Conversations with sheep

When we were house hunting, we were always amazed by the sheep wandering across moorland roads. We would drive slowly, hanging our heads out of the windows like excited dogs, wishing the sheep were brave enough to approach us with a very good morning.

We made our home in a small North York Moors village where the sheep roam freely, and happily enter our garden uninvited, to methodically chomp the flower heads off each stem. On our first evening in our new cottage, we wandered into the village tired and relieved we finally made this life changing move. When we found and released a sheep who had her horns caught in a fence, a dangerous feat, we were bursting with happiness, knowing we had made the right choice.

In our early days here, I still wished each sheep I met a good morning and complimented them on their knees - sheep have glorious knees. You learn sheep behaviour. When they are unsure of you, they stop and make direct eye contact, either stamping a hoof or urinating. Well, that tells me! I learnt never to get between a mother and her lamb, on foot or in the car. It always results in a frantic last-minute dash to reconnect the fierce mother with her strongly bonded child.

When I’m out before the sun, I try not to disturb sheep resting below the trees. A wide berth and eyes down shows I do not challenge them, and I feel more a part of nature when I have communicated this to my sheep friends. Recently I left my cottage to find a small flock heading towards me on a narrow road. I expressed no interest in harming them, and they slowly got in line and trotted by me in single file as if I had Baa-Ram-Ewed. I speak sheep well now.

I had my first taste of sheep herding when my neighbour went away on holiday, leaving two broken fences and a direct route to our garden. We worked as a team. Someone would call ‘sheep!’ and head into the back garden, while the other went out the front door to open the neighbour’s gate. At first, I didn’t realise how much they panicked if herded, one thudding onto her side as her feet couldn’t decide which direction to go in. It became an exercise in groundedness, learning to be aware, calm and connected as a means to communicate the easiest exit.

I still talk to sheep, and feel closer to nature when my grammar is correct. We keep our gate closed, but our sheep friends are always welcome at our gate where they lunch on the weeds and trimmings I leave for them to dine on.