Bodacious Page 11
When he asked them to call their dog because it was stressing his sheep, they simply laughed in his face: ‘Sure, it’s only a tiny Yorkie Terrier, what harm can it do?’
Matters quickly became heated. He told them, ‘I’ll be getting my shotgun and I’ll shoot your dog unless you call it in and control it!!’
They sneered: ‘We’ll call the gardaí (police) if you do that.’
‘Go ahead,’ the sheep farmer replied. ‘You will learn that it’s my legal right to shoot any dog that simply trots among my sheep, let alone one like yours, who chases and perturbs them.’
He continued to report that this brief altercation became very heated. The obscene language used and the lack of understanding by the owners of the misbehaving Terrier enraged him. Sheep stress is unrelated to dog size. Sheep panic sets in so rapidly that they may squeeze the life out of each other when stampeded and packed tightly into a corner of a field. They pile upon each other as defence to save themselves.
I would be absolutely devastated if stray dogs got in and killed any of my flock. Back then, when the canine sheep killers terrorised and murdered our neighbours’ flocks, we only had a very small flock of Zwartbles sheep. We had begun with just four black sheep, and while our flock grew slowly in number, we all knew each sheep by their breed-registered number and by a personal given name or nickname. I don’t know how The Shepherd comes up with some of the names she gives to our sheep or horses but I do know why. As our flock of Zwartbles sheep are a registered rare breed they each have pedigree certificates, giving the names of their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Having this certificate prevents inbreeding or ‘line breeding’, which means sons breeding with mothers, or daughters breeding with fathers or grandfathers. On these pedigree certificates each sheep has a name that starts with a particular letter chosen by the Zwartbles Sheep Association for each year. For example, in 2018, all lambs born will get names beginning with the given letter ‘F’.
However, this does not prevent The Shepherd giving each sheep a nickname due to a characteristic, flaw or positive attribute. Take Aggee, for example, who has her own story of how she got her name, which I will tell you later, when it’s lambing time, so you’ll have to wait. Her mother is not a Zwartbles sheep but a cross-breed, a mixture between a Texel ram and a Suffolk ewe. She is one of the last sheep from The Shepherd’s original flock, a daughter from one of the first few Suffolk ewe lambs given to The Shepherd and which Oscar helped babysit under the heat lamps so long ago. The Suffolk ewe is called The Great White Yoke as she is a big white sheep and because she has a mind of her own, which sometimes does not exactly dovetail with what The Shepherd would like her to do. The flock will follow her rather than go where they are supposed to go. This makes The Shepherd curse a blue streak and when this happens The Big Fellow walks quickly and quietly away to lie down well out of her sight, with a guilty look on his face. He thinks he has done something wrong. Bear lies down wherever he is and will not budge unless the sheep are about to trample him. Pepper tries to get next to The Shepherd and lean against her leg to try and calm her fury at The Great White Yoke or gives a hard nudge with his nose into the back of The Shepherd’s knee to distract her.
The Northern Screamer is another excellent example of a named sheep. She was bought by The Shepherd in Northern Ireland at an export sale when she was a hogget (a one-year-old sheep). She was a nice-looking sheep and had a pedigree or bloodline that was not in our flock, so she seemed the ideal purchase. When The Shepherd got her home to Black Sheep Farm she discovered that there was a downside. Whenever it was feeding time or if food was late to the trough, this sheep would utter a kind of three-toned ‘baaaa’, which ended in a high-pitched scream till the buckets were emptied into the trough and she could inhale as much food as was possible.
Also, there is Pippi Longstocking, called Pippi for short and so named because she has two long white back-leg stockings. She was born in a ‘W’ letter year so her real name is Whippoorwill, after an American songbird. She is a great poser and has done lots of modelling for The Shepherd with blankets and yarn. When visitors come, they like to meet her, and can easily spot her with her knee-length stockings.
All this means is that we know our sheep by name and by personality, which makes it all the more difficult when something happens to them. So, when we heard about local sheep being killed and the neighbouring farmer’s story about dogs worrying his sheep, The Shepherd decided to take matters into her own hands.
She wondered how she might better protect our flock and set herself to learning about it. She found out that there are four ways we can protect our sheep without our presence day and night in the fields. One is to find a breed of dog that lives among the sheep as a full-time flock member to protect them from intruding animals or humans that might be perceived as predators. These dogs differ from better-known traditional shepherding dogs, such as the Kelpie, Huntaway and Border Collie. The sheep-protector breeds include the Pyrenean Mountain Dog, the Komondor or Hungarian Sheepdog, with its distinctive mop-like hair to keep off the cold, and the big, white Italian Maremma … They mostly work in areas where sheep-flock predators are bears, wolves, mountain lions and coyotes. These canine protector breeds are too expensive and too difficult to bring into Ireland.
The Shepherd then learned that a pair of South American llamas might possibly do the job. They are members of the camelid or camel family from the Andes Mountains, are rather large and have a nasty habit of spitting at their keepers. The third protector group are alpacas, also from South America. They are befriendable, more manageable, smaller than llamas and gentler camelids, who come from the highest Andes of Peru and are fine sheep-flock protectors. They are quick kickers, whose sharp hooves lash out with absolutely no warning and with fatal results for predator foxes or stray dogs. Moreover, their fleece is gorgeously soft and warm. The fourth kind of helpers are donkeys, who are very protective and known to kill foxes or dogs by breaking their backs with a well-aimed stabbing action of their front hooves.
The Shepherd decided alpacas would be best for the Zwartbles, so she got in touch with Hushabye Farm in the foothills of the beautiful Slieve Bloom Mountains of County Offaly. This lovely place breeds alpacas with great success. The Shepherd travelled to the centre of Ireland to view the alpacas and see if there were suitable ones. Alpacas come in a large variety of colours, but she thought black ones would look best among our flock of black sheep. Also, she thought that alpaca fleece is such a beautiful soft fibre that it would blend nicely with Zwartbles yarn, both in texture and colour.
While at this beautiful small farm, The Shepherd found two handsome black male alpacas that she said she would like to take home to our farm. The Hushabye farmer and his daughter asked if they could keep them for a little longer to start them off on their halter training before they moved to their new home with us. The Hushabye farmer’s daughter was very young but she proved to be a firm but gentle alpaca trainer for such a young person. When they arrived at Black Sheep Farm, she haltered the alpaca boys with head collars by herself before she unloaded and led them down the trailer ramp. Once the alpacas were housed in stables with fresh hay, clean water and a few sheep nuts to munch, Hushabye’s daughter gave our two new boys a fond farewell with a goodbye hug for each.
When they first arrived The Shepherd kept the alpacas stabled for ten days so they could easily settle in. Stabling also made it simpler for her to catch them to practise sliding on head collars. They soon settled right in and began to chew hay and crunch sheep nuts, all good signs that their new home might not be a bad place to stay. Alpacas are very inquisitive but timid when they first meet you. They consider strangers as curious, possibly unpleasant beings. As a species they are very head-shy and hate their heads being touched. To acclimatise them to human touch, one softly strokes them behind the ears, down their necks and along their backs.
The first step for The Shepherd and alpacas to become familiar with each other was to feed them twice
a day. She brought sheep pellets, which they chewed thoughtfully and indeed acquired such fondness for them that they began to search for them whenever The Shepherd entered the stables. So, clever human that she is, she lengthened the interval between entering and dumping food in their buckets. She offered a handful of nuts to each to convince them to eat from her hand and get used to human touch. They soon nuzzled her hands with their soft muzzles to consume the sheep-nut offering.
Next, The Shepherd continued the Hushabye-style of alpaca training twice daily by slipping on head collars for short leading sessions. She gradually reduced the number of sessions to only one long walk daily. With her gentle skill at persuading animals to behave well and to accept constraints like head collars and harnesses, she taught the alpacas in short sessions that became longer and longer. They quickly became used to her and to their new surroundings.
Taking time to train the newly arrived alpacas before turning them out into the fields with sheep would greatly ease the future handling of the combined flock of sheep and alpacas. Enabling a simple separation of alpacas from the flock when the sheep required treatments was essential. Furthermore, if alpacas know and trust a human, they will accommodate handling for their own care, such as dosing, hoof care, tooth care and shearing of their fleece.
One day The Shepherd took the alpaca boys for a longer walk into a big field with a steep hill that rolled down to the narrow public road. As she made her way downhill, leading them past a huge oak tree towards the road, a tractor towing a large trailer loaded with giant rolled hay bales was passing by. The Shepherd saw that the driver was so distracted by our bizarre long-necked creatures that he lost control of the tractor and was about to crash into the stone wall on the margin of the road. He suddenly realised his impending disaster, overcorrected his steering and nearly drove into the ditch on the far side of the road. This made The Shepherd giggle for the rest of the day as she imagined what over-excited thoughts had raced through his head. She could imagine him telling his friends, ‘Ye know that crazy black sheep lady up beyond? Well, she had some queer-looking yokes she was leading about today. I was in such a shock, I nearly levelled the ditch.’
This story also reminds The Shepherd of one of her neighbour’s reactions to the new arrivals. She received a text one day, not long after the alpacas had started to venture outdoors:
‘What have you been doing to your sheep?’
‘What do you mean?’ she texted in reply.
‘Have you been stretching them on a rack? Their necks seem to have grown.’
It would seem that they were the talk of our neighbourhood!
Additional training was necessary to get the alpacas accustomed to other humans, which was easy as The Shepherd had many volunteers. Quite a few friends with children came to see these fascinating boys, with their long necks and big, batting eyelashes. Even though they seemed a bit unnerved at first, luckily for all, they handled the throngs very well.
The next phase of training began when The Shepherd brought the alpacas into a field to get them accustomed to sheep who had never seen such creatures before and the alpaca boys who had never seen a sheep. She didn’t want to let the alpacas loose with my sheep too soon in case they gave a pregnant ewe a mighty kick. The alpaca kick is the main feature of their ability to protect sheep as well as to chase foxes or dogs away. Unlike a cow, horse or donkey, who signal with laid-back ears or a hunched back before they strike with a hoof, an alpaca never seems to warn when ’tis about to kick.
The oddity each species sensed about the other was very evident in their body language. When the alpacas first met the sheep, it seemed that their belief was: ‘What and who are those short-necked yokes?’ A Zwartbles ewe in shock thought: ‘What in God’s name are those long-necked black yokes? Hey, Zwartbles ladies, come look at these funny looking yokes!!!’ The alpaca boys worried right away: ‘Psssst, I think we should clear out of here before we are surrounded by these short black stubbies!!!’ At least, that’s what I think they said. I now understand their language better but I did not then.
After a few visits the Zwartbles sheep finally got used to the visits from the alpaca boys: ‘Well, those black yokes seem to ignore us and just hang around their hay.’
‘Ooops, I think those black stubbies just got curious,’ the alpacas said. ‘Crumbs, I think they are following us now!!!! We better get outa here!!!’
At last the Zwartbles relaxed under the trees while the alpaca boys strolled by.
Then came the time to turn the alpaca boys out into the small paddock next to the horses’ field. The horses and alpaca boys viewed each other with stunned surprise. Sensible Marco Polo simply stood still and took it all in while the mares galloped madly about. The mares circled around stationary Marco Polo on one side of the fence while the alpaca boys raced in circles inside the small paddock. The Shepherd left bundles of fresh hay for both groups of animals close to either side of the fence so that alpacas and horses would have to dine in each other’s company. This separation by fence but enabling dining close to each other was a safety precaution until both species realised that they could live as friendly neighbours.
A few days later, The Shepherd brought all the sheep in. I sat on a convenient bale of hay to oversee the operation while she separated pregnant ewes from ewe lambs. We decided to let all the ewe lambs out into the small paddock so that the alpacas could meet some sheep on their own turf. Without The Shepherd standing between the two groups, the alpaca boys sought her out as security against the ewe lambs and stayed close beside her. She smiled at their insecurity and I could hear her say, ‘Suck it up, boys. You are to become their protectors.’
Finally, we had to name the boys. I told The Shepherd: ‘T’would be nice if their names came from their ancestral home of Peru and were of Incan origin.’ We reflected a while, tossed ideas about and with Google’s help, Inti and Punchau became their new names. Inti is the younger, blacker and more timid of the two boys and his Incan name means ‘Sun God-Giver of Life’. Punchau, the older, bigger, bolder boy, is named after the Incan ‘Warrior Sun God’, whose weapon is the dart. So, we hoped our helper guardian protector boys, Inti and Punchau, would use their dart-like legs to kick any fox or stray dogs who might come into our fields to harass my Zwartbles sheep. (While the alpaca boys were getting used to my own canine crew, they belted Pepper with a kick none of us saw coming, so we knew what they were capable of.)
Last, but not least, came the day I properly met the alpaca boys. The Shepherd came into the yard with them one day after their training exercise, with both of them wearing head collars and walking on the leads. I greeted them and gave them the once-over: ‘Right, lads, so you are our new flock protectors that all the fuss is about … Let’s just make one thing clear from the start: I might be down here and your alpaca self is high up there with your long neck, but I’m the boss.’
If, reader, you don’t believe me, I have photographic proof that this conversation took place. I was very firm. I stated my supervisory position on the farm at our first meeting and made clear that no liberties would be taken in the future by these newcomers. ‘Seriously, lads, I’m the boss, so no messing about. This is The Shepherd Cat’s rule on this farm!!’
After that, both alpacas lowered their heads down to my level and we had a nose-to-nose chat. ‘There you go,’ I said. ‘You got the right idea. Bow down to a superior being!! The Shepherd Cat rules.’
8
Autumn Memories
Autumn sometimes reminds The Shepherd of her long-ago life in New York City in the 1980s. She’d left agricultural college behind and even though she’d loved it, part of her yearned to try something new, to test herself outside the bounds of her narrow life experience. Until she went to New York, she had mostly experienced life in the small city of Charlottesville, Virginia or on the land, whether as a child on Black Sheep Farm or on her cousin’s Maryland farm. Later, as I’ve already mentioned, she trained other people’s horses and had worked as a shepherd in
Counties Wicklow and Carlow. Her student days had been ideal in Vermont and mixed in North Carolina, where she was shocked by the burning of a cross in a place still influenced by the racist Ku Klux Klan. Now, she decided, it was time to try to change her dream a little, and where better place to change a dream than in the Big Apple of New York City?
Of course, ambition and dreams are not like reality, and as she went to endless auditions, she was often told that she needed to lose weight if she hoped to get any jobs on TV soap operas. Soap opera, I would suppose, is a form of singing for soap. It must have been a dirty job as she never took one of those offered jobs. She managed to find work on a few TV advertisements; she had a brief small part on a TV show and acted in a few student films. In the city she slogged along pavements instead of through mud, which I would imagine would wear down the soul.
New York was an exciting place in which to be young but there was also great sadness. T’was the start of the AIDS epidemic, which destroyed so many human lives. Cat AIDS is quite nasty and I can only hope I never catch it. During that early New York AIDS explosion, The Shepherd had a number of friends who came down with this horrendous illness. People became frightened to touch anything anywhere. Some wore plastic gloves all the time. They carried their private boxes of gloves, wore surgical masks, drank from their own plastic straws and used their own knives and forks whenever and wherever they ate. Some dear friends died of this plague.
The Shepherd would know when someone was coming down with AIDS when they complained of a cold that would not go away. They would say, ‘Don’t hug me as you might catch my flu.’ A number of friends had eruptions of red and purple blemishes on their faces which grew rapidly. Many people assumed it was a kind of skin cancer but suddenly those friends disappeared in silence or said they were going back to their home town and please not to call them. A great many wonderful, talented, creative, inspiring people were scythed down by this plague. The alienation of the dying was heart-wrenching. It resembled the long ago human Dark Ages when rat fleas induced ‘Black’ bubonic plagues that killed so many. When people continually feared for their lives, a modern version of the Spanish Inquisition of fear and bigotry descended on the New York world.