I should probably ask him what his name is one of these days. We have a chat every two weeks, usually beside the trailer at the butcher shop. You’d think by now we’d have made it past “Good morning.”
This Thursday, though, I didn’t really have time for a visit. I needed to deliver our usual load of 14 lambs, then get to Canadian Tire for a tire appointment at nine. It all fit quite nicely into my schedule. On paper, anyway.
Anne and I had weighed the lambs Wednesday and picked out the 14 biggest. We have a bit of a system: I move them through the handling equipment, and she weighs them, sorts them into the shipping pen, and puts a green dot on each one. That last part is our “just in case” plan. Just in case somebody ends up on the wrong side of a gate before morning.
Thursday morning, I backed the trailer up to the loading ramp, went into the barn, and moved the group aboard. I’d already marked all 14 as sent for processing in our tracking system the day before. It was about eight. Plenty of time to drop them off and get to town.
When I backed up to the unloading chute, there was my usual fellow from the Canadian Food Inspection Agency. He keeps an eye on the humane transport and handling of the animals. Yes, even at our little small-town shop. While I finished my paperwork in the truck, he walked over to have a look in the trailer.
“Good morning,” I said, walking past him with a little more purpose than usual.
“Oh, just 13 today?”
“Nope, 14,” I said, and headed inside to open a holding pen and set up the chute.
As I came back up to open the trailer, he tried again. “I counted twice. There’s 13.”
I gave him a little smirk. “No, there’s 14.”
He smiled. I opened the door and counted. Then I counted again. Then once more, because apparently I thought the answer might improve.
Thirteen. Well, how on earth did that happen?
Naturally, I was quick to suggest Anne must have made a mistake. A fairly bold conclusion from a man who had just hauled them down the road without counting them.
“Hang on. I’ll be right back!”
I closed the trailer and headed home, lambs and all. It was about 8:15 now, and my comfortable little schedule was starting to get uncomfortable.
This time I backed up roughly in the neighbourhood of the loading ramp. My plan was to pick out a big lamb by eye and get going. But then I spotted something in the main pen. A green dot.
Well. Apparently Anne could count after all.
Our missing passenger had managed to get out of the shipping pen and rejoin the others overnight. This, of course, was exactly why Anne had put the green dots on them. I caught the suspect, walked him out to the trailer, and headed back with the full load.
By the time I returned, a few more faces from the shop had gathered to greet me. All smiling, naturally. They’d come out, found my paperwork, but no truck, trailer, or lambs. There were a few comments about whether the lambs had made a getaway.
I gave them the quick version. Very quick. It was 8:35, I still had to unload, and Canadian Tire was 15 minutes away.
Usually, my unloading technique is to open the door and wait. Give them a little time, let one get curious, and the rest generally follow. The inspector has commented before on how well doing very little seems to work. A farming skill I’m quite happy to be recognised for.
This time, I encouraged one leader down the chute and into the holding pen, and the others followed right along.
“I think they knew you were in a hurry,” he said.
Gates shut, trailer door closed, paperwork sorted. Back in the truck. It was 8:45.
I pulled into Canadian Tire right on time, unhooked the old trailer in the parking lot, and headed inside. Just another day on the farm, with rather more counting than I’d planned.
Next time, I really should ask my inspector friend his name. And perhaps count the lambs before I argue with him.
Farmer Rod