Sheep On the Move

A. is still hobbling around on his thankfully-not-broken-but-still-very-painful foot, meaning he still can't carry water to the sheep. In an effort to save my back and arms from permanent damage inflicted by giant-infant and heavy-water hauling, he determined that the sheep should be moved from the pasture into the paddock nearer the house, where a hose can reach to fill their water bucket. But the paddock fence was broken where the sheep had busted it down several weeks ago in pursuit of some apparently delicious day lilies.

So I fixed it last night by patching the broken spot with a bit of old fence and some tie wire, cussing silently (and sometimes audibly) the whole time because tie wire is very poky and I do not like fencing.

ANYWAY.

Then I went up to the pasture with a bucket of corn, also known as The Secret Sheep Weapon. Because they will follow corn, you see. Actually, they'll follow A. whether he has corn or not, because he, of course, is their shepherd. But I am not their shepherd(ess), and, stupid as they are, they know this. Therefore, the corn bribe. A. stayed by the paddock gate, but he hupped to the sheep from where he stood, and they immediately started running down to the pasture gate. Hupping is just what it sounds like: He yells, "Hup!" The sheep recognize this as a precursor to corn and come a'runnin'. It's very funny.

Even funnier? Me running ahead of them with a bucket of corn. Which I did, all down the lane and across the driveway, waving along the way to the neighbors' lawn mowing guy, who watched me gallop by with 13 sheep swirling around me.

I should imagine he will be telling that story for a long time to come.

The sheep actually bypassed me before I got to the paddock, which would be embarrassing, except I was going slowly because of my frequent backward glances to make sure Donnie the Ram wasn't preparing to stage an attack from the rear in pursuit of the corn. I don't trust him ever since the one time a couple of years ago when he rammed me while I was picking apples in his pasture. Granted, that was the ONLY time he's ever rammed me, but still. I'll never forget, and I'll never forgive.

ANYWAY AGAIN.

I was not attacked, all the sheep are now safely ensconced in the paddock happily mowing down the fresh grass, and A. can gaze with loving eyes upon his flock from the comfort of the house. And I no longer have to haul water buckets up to the pasture.

I just love a happy ending.