Hauling Lambs in the Cold

My lambs were ready.

The January and February sales usually top the seasonal market.

My friends, Lance and Zane, have long trailers, with room for more than they had to haul.

My lambs would fit.

A 250-mile ride in a double-decked trailer gants up a lamb so it is nice to have them at the auction, back on hay and water, for a day before the sale.

The sale was scheduled for Monday. We would haul on Saturday.

Forecasters complicated our plan.

Our first winter storm was coming and it looked like a doozy.

As the week progressed, the news worsened.

On Tuesday, the forecast predicted a 20 percent chance of snow and guaranteed cold by Friday.

My lambs were sorted in the corral, but still needed to be tagged.

The federal USDA requires individual identification for each lamb that is sold through an auction so if there were ever a disease outbreak, the disease could be traced back to the ranch and possibly contained.

The tags are free for sheep producers, which means the government contracted with the lowest bidder to provide them.

Often, only one in three tags will actually pierce an ear. If it does, it could fall out at any moment.

Needless to say, tagging lambs uses every ounce of patience I can muster. Tagging in a blustery snowstorm might even push my low-key brother, Roger, over the edge.

So we decided to tag the lambs on Thursday, while it might still be warm.

We smiled at each other as the tagged lambs trotted back to their hay.

Then we listened to the new forecast.

Prognosticators promised blinding snow and icy roads by Saturday.

We wondered whether those cheap tags would stay in ears if we waited for the March sale.

Lamb prices were high, but a trailer sliding down into a ditch on the way to the sale would suck the profit with it.

Friday brought worse weather. As I drove back to the ranch from Conrad, I found the road one reflector at a time.

Both Lance and Zane own cattle and sheep, implying they both are tough and edgy.

Neither is stupid.

We decided to make a go/no-go decision at 6 on Saturday.

By then, part of the route was closed and the rest was icy with blowing snow.

The thermometer showed -3 degrees.

Maybe Sunday would be better.

The lambs wouldn’t have a day to eat, but they might be at the auction.

We delayed our loading schedule by an hour, in a feeble attempt to ease the conditions.

Sunday at 5 a.m., the thermometer registered -13.

I layered with two pairs of longjohns, jeans, two pairs of wool socks, two wool shirts, a sweatshirt, a wool sweater, a silk scarf, a fleece gator, an electric sweatshirt, a heavy coat, two hats, two pairs of gloves and my son’s old artic snow boots.

The lights of the skid steer didn’t help me find my driveway, but I moved enough snow so two pickups might not bury their loads in a drift.  

After all, the bridge is the only critical target along my half-mile two-track.

We loaded at Zane’s first, almost glad when a lamb tried to duck or dodge so one of us could duck or dodge to get blood flowing.

News flash: Sheep manure smells worse in a truck after it thaws.

By Sunday afternoon, I wanted to check in with the lamb haulers, but worse, wanted them to keep their hands on their wheels.

Zane’s report came back on Monday: The roads had been passable. The lambs lived. He and Lance were back home.

We made the right decision.