Michele Hewitson
At least once a day, a tremendous racket is to be heard emanating from the Orchard Paddock here at Lush Places. Somebody has started a rumour. The rumour translates as, “The man is here! The man is here!”
The racket is followed by the mad galloping and occasional leaping in the air of the ewes, tearing off to the other side of the paddock. The man brings what farmers call baleage and we former Aucklanders call stinkage, due to its pungent odour. Sheep find it delicious.
When they realise that the man, Miles the sheep farmer, is not here, they straggle back, looking dejected. They never learn to distinguish between a rumour and actual evidence: the man actually arriving with an actual trailer containing actual baleage. Sheep have hopeful natures.
The disappointment over the rumour being, yet again, merely a rumour lasts until the sheep find a windfall pear.
There is no better illustration of utter bliss than the sight of a sheep eating a pear. Because they have incisor teeth at the front of their jaws, they have to manoeuvre a pear to the very back of their mouths where their molars reside. This involves sticking their heads into the air, which, for some unknown reason, means they roll their eyes gleefully. I will never tire of watching a sheep eat — or, more accurately, inhale — a pear.
In addition to having hopeful natures, sheep are also fast runners and are not easily embarrassed. I knew these things about sheep, but it was nice to have my observations validated in a television documentary called The Games. This is not actually a documentary, but a mockumentary written by brilliant satirist and ovine expert John Clarke about the bungling organisers of the 2000 Sydney Olympics. We have just watched its first series again. It is still hellishly funny.
A scene of true philosophical genius takes place in a taxi and involves a debate between Clarke and the taxi driver over whether a sheep could beat a horse in a race. “Some sheep are terribly brisk,” claims Clarke. A sheep, the taxi driver says, would always be outrun by a horse. Such a race would be too embarrassing for the sheep. “I don’t know about
“Let me tell you, you do not want to be butted up the bum by a ram. It made my teeth rattle.”
that,” says Clarke. “Sheep aren’t very easily embarrassed.”
The cycle of country life is ruled by the calendar, as always. Still, it seems just the other day that the last lot of lambs were born. And yet three ram lambs born last spring are now back in our paddocks doing what rams are bred to do — to continue that circle of country life by making more lambs.
My ewe, Elizabeth Jane, had a ram lamb in September. I named him Jasper and have spent the months since his birth attempting to sell his virtues to Miles. I wanted Jasper to be chosen as one of the three rams to be put to work this season.
Rams deemed not to have the right genetics do not have a long future. In the case of East Friesian sheep, they must have long faces, a long straight tail, stand perfectly square and have finely turned but strong legs. There is also an examination, done by hand, of their necessary appendages, which I refuse to participate in despite Miles’ invitations.
It is all very technical, and their value as rams is measured on the milk production of their sheepy whakapapa as well. Also, they must demonstrate good character, which, in rams, means they must not be a bit of a bugger. They must not sneak up silently behind people and butt them up the bum. I have been butted up the bum by a ram and let me tell you, you do not want to be butted from behind by a ram. It made my teeth rattle.
For months, Miles claimed Jasper didn’t have the goods. But when the three chosen ones arrived, who should be on the trailer? Jasper! I did a little dance and rushed inside to get him a biscuit.
I haven’t told Miles that he is possibly a bit of a bugger. l