Silly sheep

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

Our sweet little hair sheep just don't understand what it means to be a hair sheep. Moe, Larry and Curly are now 2 years old, and I believe that they completely understand that their only purpose here on the farm is to provide us with smiles. At that they are very good. They are amazingly gentle creatures who rightfully trust that they will never make their way into our freezer.

Larry is the most loving of the three. He trots right over for sheep kisses, an unmistakable look of love in his eyes. No treat is necessary for Larry to approach. He comes right up for scratches behind his ears, and I bend down for kisses. You might wonder just what a sheep kiss might be. There is nothing to it. I simply bend over, and Larry and I stand nose to nose, looking deep into each other’s eyes. My heart fills with pure, sheep induced, joy.

Curly always follows Larry's lead. She will stand right beside him as Larry and I kiss nose to nose, but if I bend over for a Curly kiss, she ducks her head and quickly backs away.

Then there is little Moe, who is actually not that little but is really rather rotund. In truth they are all rather rotund. Good pasture grass I suppose. Moe is so very shy. She approaches only when she is certain I have a treat in my hand, and even then, she hesitates before she quickly grabs the treat and backs away.

Curiously though, it is shy Moe who best knows how to be a hair sheep. She dutifully sheds her winter coat as hair sheep are supposed to do. Her underlying red covering looks sleek and fashionable. Not so Larry and Curly.

Up until just this week, the evenings have been gloriously cool and the days perfectly comfortable, but the creek valley has now entered those hot and humid days for which the Ohio River Valley is so very famous. As Larry and Moe trot right up for their daily loving, their winter coats are draped across their backs like ill-fitting sweaters. Long tendrils of wool hang down their sides.

I implore them to shed their heavy sweaters, but they ignore me. I offer a treat and grab a handful of wool and gently tug. I might be successful in pulling off a chunk of sweater, before they dash away. "Oh no! We like our odd, dangling sweaters," they cry. No cajoling, no offer of treats, can coax them to return. Even my dear Larry looks at me skeptically.  

I sigh. They will forget by tomorrow, or their desire for a kiss or a treat will overcome their odd fashion sense. They will approach and I’ll be able to grab another handful of loose wool. By my calculations, at this rate, they should be fully shed by September, just in time for them to grow a new winter coat. Time will tell. They just don't understand that they are hair sheep, and that they are supposed to shed their winter coats before summer captures us in its hot humidity. I do have to smile, though. They really look quite silly.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.   

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