8 Cecil

Garry argued that the 34 ewes were a godsend. If I had a decent ram I could at least double my flock annually for no cost and sell any surplus lambs to the meat or wool industry. Murray reckoned lambs were more trouble, particularly for an amateur like me, and the wool clip each year would be closer to half what wethers would provide. At that time wool was good money. Good authority estimated the flock average at 19 microns, so it was going to be good money.

I had known Garry for around 20 years and he’d always been enthusiastic and proactive. He was in an especially good and proactive mood that day because, as he put it, his very pretty wife had let him do it. Nothing could hold him down. By morning tea time he had secured a 15 micron ram for $50. Sure it was old and had only one eye, but at least that eye was still randy. Cecil was on the scrap heap at a nearby farm where there was a large flock of much younger rams. The owner was my tractor delivery man. I could pick him up tomorrow.

Garry said, I’ll collect him in my trailer and you take the trailer on to your place. I had the feeling that things were a bit out of control, that my future was being painted into a corner. Sounds good I replied and gave him the $50 to pass on. That night she reminded me that I didn’t know anything about sheep and even less about lambs. How do you look after lambs, she said? It’s going to cost a fortune in Vet fees.

Cecil was beautiful, fairly small but his fleece was so white and like silk, and his face was beaten up like he’d been through the wars. He stood commandingly in the trailer and looked at me as I hitched up to the car. It’s only 200 km I reassured him.

It rained heavily all the way so he was a very cold and miserable ram when we arrived but rapidly perked up when he saw 34 young ewes, some with superb bodies. At least, that’s what the sparking eye said. He hadn’t allowed for the fence between him and them but maybe he just enjoyed looking.