About Sheep and Humans

I remember sheep shearing day on my parent's hobby farm. 1970's Minnesota Spring was always loaded with excitement. The snow was melted, green grass was inviting bare feet, new flowers were poking through the soft mud. The smells were intoxicating.

And every spring we would help dad shear the sheep. Although he purchased shedding sheep when we moved away, I am thankful that he waited. Sheep shearing was a dirty, stinky job, but also an education for me. However, before I was 13, my only "job" was: stay out of the way. Thankfully, this did not prevent me from learning, through observation.

The yard filled up with trucks and cars. Neighbors, relatives, and friends come to help, or to watch. My favorite place was hanging over the top of dad's white board fence near the barn. I could get all the action right there, out of the way.

The atmosphere surrounding the barnyard filled with yelling men, buzzing shears, and bawling sheep. The shearer, would grab the sheep by the legs and flip/slam her over onto her back while pinning her squirming body down with his knee. She would soon give in, and stop struggling-unless he would knick her with the blade. Imagine the fear coursing through her nervous system!
This was also the day that we cut the lambs tails and dipped their butts in pitch-YUCK! I did not watch these events.

However, being the curious kid that I was, I eagerly waited outside, by the fence as each sheep came out from the shearing stall. I would observe their behavior, and wonder about it. They were so... meek after being sheared. Actually, embarrassed would be the word. The wool was sheared right down to the skin...exposing even the veins beneath the hide. They shivered. They cried. They stuck their faces into the corner, or into each other as the naked crowed grew. HUMILIATED. Somehow, they knew they were naked! I could never get over this.

Just that morning, as I visited the herd in the barn, not one of them would bat an eye at me. I talked to them, reached to pet their dodging faces, and tried to get them to pay attention to me. They did not seem to care that I was trying to befriend them. They did not have an opinion on anything at all. So seeing them embarrassed, amazed me. Sheep could actually have an opinion! Sheep could actually feel emotion!

It didn't please me, as it did my older brother. I felt very sorry for them. I would speak to them and encourage them, "You look GREAT!", "You will be happy you lost that heavy coat when summer comes!".

Of course, mean-spirited as my brother was, the poor sheep did not hear soft words of encouragement for long. He would tease them in loud shouts, and torment. This would cause them to stir and whirl and try even harder to press themselves into the wall of the barn, or each other. How sad! I wanted to shear him.

Of course, I did eventually join in the laughter. I had learned at a very young age that if I did not laugh when my brother thought that I should, I would soon be crying and regretting it.

If my brother would not have shown up, I doubted that the sheep would have been as panicky for as long. I think they would have soon forgotten it, and ran to the pasture to much on grass.

I learned a lot about sheep since those days. However, I did not learn enough about the human heart, and its evil possibilities, until my life was half over.

This is why it took years to realize: it is one thing to laugh for survival, and quite another to laugh for joy. And even another, to laugh for selfish pleasure.

I laughed for joy when I went home last spring. Driving up the winding road, towards my parent's home, the cotton from the cotton wood trees showered my path with puffs of rain. The smells of the countryside revived my memories of, Sheep shearing days, and all that I have learned; about sheep; about myself; and about the world around me.

I sometimes wonder how I would have learned them, if at all, through another experience.