We’ve a photo somewhere of me, baby George on ma hip, standing next to a trailer, two recently shorn sheep within.
Being deeply immersed in first-time motherhood I don’t remember a thing about the acquisition of these wooly beasts, my brain couldn’t cope with anything ‘extra.’
Where did they came from? Why didn’t we get small sheep? Why sheep at all?
‘Extra’ was a regular occurrence at our place, extra chickens, extra dogs, extra poultry, extra planting, extra fencing, extra equipment, extra tools.
All making Rob very happy. Me, not so much. (Overwhelm comes to mind)
I aim to live simple, Rob aims to live large.
I’m Little House On The Prairie, he’s more Dallas.
I like to consider, he likes to decide!
I’m not a ‘things’ person, he loves his (numerous🙄) accoutrements.
Moving in he was go, go, go. Rob on speed, me needing weed, to cope! (Joking. Sounded good tho😂)
I remember sitting on our new deck, looking out over the jungle, pile of Earth Garden magazines by my side, Jackie French book in my lap (remember her?) wishing I could instantly have her life, her gorgeous garden, wombats and all!
But reality had set in, Jackie’s garden was presumably her full-time job, those hippies in Earth Garden magazine too. We both had full-time jobs elsewhere, longish commutes, food to buy, food to cook, laundry to do, floors to sweep, kitchens and bathrooms to clean in this new big tree-house. That was before the addition of bairns!
As for our other fanciful notion of the time (young couples planning a future together, clarify those vague notions!), the “aaaw let’s get a cow and milk it and make cheese. How niiice would that beeee” 🙄🙄
Think I may have uttered those words.
Who would actually go out every single morning to catch and milk Daisy or Bessie?? Who would deal with overflowing vats of milk every day, make it into edible cheese? I came to my senses.
So yin yang Rob and I have weathered the many storms our differences have caused and after almost 40yrs together, our life-takes may have rubbed off on each other? A little, kind of, but not really. 🤨🧐😆
Anyway, back to the sheep.
The iconic Australian Woolshed was right on our doorstep at the time, an Aussie tourist attraction visited by thousands. Flocks of sheep, cattle dogs rounding them up, breeds galore, singlet-clad blokes in akubras shearing to 🎶Waltzing Matilda🎶
Must have had an influence for sure.
Mortgaged to the eyeballs (1997)
no money in the bank for a ride-on, we needed grass cutters. Goats were considered but their reputation of eating everything and busting through fences helped the decision. Sheep it was. Two big fat sheep.
Clive of the pretty face, Derek of the confused did their job without fuss, were the opposite of dramatic, boring some might say. No running off just eating, staring and baa-ing quietly.
‘Old’ Bob the sheep-shearer, (probably my age) presumably from a real farm or sheep station somewhere , cheerfully did his rounds of the area, helping all the playing-at-farming types like us and expertly rid D&C of their fleeces.
Still have one vac-packed away, planning to eventually get it on ma needles!
They rarely needed vets but the local old-school one called out to look at the mysterious small wounds on their hindquarters, suggested wild dogs, this was before our area was built up.
So I came home from work one day to an ugly Colditz Castle barbed wire-like construction/paddock on our front lawn, a temporary holding bay for the wooly boys while we were away in Scotland. Was right next to our front door, so for a while we looked like Medieval serfs with our nice but smelly sheep living literally on top of us.
D&C both eventually, quietly succumbed (never made a fuss, even in death) to old age. We were sad but not too sad, they were only sheep after all.
Sheep oot, cows in🐄🐄