Sheep

The other day I was making a presentation and I told this story. I was painting a picture of me.

When my father passed away unexpectedly over 20 years ago, I had the sudden urge to buy sheep. I don’t know whether it was something biblical or what. My dog had died three weeks after my father and I was bereft. I had horses but the thought of a soft, furry animal gently ruminating while I sat in the grass made me feel comforted. Within days, I was the proud owner of a black Oxford cross and a caramel colored Tunis. They were bottle babies and followed me everywhere. Just as I had imagined, we spent many hours sitting in a meadow overlooking our pond. When it was time for their first shearing I kept the fleece. I met a group of ladies that taught me how to spin the wool into lovely yarn. Spinning proved to be a form of meditation and soothed my soul. The rhythm of the foot pedal and the easy slip of the roving through my fingers was heavenly on quiet evenings. I started taking my lambs and my spinning into the neighboring elementary schools. 

By now it was time to start considering a new dog. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Border collie that would work the sheep at the schools and on our farm? I purchased a lively pup my girls named Charlie. The sheep were unimpressed with this young tyke. They followed me everywhere for a graham cracker and did not see the need. I was totally frustrated by my attempts to get the sheep or the dog to go in any direction that I desired. The ladies in my spinning group recommended an expert sheep dog handler. I was thrilled it was a woman. I invited her to my farm for a consultation.

The handler and I spoke while she met my dog and my sheep. She looked at me and shook her head. I will paraphrase, “You can’t have a dumb dog, dumb sheep and a dumb person. Someone in this mix has to know something.” I was not deterred. I had a vision in my mind and somehow we were going to get there. She said, “OK, bring your collie to my farm. I have dogged sheep and I will work the dog.” So off we went, Charlie and I on our adventure. We had a blast. I learned to walk with the trainer and hold the staff out over her sheep. The sheep clustered under the staff and when Charlie got too close, I would tap him with the staff to move him out. He learned to bye and way. He was a natural. Eventually, my dog and I tackled our sheep at home. The sheep were correct; there was no need for the dog. They went wherever I wanted for a cookie.

I had succeeded in creating my vision. We had muddled through – my dumb dog, my dumb sheep and me. I told this story about how it reminded me of my early days as extension agent in Montana. Once I had unpacked the boxes, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don’t know about growing plants in Montana; I don’t know what kind of bugs or weeds they have here; I don’t know anything about cherry trees. What I do know is that I want to help people grow their food. I want to see them be successful and feel a sense of pride about their land. I held this vision and figured it out. When my clientele asked a question, I had no problem saying, “I don’t know, but I will find out.” I assisted my growers by consulting with the top researchers in the country. Just like with the sheep, I had to start with one piece of the puzzle. The rest fell into place.

I guess that is me. I can hold a vision, even if I have no idea how to get there. I don’t have to have the answers. They will come. This philosophy has served me so far. I am now in the process of building a house. I am gathering facts from excavators, framers, health department inspectors, general contractors, real estate agents, bankers and land owners. I can do this. My road may not be straight and narrow. It is sure to have a few bends and hair-pin turns, but that’s ok. I’ll get there. I always do.

Eventually, the dog herded sheep, the job exceeded my expectations and soon I will be peacefully curled up in my new house. I don’t know where or how, but it will happen. “Ignorance is bliss” – or so I have heard. I can’t say I know that to be true. On the other hand, I am not going to let my lack of knowledge keep me from my goal. I can always learn more. I’ll find my inner sheepdog and use it. I’m going to keep my sense of humor and smile when I realize I have taken the long way around. This will make a good story someday when I am in a rocker. Until then, keep a clear picture and soldier on!



xdx

Head Shy

Yesterday when I was out to see my horse, she did not come when called. That will not do. “What? Lakota, you know better than that!” Within 3 minutes I had her obediently walking next to me and coming when called. She just forgot who was alpha for a minute. Anyway, I was picking up some baling twine on the ground near her and as I lifted it quickly, she jumped. I realized she thought I was going to hit her. I have owned her almost 3 years and have never smacked her. I have been working on healing the damage that someone did while “training” her, in her past. I make her obey me without striking her.


People can be a little head shy. Head shy, for non-horse people, is a term for the behavior a horse exhibits when they are trying to protect themselves. A horse may duck or run or rise up and strike, anything to keep us from getting near their head. This behavior comes from a past experience. Someone may have previously grabbed and twisted the horse’s ear or hit them in the head. It could occurred yesterday or 10 years ago. It doesn’t matter to the horse. The fear is the same. This behavior is dangerous to both the rider and the horse if left uncorrected. The horse could hurt the rider while putting on the bridle, could totally flip out on a trail ride if their head gets caught in some branches or could panic in a trailer if their halter gets stuck on the frame.


What do we do in a new relationship when we have been mishandled in the past? We may try and protect ourselves. We don’t know how this new person is going to react to things. We watch for signs. We proceed cautiously. We might duck or guard ourself a little more than we need to, at the beginning, but then trust evolves. We calm down. We relax and stretch our minds and words. Time. Consistency.

We should remember to be kind to ourselves and our new partner. I try to talk to myself the way I would to a best friend. I say, “Hey, you got bumped around and you want to be careful. It’s ok. It’s understandable. He has his memories, too.” If your mate is jumpy, let him have time and your compassion. Don’t get mad. Does it help our horse to get angry or demanding when she is scared? No. We have to get the horse past the fear in order to have a good relationship; it comes with creating confidence and trust. Communicate with your partner. Find out what is behind the apprehension. We can’t do that with our horses - that is ask them. It wouldn’t matter anyway. We have to show them what kind of trainer we are with our actions. We have to demonstrate our intention.
I think exhibiting our intentions is actually a perfect way to start a new relationship. Words come easy. Actions don’t. You can try and convince your new person that you are nothing like they  have experienced in their past. Only when you follow through and be the person you say you are, over time, will trust spring forth. Actions build a strong foundation. Be honest. Be caring. Be romantic. Be loyal. Be what you say you are.

Lakota still ducked after three years. It’s going to happen. I may shy if someone raises their voice at me. We are products of the experiences we have had. Life is our choices. Hopefully, each time we make a choice we choose wisely. If not, we learn from it and we choose again. Our horse can learn to conquer their fears, so can we.

Rainy Drive

The drizzle soon turned to a steady downpour. The droplets fell from my brim of my hat like a funnel onto the saddle horn and then across my thighs beading up on the oilskin of my coat. The collar of my fleece was zippered snug to keep the wind from traveling down the base of my neck. The bottom edge of my coat directed the water to the lower half of my jeans and soaked my boots. As we pushed the cattle farther up the mountain, the steam rose off their backs with such intensity it created an eerie fog among the pine trees. I thought at any moment a hobbit would emerge from this mystical setting. A single cow was hell bent on turning on Chica, the aussie we used to set the pace. One newly born calf was a member of this troupe, born out of season and soon to face a rough Montana winter. He tumbled at one point over a rock outcropping, swept over by the sea of bovine. The calf quickly bounced up and ran through the forest of black legs to reunite with his mother.


The heifers had to be moved to one pasture and the cows and calves to another. The muck, the streams and the old weathered gates were features of the landscape that arose out of the cloud that now laid low across the valley. The moment I held my breath was when the bulls from the two different herds caught sight of each other across the barbed wire as the groups crossed paths along a narrow pass. The bulls bellowed and stomped as we rushed to keep them under motion. The size of these majestic creatures was incredible as I compared them to my horse. "Just keep yelling and pushing". Rush them -loping up rock, around gopher holes, down into the mud- just keep them moving forward. Once back on the trail, herds separated, time to relax and let them walk.

Back at the house, kahlua in a hot cup of coffee, steak and potatoes, lively conversation and tons of horse stories. I am so blessed and grateful.

That was yesterday. I cant wait to see what shows up today. Lovin' life!