Identity Crisis

Around here, most of the species cohabitate just fine.

When the cattle and sheep converge on a freshly rolled-out bale, a yearling steer raises his front leg to untangle from the ewe that dove under him to find the best alfalfa leaves.

I feed the free-range chickens first so they are distracted from gobbling the barn cats’ food.

A bull, my milk cow, Maija, and a couple of yearling steers enjoy an easy life in the corral with the horses.

Yet even though the various species comingle, they all seem to know who they really are.

Except for one ewe.

Last fall, she climbed into the corral and refused to leave.

About a week later, I giggled to myself as I watched her munch from the manger right next to my gray horse, standing so close that her wool rubbed his hair. They looked like Mutt and Jeff standing side by side.

As the days went by, I noticed that the ewe was always by the gray horse, whether they were eating or not.

She was in love.

I suppose I should have chased the ewe out of the corral and back to the flock – sheep should stay with sheep -- but I enjoyed my private comedy show. And I wanted to see where this would go.

I tested her once.

I locked the gray horse in the east side of the corral and left the ewe in the west side.

She stood by the gate to the east side.

I stepped toward her.

She pushed on the gate and bleated.

Passive sheep don’t normally push on gates.  

The gray horse pretended to ignore her, standing sideway to her with his hind hoof cocked, but his ears twitched.

He knew exactly where his paramour stood.

The other day, I needed the horse’s expertise. This excursion might potentially break up one of the true romances of ranching, but sometimes duty supersedes passion.

My brother and my daughter, Abby, had rescued a cold calf by bringing it to the kitchen. When we returned him to his mama, she wasn’t sure she liked him after all.

Time to bring the new family to the corral for some intensive instruction on family love.

I was surprised when the ewe seemed happy to offer her tutorial services, too.

As I saddled the horse, the ewe stood quietly at the hitch rail.

When I rode across the pasture, the ewe followed.

But she became discouraged when the horse dove through a deep snowdrift while encouraging the cow to follow her calf.

In fact, that bright green bale rolled out on the snow suddenly looked attractive to the ewe.

So much for true devotion.

The horse and I left the ewe in the cow pasture.

A few days passed.

One morning, cow with her tail cocked paced and wandered, signaling her need for assistance.

The ewe followed her step for step, telegraphing the cow’s version of Morse code.

I opened a couple of gates before texting Abby to set up the corral gates: I was bringing a cow in.

The cow meandered through the gates without much encouragement, but the ewe was not taking any chances.

She trotted behind the cow while the cow aimed for the corral. When the cow even glanced in a different direction, the ewe switched sides to pressure the cow toward the corral.

I wondered whether the ewe was a help or a hindrance, but her efforts got the job done.

The cow needed just a light touch before she welcomed her new calf into our world.

The ewe stood at the corral manger, once again touching her true love.

The gray horse twitched his ears.

The cats jumped at my laughter.