I liked sheep, always have. As a spinner and a knitter I find the fact that I can make hats and scarves out of what eats grass in the backyard nifty. And it’s not just the fiber fix either—sheep have always brought out a stillness in me. Their presence is stoic, but warm, like your Norwegian grandfather after Thanksgiving Dinner. So the pull to be around sheep was always there, but what made me actually acquire some was the ease in their care. Out of all the animals at Cold Antler, the sheep are the lowest maintenance. They need little more than grass, water, and the option of shelter. They are hearty and health care is basic and cheap. They aren't big like cows or horses, so for livestock they can make a backyard or a small pasture home if you're willing to buy hay. They don't eat much.
Their wool feels like October. Sometimes I touch them to remember when I am lonely.
When out in a field with my sheep I feel as if I am sharing some moment with the ages. A bond between two animals so ancient it’s engraved on pottery and stone walls. We have been living side by side for a long time, and they have been keeping us fed and warm since long before our great great grandparents rose for work. Sheep have been watching over us just as much as we have been watching over them. It’s a partnership I mean to honor and continue as a shepherd in the 21st century. We may have electric fences and ride out to the field on ATVS, but we still hold that crook in our white-knuckled fists and holler “Away to me!” to our fine black dogs. And the moment of tension and electricity when a border collie bursts away from his handler to gather is beyond me or them. It's everything. When a sheepdog runs from you, time gasps.
We are a part of a tradition and an oath. I will keep it long as I breath.