Shepherding for Idiots 101

Imagine running uphill, jumping from large grassy rock to larger grassy rock, in rubber boots a size too large. Your socks slide down into the toe of your boots and blisters rub into your heels. But do you stop running? Nei! (No!) You have a goal: to get all the sheep in that field out the gate at the bottom. Since you are a logical being, your first course of action was to start at the top of the field, but once you rounded the sheep halfway down to the gate, the brainless things got the idea into their heads to run back up to the top. So here you are in your too-large boots chasing them uphill and screaming at the stupid dog (in Icelandic of course, because that is all she knows) to stop herding them the wrong way.

This was my afternoon. The dog is Tinna, and she is incorrigible. She habitually runs between the flock as we round them downhill, routing half of them back up and scattering the dumb sheep every which way. I am hoarse from shrieking at her, even though it does no good.

Aside from her lack of sheep-dog skills, Tinna is a good girl. She follows me to the sheep-house every morning, and sticks her nose through the hole in the door to watch dolefully as I distribute hay and feed the lambs.

How to bottle-feed the lambs:

(1.) Add 1/2 cup formula to 250ml of hot water. 

(2.) Shake to mix. 

(3.) Pour into bottle with nipple lid. 

(4.) Select a lamb. 

(5.) To catch the lamb, quickly grab its neck in a strangle-hold and jerk it up into the air. Expect thrashing legs. 

(6.) Sling the lamb under one arm and hold it close to your body. You may now release the neck. 

(7.) Using the same hand, gently (but firmly) open the lamb’s mouth and stick the nipple of the formula bottle inside. 

Voila! You are victorious! When the lamb refuses to drink any more, you can drop it back into its pen and move on to the next one. 

Throughout this process, the lamb is very quiet. It is so interesting how the sheep are silent. They only bleat when they are hungry, to my experience. When I seize one by the horns and sling a leg over its huge back, it will buck and struggle (quite violently) and occasionally will throw me against the stone wall or into a pile of excretion, but silently. Always silently. 

My job is to wrestle the indignant sheep into stillness so Nonni can check if she is pregnant. If she is, he sprays a spot of green on her back. If not, I must ride/drag her out the door. It is quite a workout. 

{On a side note: we eat butter, cheese and skyr -or yogurt- with almost every meal. Then we go out and burn more than twice the calories with every sheep-fight. The exertion has me wearing short sleeves in 45°F.}

The sheep really have no idea what they are doing. They run when I do, and they fight back when I seize their horns (or necks, or wool – anything I can get a fist of). They are totally dependent idiots, and I take care of them. It really drills the patience into you.

I was spreading hay for them today and thinking about how King David probably did the same thing. He chased them out the gate. He probably did his fair share of screaming and yelling at them, too. Maybe he pried their mouths open, and bottle-fed their young. Perhaps learning such patience contributed largely to his success as king.

I can only pray to build half his character.