had to drive into Brockville to get some medicine for him.  As we returned on the 401 the floodgates opened and I could hardly see to drive.   The straw and hay of the barn had not been kind to my husband’s respiratory system and so when we finally returned, I said I would round up the sheep on my own.  Since it was raining, getting the sheep, llamas, and hens inside the barn was easy.  Then the hard part began.

I started counting sheep.  26, 27, 28, 25, 27, 27, 27...but there’s supposed to be 28. Again, I counted – 27. Again, 27. I couldn’t believe my eyes.  This can’t be happening to me. I went out to see if I could find the missing lamb. At that moment, the heavens opened and the wind blew and I felt like I was in a scene from Wuthering Heights.  My heart pounded. I ran around the barn wildly, and then into the pasture. My waterproof coat proved to be no match for the driving rain.  I was soaked.

I realized I needed to get into the house to get the official list, the one that has all the ewes and lambs listed by name and number.  When I got there, I was so soaked I could only yell for my husband to come and help me.  “I only counted 27,” I cried.  I grabbed the sheet of paper tucking it inside my shirt so it wouldn’t get wet. My husband followed. Then we spent the next half hour, counting, counting again, and checking numbers. Damn those sheep, just when you thought you had the number, they moved. Finally, with my husband’s help, we narrowed it down.  Number 117, Tiny was missing.  Chloe’s lamb. Tiny had her name because she was literally the smallest lamb born this spring.

Once we’d figured it out, my husband headed out in the pouring rain to scour the fence lines and check the bush. I finished the chores and sadly walked to the house.  I dreaded writing Kelly the news.  I knew she wouldn’t be upset with me, just those damn coyotes that seem to think they had a meal ticket on Kinnaird Farm.

 Photo:  Farmer James

The next morning we were extra vigilant. My husband walked the fence line again.  But, even with all our care, we realized there was only so much we could do.  It seemed to me the llamas, Henrietta and Sheba, were on strike, blithely eating all the grass they wanted and totally ignoring the sheep.  Also, Millie spent most of her time out of the pasture, sitting either at the end of the laneway, or resting beneath the snowball bush.  Come on creatures, you need to get back to work protecting those sheep!!

The next day, my husband had to return to our home to take care of things.  On my own, I spent hours carding a wool fleece Kelly had given me at shearing time.  It was also time to reflect.  Being a shepherd really demands the ability to be on high alert, and counting sheep became a way of life. When I was out in the rain looking for the lost lamb, I thought of the stories in the Bible about shepherds looking for their lost sheep, seeking the one while the 99 were safe. Yes, you did forget about the others and were only focused on the one.  I had been right about one thing right from the beginning.  Being a shepherd is a lot of responsibility!

 

It was surprising to me how emotionally attached I’d become to all the farm creatures, even the chickens.  Beau dog had become my “beau.” Millie had become my friend, even to the point of letting me brush her fur.  She sought me out looking for lots of affection – hugs and petting.  Henrietta had gotten over her pique after spitting at me, and started to give me lots of kisses.  Sheba would come to me (looking for treats). The chickens would follow me around the pasture.  I even learned how to grab them so I could get them in the barn. Dot the ewe and her lambs, Lucky and Lucy, had to be in a pen in the barn so that Lucky could recover from his coyote attack.  Lucky let me wipe his nose and Dot knew I was the source of all things food and water related.  I felt pretty popular!

 

At the risk of sounding maudlin, I realized that all creatures need love and security.  When the security part fails, it’s hard to take. When the love happens, there’s no place you’d rather be.

On Sunday, Kelly’s sister came to relieve me.  I gave Beau a big hug.  As I drove out of the laneway, Millie saw my truck and started chasing it. She started whimpering.  Then, she chased the truck down the road.  I had a big lump in my throat.