7 Herding the sheep

I was actually more experienced in handling sheep than I pretended. Once, at thirteen, when I was working on a farm in the Yorkshire Dales during school holidays, I had been told to move a flock of about 100 scraggy Yorkshire sheep from one field, down a lane, across a road and into another field. Just find the leader, grab hold of his ear and the others will follow. I was nonplussed thinking I would be helped by a dog, but that was it. I decided in retrospect this was an initiation ceremony and that the farmer and all the hands were killing themselves laughing behind the hedge.

I started by walking the route and opening the gates in readiness. Which was the lead sheep, they were just a bunch? I grabbed hold of the ear of a big one. It just shook me off and took off in the wrong direction. Meanwhile behind me the others were streaming out of the gate and down the lane. The cars stopped when they crossed the road and that was it. They didn’t need me at all.

A week after ordering my new flock, we drove down our farm lane arriving from Canberra, and parked the car. There was a flock of sheep in the River Paddock grazing peacefully just like sheep are meant to do. We leaned on the gate, took in the scene and the sunshine, and felt a relaxed achievement. The note from the agent accompanying the all-up bill of $850 said the 34 animals had been drenched and crutched and were ready to roll. I actually counted 35 so we had a freebie, but was later told by a neighbour that farmers count sheep by summing the legs and dividing by four, so I could have my maths wrong.

The reason for putting them in the River Paddock was because there were small yards and a race in one corner where they could be handled. The next day we decided to yard them so we could have a better look. My long experience told me they would go in there without trouble.
Just in case of having minor difficulties I asked the neighbours, father, mother and two kids if they could help. The plan was to make a line across the 300 metre-wide paddock and slowly walk the sheep towards the yards. Joke. Almost 50 m between people was a steal for the sheep that poured through the gaps time after time. They were much fitter than any of us and much better at bisecting angles. After 2 hours we gave up. The sheep won. The yards were in the wrong place.

Everyone knows sheep are dumb. She and I discussed the plan for tomorrow. We would win. First part was to erect a long fence that funnelled the sheep towards the yards; a right-angled corner was useless. Second part was a movable fence that would close off the head of the funnel once they were in. Third part was to have two herders, she and I, and take it quietly. We went to bed confident; after all I had been master of 100 sheep in my youth.
My fencing was architecturally unattractive but the plan worked perfectly.

In the yards came a revelation. All the sheep were ewes and the freebie was a large lamb to one of them. Time to try Plan B.