Country Roads

Well, how are you?
Here’s a promise. There will be no mention of the “r” word in this column today, even though it is, miraculously, r—ing this very moment! (I am writing on Super Bowl Sunday, at 9 a.m.)
This does not prevent me from admitting to a constant concern by all of us throughout Alexander Valley who are dependent upon wells as their sole water source, not only for drip irrigating fields but also for filling house faucets. As Lake Mendocino, upon which Cloverdale, Geyserville and Northern Healdsburg depend, measures a fraction of its usual volume and has been, for all practical purposes shut off, we daily breathe a sigh of relief for one more day of water.
My new neighbor down our lane asked one morning if I was concerned about our well. Well, I’d better be. However, as many comment throughout our community, “I guess we should enjoy the beautiful afternoons once the frost melts – there’s nothing we can do about the weather!”
Sensibly, then, I greet the day grateful there is water to awaken my face, water to fill the coffee pot, to wash the dishes in and replenish the animals’ drinking bowls outside.
“Well, how are you?” I ask Posey and Patrick, our two Shetland sheep. (I enjoy conversing with them.) They were shorn in May and their fleece is deep and soft. They seem relieved to have the cool weather. It reminds them of Scotland. When my hands are cold, in spite of heavy gloves, I wish the sheep would stand still so I could bury my fingers in their fleece for ten minutes. However, they are anxious to escape from their shed and venture into the back yard, locating the fresh alfalfa they love. The roses have been neatly pruned back onto the fence as far as two sheep can reach because they love roses better than alfalfa.
“Posey!  No Roses!” is my repeated shout throughout spring and summer. Do you know that sheep don’t pay the slightest attention to you if you shout?  Do you know that sheep don’t pay the slightest attention to you if you don’t? Our niece in Montana, a cattle rancher from birth, wrote to her Uncle Joel a couple of years ago, “Sheep? Is my Aunt Renee demented?” Afraid so. I just love them.  They are not only beautiful to watch but they set amazing examples in approaching life.  
Patrick, smaller of the two but only two weeks younger, was born blind. Yet, he travels around the backyard without getting bonked in the head. (Smarter than NFL players?) He also has endless patience with Posey, the ewe lamb who is convinced she is queen of the backyard and all who cross through it. She is usually calm except around food. She tolerates Patrick’s companionship and his need for being near a fellow beast to follow around and guide him, until it is time for their COB  (corn-oats-barley) .
“Cob-Time!” I croon to them in late afternoon. If I am slower paced and happy Posey reacts better than if I am hurried and dictatorial. She definitely does NOT like to be scolded. When she revs up and butts Patrick away from his COB bowl, I have learned to wield not a firm hand, which causes her to flatten her ears, backing up and then coming toward me with her forehead down like Ferdinand The Bull, but by gently scratching her behind her ears, petting her face and telling her what a nice girl she is.
Hey, it works!  She calms down, seems to enjoy the added attention, and proceeds into her own part of the sheep house to her own COB bowl. A small half-door is secured, affording rest at night independent of the other until morning.
Additionally, I’ve learned that Posey just feels really, really cranky on certain days of the month. It’s nothing Patrick or I have done. It’s hormonal and she’s in a mood. She doesn’t want any ear scratching and she’d rather not have any company for awhile. We wait a couple of days; normality returns.
See what we can learn from the animals?
“Demented?” Well, we’ll just wait on that.
Renee Kiff weeds and writes at her family farm in Alexander Valley.