A few weeks back, on one of those muggy, hot afternoons where the air feels like soup, Anne and I headed up to the barn for what should’ve been an easy round of chores. No drama, no surprises. Just feed, water, done.
We turned the corner up the lane… and were greeted with a sight I know all too well but still hope I’ll never see: sheep. Out. Everywhere.
Now, thankfully, they weren’t demolishing the soybean crop but instead they’d set their sights on the lush young alfalfa field we’d just cut, happily grazing away like they owned the place. No harm done yet. We hopped out of the truck, calm and collected, ready to walk them back where they belonged.
And that’s when it all went sideways.
See, sheep are, well… sheep. They do what sheep do — follow the leader, no questions asked. There was another group of ewes still inside the fence, separated only by one thin line of electric fence wire. When that inside group headed back to their shelter, all the escapees thought, “Hey, good idea! Let’s follow them!” And — zap, swoosh — through the fence they went.
My calm demeanor? Gone. Melted faster than an ice cream cone on a July sidewalk. It was hot, I was sweaty, and now what should’ve been a quick job had turned into a two-day mess.
Here’s why it mattered: those two groups weren’t just random sheep. One bunch was due to be bred the next day, the other already three months pregnant. They had to stay separate, no excuses. So we spent the evening planning an entire sorting operation for the next day — moving, separating, re-grouping. Sheep rodeo, part two.
Morning chores done, we got to work. First, untangled the mess from the day before. Then turned to the next task: moving the rams out of another group and into the group we’d just fixed. This is never my favorite job — rams are big boys and let’s just say they’ve earned their name.
We put the rams and with there current ladies outside while we set up the barn, then Anne headed out to bring them in. And wouldn’t you know it — some kind of miracle had unfolded. All five rams were standing on one side of an open gate, and all the ewes were on the other. Anne made one quick move, slammed the gate, and boom — job done. Saved us an hour of wrestling, sweat and risk right there.
We stood there for a second after Anne closed that gate — rams on one side, ewes on the other — and I couldn’t help but laugh. The job was done, no chasing, no drama. Just like that, the mess from the day before didn’t seem so bad anymore.
Looking back, my frustration from the day before felt ridiculous. Totally unhelpful. I guess it took this small victory to see it clearly. Funny how farm life teaches you things in roundabout ways — first the hard way, then the gentle reminder.
I’m not saying I’ve got it figured out — I still lose my cool more often than I’d like — but maybe next time I’ll remember this moment. Maybe I’ll pause, breathe, and remind myself: the story’s not over yet.
Farmer Rod