This Week's Dead Sheep

I took an hour long nap this afternoon.

When I woke up, I went outside thinking that I would give the sheep a little dose of grain before they went to bed. It had been pouring down rain all day, and even though I took them out for an hour long grazing walk around mid-day, they spent most of the day lying under a protective tree. I thought they would probably appreciate the extra food.

As I stepped out the front door, I noticed some sheep poop next to the Moulin, and thought it seemed fresh.

I called for the dogs; heard Antoinette barking. They showed up happy and out of breath, their tongues hanging out of their mouths. Regrettably, I didn’t pay attention to the direction from which they came.

I looked over at the small sheep pasture and only saw three sheep, the perfect young sheep, standing in a far corner, looking at me. I noticed that there was a white blob by them but just dismissed it as some rocks.

I was starting to have the feeling that something was not quite right.

I walked toward the pasture to retreive a bucket in which to put the grain. I saw that the three corner posts of the pasture fence had been ripped out of the ground and the sheep buckets were scattered everywhere. Something was terribly wrong.

I quickly walked over to the three sheep and as I approached, I saw that the white blob was Blanche, writhing on her back like a giant Galapagos turtle turned over on its shell. She was too fat to right herself. Thankfully, the three perfect sheep stayed with her . . . or I may not have seen her. Sheep don't yell out when they're in physical trouble because it just alerts predators to their predicament.

I couldn’t find the other sheep.

I took the dogs back to the house. Beat Attila and smacked Antoinette a good one, and then tied them both up.

Based on the fresh sheep dung by the mill, I went around the back of the mill to see if the sheep had run back into the woods. To my horror, I saw a dead sheep floating in the mill pond. I was scared out of my wits to walk further around the corner, fearing that all five of the missing sheep, including Soixante-Douze were floating out of sight.

On the verge of vomiting, I slowly walked to the head of the mill pond and found the five sheep, huddled together on a narrow concrete walkway, ready to fall into the mill pond at the slightest provocation.

I called them but they were too frightened to move. I couldn’t go get them because the walkway was too narrow and my presence might have scattered them into the water.

I returned to the front of the mill. Beat Attila some more and threw him in a room in the mill where I could lock him in.

I retrieved Blanche and the three perfect sheep and they followed me to the mill pond. The five shocked, stranded sheep saw Blanche but still wouldn’t move. Then, to compound matters, one of the perfect sheep decided to step up on the narrow walkway and join the stranded flock. So now I had six sheep in jeopardy.

I turned Blanche around and the other two sheep followed us, but still the flock didn’t follow. We waited out of sight for a couple minutes, but the sheep didn’t budge.

So, I took Blanche and the other two sheep back, and we walked past the sheep as if we were going for a walk in the woods . . .this is all happening as it’s getting dark. That trick worked. The sheep formed a single file, and began to walk down the walkway towards us. . .except the lead sheep, Soixante-Douze then balked at crossing a hole in the walkway and thank goodness for little midget Biberon because she passed Soixante-Douze, jumped over the divide, and Soixante-Douze and the rest followed.

We filed past their dead comrade. I can't tell you how grateful I was to the sheep gods that the floater wasn’t the belier!!!!!

With the sheep back in their pasture, I righted their fence to the best of my ability, fed them some grain and hay, and then got in with them when Blanche made it clear that she wanted to be comforted, and spent a half-hour hugging everyone that wanted to be hugged. Which was everyone except Soixante-Douze . . .but even she made some timid advances before backing away.

My father used to say, “When your number’s up, it’s up.” And that was certainly the case with this week’s dead sheep.

Three days ago, the flock disappeared, and my visiting friend them next to the Count’s chateau . . .but this new sheep wasn’t with them. I was convinced that someone took her. But then, 24 hours later, she showed up.

Now she’s dead, floating in the mill pond. I have two plans on how to remove her:
1. . . . hope the weather gets so cold that she and the pond freeze until the Husband arrives in two weeks and he can deal with her,
2. . . .barring a change in the weather, I’ll have to wait for her to float to an advantageous position where I can get a rope around her leg and pull her water logged body up onto the cement barrier . . .and then wait for my third visit from the dead animal collector. (Talked to the Husband and he told me there's a huge pitchfork with an extremely long handle in the barn which should come in handy for the task.)