You ever notice how some lessons just don’t stick the first time around?
Yeah, me too. I’ve got a short memory and don’t always learn from my mistakes. But once I make the same mistake again — well, that’s when it finally clicks.
So, here’s how this week’s reminder went down.
It was time to take the boys out of the ewe group — the ones (hopefully) bred for spring lambing. And of course, I was still buried in fieldwork and a pile of half-finished jobs, so I figured, why not save some time?
A shortcut. You know the kind — seems brilliant for about 10 seconds.
I’ve taken this one before. It ended badly then too. But somehow that little fact slipped my mind.
Now, the proper way to do it would’ve been to set up three pens and the chute system — the whole works. Takes a bit of effort, but it’s safe and orderly.
Instead, I looked at Anne and said, “Just make a little pen by the door. I’ll jump in there and wrangle the rams myself. It’ll be fine.”
Famous last words.
I even added, “They haven’t been very rammy lately.”
Why I said that, I have no idea. Just last week one clobbered me hard enough to leave a bruise. You’d think that memory might’ve surfaced right about then, but no.
So in we went. First try, we got three of the five rams penned up quick — smooth sailing, I thought. But as I grabbed the next one, those three decided that Anne holding the gate wasn’t much of an obstacle. Out they went again like it was a jailbreak rehearsal.
Round two.
We reinforced the gate, Anne down at the far end, me in the long narrow pen with the remaining rams and about thirty ewes milling behind me. I had a hold of one big fella and was slowly steering him toward Anne when — wham!
Without warning I was airborne — flat out, feet toward Anne, head away — like Superman in coveralls and rubber boots.
One of the other rams had taken a full-speed run and hit me square in the posterior. Perfect aim.
Anne didn’t even get the chance to yell — he’d hidden his approach perfectly behind me, using my silhouette as cover.
I’m not exaggerating when I say I heard the bones in my back crack — exactly like the chiropractor does it. I landed flat, stunned, and there he stood, calm as you please, waiting for a head scratch. Which, yes, I gave him.
Now, I can’t even be mad. It was my fault.
I know better.
It’s just their nature, and every time I try the “quick way,” I get reminded of that — usually with a sore back.
We did eventually finish the job, working under much higher alert levels than before. I figured I’d be laid up with a heating pad for days. But here’s the weird part — I feel great. My back hasn’t felt this good in years.
So maybe I’m just getting conditioned to the abuse… but I’ll chalk it up to sheer luck.
Either way, that once-unnamed ram now has a name.
The Chiropractor.
Farmer Rod
