On warmer days Oakley finds a place on higher ground; the flock is just over our shoulder feeding on hay.
On warmer days I sit and watch him watch, being there but not with him. A small moment of life well enjoyed by both of us I think. I love watching the dogs in this way of not being together all the time. Such moments are everything and more to me because of the intangible gift they give and I always breath a little lighter afterward.
Winter season in saskatchewan gets a pretty bad rap because it is so brutally cold but it is also brutally beautiful.
I catch myself stewing about the sheep and dogs, wondering if they are bedded well enough and did they stay out the wind or did they move. Has the wind changed direction again. Allen repeatedly assures me they are fine. How quickly I forget how often all the critters have handled each season for what it is.
Recently the yearlings have really taken to playing, especially on the warmer days, and thus give me a regular reminder.
Last evening I watched them race up and down a hill, bucking and kicking just like young lambs do during lambing time. To see them acting so freely tells me Allen is right, they are doing just fine and taking the cold as it comes because that is what they know to do. Witnessing them adjust so readily makes me thankful to be raising sheep.
We recently started feeding hay on a regular basis, up until now the weather has been agreeable enough to allow for grazing stock piled forage with occasional hay feed offered.
When I know the day ahead is a cold one, I’m eager to get at the chores. My bodily self has little desire to step out in that cold but that cold is what pulls me to get outside and confirm that the animals are okay and to do what I can to feed and shelter for another day.
Today’s cold weather has no wind, it is crisp and clean and sunny. It is beautiful, albeit still damn cold, cold enough that only a brisk walk is doable with the kelpies. While I’m on the tractor hauling bales out to the flock, I feel every bit of that cold (tractor has no cab, so no heat). I begin unrolling the round bales using the tractor but always finish manually and the physical effort unrolling bale cores and forking hay where needed has me warmed up enough to unzip my outside layer of winter clothing. Cold days without wind are stunners and more pleasant than hearing the actual temperature makes you think they can be.
Cold weather is also when any number of things can act up and make it difficult to get the chores done. This morning’s hiccup was having to work the tractor to get the hydraulics working – things were moving slower than molasses in the month of January – which is to say they weren’t moving at all at first. Not a major deal but a slow one. When things go this smoothly I feel particularly grateful. I can return to indoors, let my body warm up and let my mind off the hook until the evening round begins. No feeding hay in the evening but a thorough check to be sure everyone is tucked in for the night.
Sheep / November 11, 2018 November 15, 2018 / By admin
Winter has landed, the landscape is now snow. It is colder than needed and wind hasn’t stopped blowing for three days. With the arrival of snow the ewes began bedding at a yard located on the land they’re grazing. No one has lived there for years and it’s full of tall, tall grass, old buildings and abandoned farm material – and it’s surrounded by trees and protected by hills along one side. They are reluctant to push into the yard proper at this point but don’t need to to be sheltered. It’s little wonder that they chose to bed down here.
grazing at edge of yard before winter arrived
Last evening the wind was particularly bitter and unusually blowing in from the South. I found the ewes at the north west corner of the pasture, no where near the yard location. The girls were in a deep and wide valley of native prairie grass well mixed with and surrounded by trees. As soon as I dipped into there on the Ranger I could feel the cessation of the wind. I looked for guardian dogs who one by one sauntered up for supper.
This was a good spot to hole up in the weather but it was well away from the yard where I had set the dog houses for the guardians. Taking the flock all the way back there meant a trek straight into the wind.
“Do we move them?” I spoke to Coyote Mic, sitting in the drivers spot of the Ranger seat. I brought her along in case of just such a need. Her long snout lifted at the sound of my words, her eyes catching mine only for a moment before returning to watch sheep in front of her. Of course, she thought we should move them.
“Nah, sorry girl, I think we can trust them on this.” Trust that they know where to be, trust their choice to stay put on this ugly evening. I think.
I collected food bowls and took one more long look around. I scooted Mic over, reclaiming the drivers seat, and began poking my way home. The wind hurt and snow pelted my face as I drove. I questioned the choice to leave the ewes alone.
This morning everyone was bedded right where they parked last night. The wind had changed direction and now blew in from the north but no matter, their valley spot protected them. The dogs each had a deep and cozy spot and looked comfortable.
The wind finally died down this afternoon but I still expected to find the ewes in the north west corner again. Nope, they were back at the abandoned yard tonight. Judging by the tracks in the snow the guardian dogs had been re-investigating their dog houses, perhaps making sure no interlopers had made use of them on their one night away.
The start of every winter plays at the level of trust I have in the animals to know where they need to be. To trust that we’ve readied them for the season as best we can by providing what is needed even if it doesn’t look like the usual four walls and a roof. These sheep are good. We can trust in that.
