The week rolled in with beautiful temperatures and bearable breezes. Two pluses for a prairie winter. By the calendar breeding time for the ewes could go another week but by the weather I called it over and decided to sort rams out. The downside was that the timing coincided with Allen being away which meant the work fell to me alone. Well, not quite alone – it fell to me and Kelpies, but since it wasn’t a huge task I tackled it. The Kelpies were pulled out of pseudo hibernation and into action.
Writing about how actual tasks get done is writing I like the least. To tell all that had to be done in order to get done makes for a long and dull post, but to boil it down to just sorting some rams out does no justice to the workload either.
But the point of this isn’t the work that was done it was how the work unfolded. And on this day it unfolded seamlessly just like a beautiful weather day. I had a phenomenal time of it. No real hardship to have an attitude about and yet all of it a hardship in the way that doing any complicated task with a multitude of animals is. Particularly when on your own and in a winter landscape. I worked four stock dogs because I could, and each one was so willing and at ease with the work. I take their eagerness and help, I need it.
The day was so thoroughly and completely good even the exhaustion at the end was gratitude making. I wish I could say it always goes like this but this kind of work day is more rare than that – far more rare than I like to admit.
By caparison the next day was just calm and simplistic and restful – which it needed to be. This morning the weather was turning, cold was coming on again. Some of the coldest cold of the winter is on its way. I was extra pleased to have done the sorting two days prior. There is no long complicated work at hand this day. Just the somewhat complicated morning routine of unrolling hay amidst a swarm of winter hungry woolies who have no regard for a moving tractor.
I ran over a ewe lamb. A favourite Corriedale ewe lamb. She didn’t suffer.
Feeling stunned, I placed dishes of food down for the guardian dogs who pay no mind to the dead sheep. I pulled the warm, wooly body over to the front end loader. While the dogs ate I stood watching the little Corriedale body and felt a brutal low moving in. I’m so utterly responsible but I feel so cheated. And angry that now I must deal with a dead body. A task that feels unbearably complicated to my spirit no matter if the physical task actually is or isn’t.
This week ticked along just like the weather, complete with beautiful highs and brutal lows.
A heavy body leans against my thigh. The senior guardian dog seeking attention after eating. A second dog approaches with head and tail low, and slips a white muzzle under my gloved hand. Canine reassurance. I take it, Lord knows I need it.
