One Day in the Glamorous Life of a Sheep Farmer

This morning, I was cruelly dragged from my bed (by guilt trip, not brute strength) in order to help my parents load their fifteen sheep (7 sheep, 8 lambs?) into our old van. It was a tight squeeze, but Dad was taking them to a farm an hour away and he did NOT want to have to make two trips. So he crammed 12 sheep in the back, in the nifty wooden box he built especially for transporting sheep, and then we put down newspaper and a couple of tarps right behind the driver/passenger seats and stowed the other three lambs there.

...Now, Dad usually makes these trips with the sheep alone, because it's miserable riding with stinky sheep. But I couldn't bear the thought of him riding such a long way alone, with freaked-out lambs up front with him, in an old junky van four years older than ME. So I went with him.

Boy howdy, I haven't had that much fun in ages. I tried to fix the tarp when it started bunching up at one end (those dang lambs just couldn't keep still!) and instead put my hand in a fresh pile of poop. The sheep smelled BAD. The vents don't work, so we drove with all the windows down...on the freeway. The radio was broken. We couldn't find the guys farm and lost at least a half hour or more trying to find it, and then trying to find a place populated enough for a cell phone signal. Bah!

I like to complain, but it actually wasn't THAT bad. The sheep poop all over my hand was pretty traumatizing, but I like hanging out with my dad. And the smell was only bad when we stopped and the air stopped flowing.

The only part of this little trip that absolutely killed me is when we finally reached the farm and Dad opened the back door of the van to unload the sheep--one of the lambs didn't make it. It was smooshed up against the door--looked like it'd been sat on and smothered. After living on a farm for so long, you'd think this kind of thing wouldn't bother me, but it does. I was one of those kids who cried whenever Dad watched Nova and the leopard caught the bunny and ate it. I cried over dead lambs, birds that dive-bombed our sliding glass door, frogs flattened on the driveway, run-over bunnies and possums...anything dead. It is a pastime I still sometimes indulge in, actually. I just cannot stand dead animals.

I was so relieved when we got out of there, sans sheep. The trip home was uneventful. Dad and I both smelled pretty ripe when we finally walked in the house. Sitting in a van full of pooping sheep (and, on the way back, just the poop) for four hours will do that to a person.

Despite all that, I actually miss the sheep. Probably because I'm sentimental and have been especially so since my parents sold the house yesterday. I've only been here a couple of weeks, and the house has been on the market for over a year. I did not expect them to actually sell it while I was home, but I've heard that these things happen when you least expect it. It was certainly a lot easier to deal with when I was 2000 miles away in Utah. Oh well. Life goes on, and now I get my parents a lot more often than twice a year.

At least I'll always have my memories (and the millions of pictures I've taken of the house the last three summers I've been here...). The smell of sheep manure is one I don't think I'll ever forget.

...And if I ever figure out how to get pictures off my cell phone, I have a great picture of those lambs up front with us. Heh.