- Thread starter
- #971
Ridgetop
Herd Master
So for those who have just tuned in - and those restricted to their home by this virus quarantine who need cheering up 
- I am starting from the day our new Dorsets came home in 2010. As most of you know, we had already had several small flocks of breeding sheep when the sheep were in 4-H between 1988 through 2004. They we had a hiatus of several years during which time we only had horses, Josie the Mule, and our dogs. That was the time period during which we attempted to clear our fields via ourselves and our children, large checks to brush clearance firms when the children left for college, our horses, and again large checks to brush clearing firms. Although 2 of the boys had returned fro college, they were working full time and did not have the time to devote to brush clearance to the degree we needed. Finally, we decided to go back into sheep to avoid the large outlay of cash to brush clearing firms. Now we just have large outlays of cash for sheep equipment, etc. 
I will just start by saying it took me about 6 months to find Dorset breeders (other than show stock breeders) willing to sell a few ewe lambs and a ram lamb. They offered to haul the sheep down from northern California to us for gas money since they would be on their way to a herding trial. Naturally we jumped at this offer . . . .
The day in May arrived when we were to receive our small flock of weed whackers. Our sons were home for this event. Excitement ran high as we crowded around the truck to help put the new sheep in the barn. They would stay in the barn pen for several weeks. Confining new animals in their stalls teaches them that the barn is where the yummy grain is fed. It would take another several weeks of intensive herding to teach them to enter the barn at night from the pasture. We were experienced livestock handlers We did not anticipate much trouble.
The 4 lambs were in a large wire cage structure inside the pickup bed with a camper shell. We admired them and discussed how to get them out, down the narrow stairs and into our lower level barn. Unlike Eileen and Jim, we did not own any herding dogs. Unlike our 4-H sheep, these were not halter broken or tame. We looked at the sheep, they looked at us. Finally it was decided to line the men up at the back of the pickup so they could grab the lambs as they came out one by one. The cage was opened and the men braced for the onslaught of wild lambs. The lambs crowded into the front of the truck bed and looked at us. A bucket of grain was produced and shaken to encourage the lambs to get out and get the goodies. There were no takers. This was somewhat anticlimactic.
Since all 3 of the 6’ 200lb+ men declined to climb into the camper shell to wrestle the lambs out of their cage, we changed tactics. Eileen and I both refused the tentative suggestion from our men that one of us climb in and get the progressively wilder lambs. According to Ridgetop’ custom, we all turned to look at the youngest child present. DD2, age 15, was sent to chase the recalcitrant animals out. As DD2 climbed into the cramped camper shell the sheep milled around restlessly. She got to the front of the pickup bed and opened the cage gate. Nothing happened. The sheep jostled each other, apparently oblivious to the offer of freedom through the open gate. As everyone gave DD2 contradictory instructions on how to chivvy them out, one of them accidentally got through the open cage gate. Slamming the gate on the others, DD2 adroitly pushed the confused lamb out the back into the arms of one of the waiting men. 2 more lambs followed this procedure. One by one 3 sheep were carefully led, herded, and wrestled from the back of the pickup cage into the barn. The last eweling would not approach the opening of the truck carrier. As DD2 maneuvered around to chase her out to the waiting arms of the men, the lamb realized she was ALONE with this small human. Like a bullet, the small eweling launched herself dead center into the chest of my brawny son, laying him out on the driveway with a hoof print on his forehead. She raced for open ground – through a gap in the fence, and onto the 5 acre field where the horses and mule watched in shocked surprise. Like a comedy movie 7 people stood frozen before running after her onto the field. Dogs were barking, horses galloping and the mule, who dislikes dogs, couldn’t decide whether to go after the dogs she knew or the white fuzzy thing she wasn’t sure about!
Towards the steep sided gully the fugitive headed. Once down its steep sides with their chest high scrub brush loaded with thorns, she could easily find hiding spots. She would be about as approachable as Brer Rabbit in his briar patch. Amid cries of “Don’t let her reach the gully!” we raced after. Sprinting heroically, my track star son headed her off. She turned toward the front of the acreage. Pursued by a screaming mob (picture the townsfolk chasing Frankenstein but minus their pitchforks and torches!) the terrified lamb circled the 5 acre field several times with us in pursuit. Beginning to tire, the lamb slowed toward the front of the field to take stock and look for a way to escape. Meanwhile, having successfully charged and driven off the house dogs from her personal space (all 5 acres) Josie the Mule came galloping past us toward the lamb. Unaware of her danger, the lamb paused to look at a fellow quadruped. This was her undoing. Josie thundered up with teeth bared and neck outstretched. Suddenly realizing that this was not a friendly welcome to the pasture the ewe tried to bolt towards us. Josie overtook the lamb and lashed at her with a hoof, catching her in the head, and knocking her off her feet. This was horrifying. We were afraid the lamb might have been killed. Running to the lamb’s aid we shooed Josie away to inspect our newly purchased eweling, now possibly just lamb chops. Apparently, people are right when they say sheep are so dumb they have solid skull between their ears. The lamb, wobbly and slightly woozy, staggered uncertainly to its feet. She was captured and carried triumphantly to the pen by three panting men.
Still gasping, we staggered to the patio to recover our strength. Refreshments were consumed, injuries bandaged, stories of memorable livestock escapes told, and the type of lifelong friendship forged when people have been through a hellish experience and all survived. Our new friends finally departed for their dog herding trials with another crazy livestock story under their belts.
Sooooo . . . The new lambs are in the barn, being fed delicious alfalfa and grain twice a day. This is our clever plan to train them to return to the barn every evening after grazing on our hillside. They would learn quickly. Such is the stuff that dreams (and nightmares) are made of . . . .
Every day we fed our new jewels their alfalfa and grain. We admired their sturdy forms, length of body and delicious looking legs and loins. We dreamed of little lambs gamboling across our field. We could practically taste the juicy roasts and chops. However, in order to bring the sheep into the barn at night they HAD TO BE TRAINED! By only feeding them in the barn we rationalized this would be an easy job. All our other animals loved being in the barn where the yummy hay and grain were fed. We had to chase them onto the hillside field to graze during times of heavy growth. They would congregate outside the gate, crying mournfully at their expulsion. We decided the optimum amount of training time in the barn for our new darlings would be a month. A month of happy alfalfa and grain feeding, and they would realize where the good stuff came from. Four weeks to acclimatize and recognize that we were the purveyors of such delights. Oh Ridgetop! so experienced and yet so foolish . . . .
The day came for the next step in their training. Uncertain about our small force's ability to corral them on the 5 acre field, and worried that Josie the Mule aka Sheep Killer might decide to have another go at them we decided to turn them into the small 100' x 110' pen below the barn. The barn didn’t open directly into this field, we had to drive the four sheep out of their stall, through the barn, make a right turn and go down 12 steps to the pasture gate. It sounds easy and with trained sheep it would have been. However, these were field sheep and they did not know us. But they were used to being herded by dogs though, so we felt we could herd them just as easily. We were not novices in the area of livestock containment or movement. Granted our other livestock had been halter broken and raised by our children as quasi pets. No problem, we put up barriers like we had often done when herding the children’s pigs through the scale. With our barriers in place, we opened the gate and tried to turn them into the lower field.
The first problem arose when the sheep refused to leave the pen. Despite the alfalfa, grain, and soft words of love we had lavished on them for a month, they didn’t trust us. The pasture entryway is narrow, with a long staircase down past the old milk shed from the 10’ x 10’ flat space which is all we have outside the barn The entrance to the barn is the right. Across from the barn entrance is the workshop and a small sloping area that is fenced off. Just past the workshop on the left is the ramp leading up to the driveway and gate to the large field. Straight up from the barn at the base of the ramp are the stairs to the driveway. They are narrow. This staircase and entryway were fine for the dairy goats who came when we called their names, knew the milking routine, and wanted to come into the barn to be with us. It was fine for the 4-H flock that had been hand raised and halter broken by children. It is very crowded and difficult to work in with sheep that are not friendly or tame.
Spreading out around the path to the pasture, blocking all possible escape except to the lower stairs to the pasture, we opened the gate. Tensing in anticipation of the rush for freedom we expected, we waited. And waited. Instead of calmly sauntering out and down the steps to freedom, looks of suspicion greeted us as they crowded into the farthest corner away from the open gate. They knew this pen and liked it. They weren’t sure they liked us. Here they would stay.
Sighing in defeat, I entered the pen and moved around behind them to push them on their way. Instead of running out through the open gate, they ran in circles around the pen trapping me in the center of their frantic rush. As I tried to break their endless circle and aim them for the opening, one accidentally exited the pen. The others didn’t even notice. The sole escapee, realizing she was ALONE, doubled back and tried desperately to rejoin her friends inside the pen. Moving swiftly to intercept, 2 people did a fancy dance step around each other and the ewe. They managed to keep her from reentering the pen but also blocked the gate for the other sheep to exit. Finally, turning the escapee down into the field they realized the annoyed calls to “MOVE OUT OF THE WAY” were directed at themselves. Positioning DD2 on the lower slope to block the single eweling’s reentry, we all resumed our positions. I again tried to move the now tired sheep out through the gate. One by one they found the exit and trotted down the steps to the pasture. Within 10 minutes they were happily investigating our small pasture and nibbling the waist high brush. Congratulating ourselves on our sheep expertise, we adjourned to the house until late afternoon. We knew that all we would have to do was open the gate, shake a bucket of grain and they would come running into the pen. They hadn’t wanted to leave it so we knew they would want to return to it.
For 20 years we had kept our livestock with Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dogs. All 5 Pyrenees had been roamers. Impossible to keep within our fenced acres, they kept the entire neighborhood safe by driving all predators away from everyone’s property within several miles. Pyrenees can climb a 6' chain link fence using their extra toes. I have seen a 120 lb. Pyreees bitch squeeze through a stock panel with one wire missing like a cat. We decided not to get any more Pyrs. Although we loved their gentle nature, the neighborhood had changed. There were fewer livestock people and more traffic. Roaming dogs do not make for good neighbors.
With no guardian to patrol at night we needed to bring the sheep in every evening. No problem! The sheep had spent the past two weeks eating grain and hay inside the barn. They would recognize where the good stuff came from and come in for their evening feeding, right? Wrong! Blithely we went down the stairs to the barn, then more stairs to the milking shed. The small pasture gate is at the corner of the milking shed. Remember I said our land was steep? In the 40’ feet to the pasture gate the ground drops more than 12’. The barn is 4’ below the level of the driveway. The milk shed is 8’ below the level of the barn. Once you reach the pasture gate, there is a drop of almost 2’ more into the pasture itself. There is about a 10’ slightly sloping swath below the milking shed with another 12’ x 12’ pole barn attached to the side of the milking shed. The walls of all these structures are actually retaining walls. Once in the pasture the ground drops steeply to another fence 100’ down. On the other side of the fence it drops precipitously into the gully. The grade varies from 40 to 60 degrees until you reach the bottom. The other side can’t be climbed by humans without ropes and tackle. Only sheep, goats, dogs and predators venture there. Luckily, we had been smart enough to turn the sheep into the upper small pasture for their first foray into our property. In the barn, with much noise and rattling of grain buckets we filled feeders and replenished clean water. Confidently we went to the pasture gate and opened it.
Nothing met us on the other side. The sheep were huddled together in a lower corner. They were grazing, oblivious to our calls and shaking of grain buckets. With sinking hearts we realized that they would now need to be trained to come in from the pasture when called. We discussed animatedly (a Ridgetop’ euphemism for heated argument) which of us would have to scramble down and herd them up. DH was out, aside from his bad knee, he felt all animals loved him and would approach too close to the animals. Many was the time he had scattered a herd just as they approached the loading area. For the same reason he was not allowed to man the pen gate. One position was assigned. DH was placed slightly above the aisle that would allow them access to the driveway and parts west. Again, in time honored Ridgetop fashion, the position of chaser was assigned to the youngest family member. DD2 was instructed to go below the sheep and slowly move them up hill. In the barn the stall gate was left open for the sheep to enter. The 2 flanking positions were taken up by DS1 and DS2 while I moved below to ensure that no one broke back from DD2. She was to keep the sheep moving upwards – if a sheep broke away I would send it back to the flock.
This was a maneuver we had practiced many times in over 20 years of livestock keeping with our 4-H children. On a ranch populated by children and their animals, nothing stays where it should! Unfortunately, everyone except 15 year old DD2 was grown now. Whereas in the past I had been the leader calling directions to my trusty herders, all of a sudden we had too many chiefs! DH around the corner at the top of the stairs couldn’t see the action. He came down to the pasture gate to watch and began to call out conflicting orders. All of us yelled back that he was to return to his assigned position. As DD2 began to move the sheep up they broke towards DS2. DS1 yelled needless instructions to him which he ignored as he headed them back into line. The sheep next broke towards DS1. Now DS2 was yelling instructions at DS1, which he ignored in his turn. The sheep, disturbed by the shouting decided to turn around and run past DD2. I managed to turn the flock back before falling and sliding down the hillside. Both boys turned to look as I floundered in the bushes. The sheep, seizing their opportunity, split right and left past them and circled below DD2, avoiding me where I was struggling to my feet. After more “animated discussion”, we regrouped and approached the sheep again. This time when the boys took up their flanking positions, DD2 and I moved in unison to herd the sheep upward. As the sheep approached their position, DS2 and DS1 widened their circle to let the sheep pass them. We had forgotten DH who had again left his post to watch the amusing little scene below. Pushing the sheep slowly towards the gate we looked up to see him blocking it. Once again the sheep scattered and ran. All of us joined in a scathing denouncement of our husband and father’s performance in the matter of sheep herding. Defending himself weakly, Marv retreated to his position where, unseen, he continued to call out instructions. Finally, we managed to get the sheep into their stall in the barn. Probably they were tired and just gave up.
This scenario was repeated every morning and evening for the next week. After the first few days, turning the sheep into the pasture could be accomplished by one person and our barriers. Bringing them in was another story. It was all hands mutinously on deck for the debacle. Gradually it got better, until one day the miracle happened. The sheep met us at the gate waiting to go into the barn for their grain feed. When we opened the gate they crowded past us to get to their stall, knocking painfully into us. We learned to step aside when opening the gate. The next step would be the large pasture, but since they now knew they would get grain at night in the barn it was a simpler procedure. Josie learned to accept the sheep as livestock, not dogs. She and the ram began a strange but beautiful friendship.
Life fell into a pattern. In the morning we would feed the horses and mule. We would then let out the sheep, which would run onto the large field and graze all day. At night they would stand at the pasture gate waiting impatiently to be let into their stalls for their ration of rolled corn. The brush began to thin and the sheep grew fat. After one or two painful incidents we remembered to step aside as they rushed through the gate.
- I am starting from the day our new Dorsets came home in 2010. As most of you know, we had already had several small flocks of breeding sheep when the sheep were in 4-H between 1988 through 2004. They we had a hiatus of several years during which time we only had horses, Josie the Mule, and our dogs. That was the time period during which we attempted to clear our fields via ourselves and our children, large checks to brush clearance firms when the children left for college, our horses, and again large checks to brush clearing firms. Although 2 of the boys had returned fro college, they were working full time and did not have the time to devote to brush clearance to the degree we needed. Finally, we decided to go back into sheep to avoid the large outlay of cash to brush clearing firms. Now we just have large outlays of cash for sheep equipment, etc. I will just start by saying it took me about 6 months to find Dorset breeders (other than show stock breeders) willing to sell a few ewe lambs and a ram lamb. They offered to haul the sheep down from northern California to us for gas money since they would be on their way to a herding trial. Naturally we jumped at this offer . . . .
The day in May arrived when we were to receive our small flock of weed whackers. Our sons were home for this event. Excitement ran high as we crowded around the truck to help put the new sheep in the barn. They would stay in the barn pen for several weeks. Confining new animals in their stalls teaches them that the barn is where the yummy grain is fed. It would take another several weeks of intensive herding to teach them to enter the barn at night from the pasture. We were experienced livestock handlers We did not anticipate much trouble.
The 4 lambs were in a large wire cage structure inside the pickup bed with a camper shell. We admired them and discussed how to get them out, down the narrow stairs and into our lower level barn. Unlike Eileen and Jim, we did not own any herding dogs. Unlike our 4-H sheep, these were not halter broken or tame. We looked at the sheep, they looked at us. Finally it was decided to line the men up at the back of the pickup so they could grab the lambs as they came out one by one. The cage was opened and the men braced for the onslaught of wild lambs. The lambs crowded into the front of the truck bed and looked at us. A bucket of grain was produced and shaken to encourage the lambs to get out and get the goodies. There were no takers. This was somewhat anticlimactic.
Since all 3 of the 6’ 200lb+ men declined to climb into the camper shell to wrestle the lambs out of their cage, we changed tactics. Eileen and I both refused the tentative suggestion from our men that one of us climb in and get the progressively wilder lambs. According to Ridgetop’ custom, we all turned to look at the youngest child present. DD2, age 15, was sent to chase the recalcitrant animals out. As DD2 climbed into the cramped camper shell the sheep milled around restlessly. She got to the front of the pickup bed and opened the cage gate. Nothing happened. The sheep jostled each other, apparently oblivious to the offer of freedom through the open gate. As everyone gave DD2 contradictory instructions on how to chivvy them out, one of them accidentally got through the open cage gate. Slamming the gate on the others, DD2 adroitly pushed the confused lamb out the back into the arms of one of the waiting men. 2 more lambs followed this procedure. One by one 3 sheep were carefully led, herded, and wrestled from the back of the pickup cage into the barn. The last eweling would not approach the opening of the truck carrier. As DD2 maneuvered around to chase her out to the waiting arms of the men, the lamb realized she was ALONE with this small human. Like a bullet, the small eweling launched herself dead center into the chest of my brawny son, laying him out on the driveway with a hoof print on his forehead. She raced for open ground – through a gap in the fence, and onto the 5 acre field where the horses and mule watched in shocked surprise. Like a comedy movie 7 people stood frozen before running after her onto the field. Dogs were barking, horses galloping and the mule, who dislikes dogs, couldn’t decide whether to go after the dogs she knew or the white fuzzy thing she wasn’t sure about!
Towards the steep sided gully the fugitive headed. Once down its steep sides with their chest high scrub brush loaded with thorns, she could easily find hiding spots. She would be about as approachable as Brer Rabbit in his briar patch. Amid cries of “Don’t let her reach the gully!” we raced after. Sprinting heroically, my track star son headed her off. She turned toward the front of the acreage. Pursued by a screaming mob (picture the townsfolk chasing Frankenstein but minus their pitchforks and torches!) the terrified lamb circled the 5 acre field several times with us in pursuit. Beginning to tire, the lamb slowed toward the front of the field to take stock and look for a way to escape. Meanwhile, having successfully charged and driven off the house dogs from her personal space (all 5 acres) Josie the Mule came galloping past us toward the lamb. Unaware of her danger, the lamb paused to look at a fellow quadruped. This was her undoing. Josie thundered up with teeth bared and neck outstretched. Suddenly realizing that this was not a friendly welcome to the pasture the ewe tried to bolt towards us. Josie overtook the lamb and lashed at her with a hoof, catching her in the head, and knocking her off her feet. This was horrifying. We were afraid the lamb might have been killed. Running to the lamb’s aid we shooed Josie away to inspect our newly purchased eweling, now possibly just lamb chops. Apparently, people are right when they say sheep are so dumb they have solid skull between their ears. The lamb, wobbly and slightly woozy, staggered uncertainly to its feet. She was captured and carried triumphantly to the pen by three panting men.
Still gasping, we staggered to the patio to recover our strength. Refreshments were consumed, injuries bandaged, stories of memorable livestock escapes told, and the type of lifelong friendship forged when people have been through a hellish experience and all survived. Our new friends finally departed for their dog herding trials with another crazy livestock story under their belts.
Sooooo . . . The new lambs are in the barn, being fed delicious alfalfa and grain twice a day. This is our clever plan to train them to return to the barn every evening after grazing on our hillside. They would learn quickly. Such is the stuff that dreams (and nightmares) are made of . . . .
Every day we fed our new jewels their alfalfa and grain. We admired their sturdy forms, length of body and delicious looking legs and loins. We dreamed of little lambs gamboling across our field. We could practically taste the juicy roasts and chops. However, in order to bring the sheep into the barn at night they HAD TO BE TRAINED! By only feeding them in the barn we rationalized this would be an easy job. All our other animals loved being in the barn where the yummy hay and grain were fed. We had to chase them onto the hillside field to graze during times of heavy growth. They would congregate outside the gate, crying mournfully at their expulsion. We decided the optimum amount of training time in the barn for our new darlings would be a month. A month of happy alfalfa and grain feeding, and they would realize where the good stuff came from. Four weeks to acclimatize and recognize that we were the purveyors of such delights. Oh Ridgetop! so experienced and yet so foolish . . . .
The day came for the next step in their training. Uncertain about our small force's ability to corral them on the 5 acre field, and worried that Josie the Mule aka Sheep Killer might decide to have another go at them we decided to turn them into the small 100' x 110' pen below the barn. The barn didn’t open directly into this field, we had to drive the four sheep out of their stall, through the barn, make a right turn and go down 12 steps to the pasture gate. It sounds easy and with trained sheep it would have been. However, these were field sheep and they did not know us. But they were used to being herded by dogs though, so we felt we could herd them just as easily. We were not novices in the area of livestock containment or movement. Granted our other livestock had been halter broken and raised by our children as quasi pets. No problem, we put up barriers like we had often done when herding the children’s pigs through the scale. With our barriers in place, we opened the gate and tried to turn them into the lower field.
The first problem arose when the sheep refused to leave the pen. Despite the alfalfa, grain, and soft words of love we had lavished on them for a month, they didn’t trust us. The pasture entryway is narrow, with a long staircase down past the old milk shed from the 10’ x 10’ flat space which is all we have outside the barn The entrance to the barn is the right. Across from the barn entrance is the workshop and a small sloping area that is fenced off. Just past the workshop on the left is the ramp leading up to the driveway and gate to the large field. Straight up from the barn at the base of the ramp are the stairs to the driveway. They are narrow. This staircase and entryway were fine for the dairy goats who came when we called their names, knew the milking routine, and wanted to come into the barn to be with us. It was fine for the 4-H flock that had been hand raised and halter broken by children. It is very crowded and difficult to work in with sheep that are not friendly or tame.
Spreading out around the path to the pasture, blocking all possible escape except to the lower stairs to the pasture, we opened the gate. Tensing in anticipation of the rush for freedom we expected, we waited. And waited. Instead of calmly sauntering out and down the steps to freedom, looks of suspicion greeted us as they crowded into the farthest corner away from the open gate. They knew this pen and liked it. They weren’t sure they liked us. Here they would stay.
Sighing in defeat, I entered the pen and moved around behind them to push them on their way. Instead of running out through the open gate, they ran in circles around the pen trapping me in the center of their frantic rush. As I tried to break their endless circle and aim them for the opening, one accidentally exited the pen. The others didn’t even notice. The sole escapee, realizing she was ALONE, doubled back and tried desperately to rejoin her friends inside the pen. Moving swiftly to intercept, 2 people did a fancy dance step around each other and the ewe. They managed to keep her from reentering the pen but also blocked the gate for the other sheep to exit. Finally, turning the escapee down into the field they realized the annoyed calls to “MOVE OUT OF THE WAY” were directed at themselves. Positioning DD2 on the lower slope to block the single eweling’s reentry, we all resumed our positions. I again tried to move the now tired sheep out through the gate. One by one they found the exit and trotted down the steps to the pasture. Within 10 minutes they were happily investigating our small pasture and nibbling the waist high brush. Congratulating ourselves on our sheep expertise, we adjourned to the house until late afternoon. We knew that all we would have to do was open the gate, shake a bucket of grain and they would come running into the pen. They hadn’t wanted to leave it so we knew they would want to return to it.
For 20 years we had kept our livestock with Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dogs. All 5 Pyrenees had been roamers. Impossible to keep within our fenced acres, they kept the entire neighborhood safe by driving all predators away from everyone’s property within several miles. Pyrenees can climb a 6' chain link fence using their extra toes. I have seen a 120 lb. Pyreees bitch squeeze through a stock panel with one wire missing like a cat. We decided not to get any more Pyrs. Although we loved their gentle nature, the neighborhood had changed. There were fewer livestock people and more traffic. Roaming dogs do not make for good neighbors.
With no guardian to patrol at night we needed to bring the sheep in every evening. No problem! The sheep had spent the past two weeks eating grain and hay inside the barn. They would recognize where the good stuff came from and come in for their evening feeding, right? Wrong! Blithely we went down the stairs to the barn, then more stairs to the milking shed. The small pasture gate is at the corner of the milking shed. Remember I said our land was steep? In the 40’ feet to the pasture gate the ground drops more than 12’. The barn is 4’ below the level of the driveway. The milk shed is 8’ below the level of the barn. Once you reach the pasture gate, there is a drop of almost 2’ more into the pasture itself. There is about a 10’ slightly sloping swath below the milking shed with another 12’ x 12’ pole barn attached to the side of the milking shed. The walls of all these structures are actually retaining walls. Once in the pasture the ground drops steeply to another fence 100’ down. On the other side of the fence it drops precipitously into the gully. The grade varies from 40 to 60 degrees until you reach the bottom. The other side can’t be climbed by humans without ropes and tackle. Only sheep, goats, dogs and predators venture there. Luckily, we had been smart enough to turn the sheep into the upper small pasture for their first foray into our property. In the barn, with much noise and rattling of grain buckets we filled feeders and replenished clean water. Confidently we went to the pasture gate and opened it.
Nothing met us on the other side. The sheep were huddled together in a lower corner. They were grazing, oblivious to our calls and shaking of grain buckets. With sinking hearts we realized that they would now need to be trained to come in from the pasture when called. We discussed animatedly (a Ridgetop’ euphemism for heated argument) which of us would have to scramble down and herd them up. DH was out, aside from his bad knee, he felt all animals loved him and would approach too close to the animals. Many was the time he had scattered a herd just as they approached the loading area. For the same reason he was not allowed to man the pen gate. One position was assigned. DH was placed slightly above the aisle that would allow them access to the driveway and parts west. Again, in time honored Ridgetop fashion, the position of chaser was assigned to the youngest family member. DD2 was instructed to go below the sheep and slowly move them up hill. In the barn the stall gate was left open for the sheep to enter. The 2 flanking positions were taken up by DS1 and DS2 while I moved below to ensure that no one broke back from DD2. She was to keep the sheep moving upwards – if a sheep broke away I would send it back to the flock.
This was a maneuver we had practiced many times in over 20 years of livestock keeping with our 4-H children. On a ranch populated by children and their animals, nothing stays where it should! Unfortunately, everyone except 15 year old DD2 was grown now. Whereas in the past I had been the leader calling directions to my trusty herders, all of a sudden we had too many chiefs! DH around the corner at the top of the stairs couldn’t see the action. He came down to the pasture gate to watch and began to call out conflicting orders. All of us yelled back that he was to return to his assigned position. As DD2 began to move the sheep up they broke towards DS2. DS1 yelled needless instructions to him which he ignored as he headed them back into line. The sheep next broke towards DS1. Now DS2 was yelling instructions at DS1, which he ignored in his turn. The sheep, disturbed by the shouting decided to turn around and run past DD2. I managed to turn the flock back before falling and sliding down the hillside. Both boys turned to look as I floundered in the bushes. The sheep, seizing their opportunity, split right and left past them and circled below DD2, avoiding me where I was struggling to my feet. After more “animated discussion”, we regrouped and approached the sheep again. This time when the boys took up their flanking positions, DD2 and I moved in unison to herd the sheep upward. As the sheep approached their position, DS2 and DS1 widened their circle to let the sheep pass them. We had forgotten DH who had again left his post to watch the amusing little scene below. Pushing the sheep slowly towards the gate we looked up to see him blocking it. Once again the sheep scattered and ran. All of us joined in a scathing denouncement of our husband and father’s performance in the matter of sheep herding. Defending himself weakly, Marv retreated to his position where, unseen, he continued to call out instructions. Finally, we managed to get the sheep into their stall in the barn. Probably they were tired and just gave up.
This scenario was repeated every morning and evening for the next week. After the first few days, turning the sheep into the pasture could be accomplished by one person and our barriers. Bringing them in was another story. It was all hands mutinously on deck for the debacle. Gradually it got better, until one day the miracle happened. The sheep met us at the gate waiting to go into the barn for their grain feed. When we opened the gate they crowded past us to get to their stall, knocking painfully into us. We learned to step aside when opening the gate. The next step would be the large pasture, but since they now knew they would get grain at night in the barn it was a simpler procedure. Josie learned to accept the sheep as livestock, not dogs. She and the ram began a strange but beautiful friendship.
Life fell into a pattern. In the morning we would feed the horses and mule. We would then let out the sheep, which would run onto the large field and graze all day. At night they would stand at the pasture gate waiting impatiently to be let into their stalls for their ration of rolled corn. The brush began to thin and the sheep grew fat. After one or two painful incidents we remembered to step aside as they rushed through the gate.
With plenty of water for irrigation of our fields. And of course our own hay fields!
And when you consider that we have actually enjoyed doing all this, remember that this was our first "ranch". We were too dumb to know it could be easier. Apparently we are still too dumb to give it up! 
I'd never make it there.
LOL I just need more fenced pastures so I can separate my sheep into breeding flocks.
Road trip! 
It hurt to breathe, cough, or sneeze since it expanded my rib cage and pulled the muscle. Several days on ibruprofen and a heating pad and I thought it was fine BUT I reinjured it doing NOTHING again! 
So I haven't been able to hang the cabinet in the bathroom, or do anything since I couldn't move or even breathe deeply. 
