A shear romance
When Sandra Woodend, 27, from Millom, Cumbria, was called to check on her ailing sheep, she was in for quite a surprise!
As my alarm clock sounded, I rolled out of bed with a groan. ‘It’s 5.30am. Time to get up,’ I croaked at my partner, Stephen, 41, giving him a nudge.
Whipping back the curtain, it was still pitch black outside and pouring with rain – but the sheep and cattle on our farm in Bootle, Cumbria, needed feeding and milking whatever the weather.
I climbed into my boiler suit and pulled on my wellies before heading out the front door, while Stephen groggily followed.
We’d both grown up on farmyards – so we were used to early starts, mucking in and the smell of manure.
My family had lived next door to Stephen’s so we’d known each other for years.
But one day, when we bumped into each other on the country lanes, while he was out on his tractor, he stopped for a chat and plucked up the courage to ask me to go out for a meal.
On our first date we realised we had so much in common and we didn’t stop talking. We’ve been together ever since. As farmers, we were never able to take a day off.
Even on Christmas Day, I was up at the crack of dawn, ready to go out and tend to the animals.
Last year, I went to milk the cows at a neighbouring farm at 4am.
But just as I arrived, my mobile phone beeped. It was a message from Stephen. I think one of your sheep looks a bit poorly, it read.
When you get back, you’ll have to go and have a look at it.
The sheep had seemed fine when I left, so I couldn’t understand what had happened.
I thought it must be serious for Stephen to text me about it. Panicking, I rushed home as quickly as I could and went straight into the barn where my ewes were kept.
Suddenly, Stephen joined me with a huge grin on his face.
I couldn’t understand why he was looking so happy, when I was worried sick.
Jumbled in their pen, my sheep dashed around.
My favourite – named P7, the stock number when I bought her – dashed towards me and I noticed red spray paint with the word Will written across her woolly coat.
Another ran past and I made out the word You.
When I clocked the word Marry on another, it suddenly clicked.
My sheep weren’t sick at all, it was all just a ruse to get me into the
barn!
I caught sight of the final ewes with Me and a question mark on their sides.
Turning to Stephen, he was just standing there with a big grin across his face.
‘Don’t make me get down on one knee,’ he laughed, as I stared at him in utter shock.
‘I’ve got a bad back. I’ll never get back up again.’
Speechless, I stood in the pen with my mouth open.
I think Stephen was getting worried, as I didn’t say anything for a long time! ‘So, will you?’ he prompted. ‘Yes!’ I squealed, launching myself in his direction and throwing my arms around him.
Sneaky Stephen had waited until I’d disappeared to milk the cows before creeping out to the sheep shed to spray paint my flock. He didn’t have a ring. ‘I’d have no idea what you’d like,’ he admitted afterwards.
‘I thought you could choose it yourself, that way it will be perfect.’ I didn’t mind. A week later, we headed out to the shops and I opted for a sparkler with the diamonds engrained in it.
‘I don’t want them to catch on anything and fall out,’ I said – thinking practically about some of my less glamorous day-to-day jobs on the farm.
As a handy reminder to get wedding planning, the sheep – which we are now lambing – still have the words on their coats in red dye and it will stay that way until clipping season.
When we told our family and friends that we were engaged, they were all made up for us.
‘How perfect! I wouldn’t have expected Stephen to ask you in any other way,’ my dad laughed when we told him.
My friends teased that I would probably walk down the aisle in my mucky boiler suit and muddy wellies – as I live in them all day every day.
And, as they played such an important part in my proposal, we’re going to have to try and find a way to incorporate my beloved sheep into the wedding day.
Perhaps they can all trot down the aisle behind me – like I’m Little Bo Peep.
Whatever we decide, there’s no denying that Stephen’s proposal was shear class!