What the Animals Taught Me by Stephanie Marohn

Author:Stephanie Marohn
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781612831909
Publisher: Hampton Roads Publishing

6

A Sense of Belonging

The drive TO WORK WITH THE CHICKENS at the animal sanctuary took me past a small farm. Every time I drove by, I saw the same black-faced sheep standing in the same spot by a barn on the far side of a junk-filled yard. From what I could see from the road, through the high chain-link fence surrounding the property, she appeared to be alone and looked like she hadn't been sheared in some years—neither of which is good for a sheep. I asked Beth, another worker at the sanctuary, if she had noticed the sheep. Yes, she, too, saw her every day, lamented the conditions in which the sheep lived, and had resolved to help. The sheep stood there in the same spot, rain or shine. From the road, we could also see a large pen of goats, but they were far from where the sheep stood. Beth had only occasionally seen a person on the place.

The next time I drove by the farm, I saw a woman near the barn. I drove on to work, got Beth, and the two of us went back to inquire about the sheep. Through the chainlink fence, we called to the woman. She approached warily. We introduced ourselves and told her we had noticed her sheep and were wondering if she might like to give the sheep a home with other sheep. When she shook her head, we asked if we could just see the sheep. Reluctantly, she let us in and led the way to the barn. We were aghast at the condition of the animals we saw along the way—goats with hooves so long they had curled up over the feet like deformed Persian slippers, dogs and cats with open sores, and then the ewe, with so much wool on her that she moved with difficulty beneath the matted, dirty, yellowishbrown mass when she retreated at sight of us.

We refrained from commenting on the condition of the animals and I asked the woman how the sheep came to be there. She told us that there used to be three sheep, this ewe's mother and sister, but they had died some time ago. She relayed matter-of-factly how the last one had laid down in the middle of the pasture and continued to lie there in the pouring rain. She said she had gone out after a day or two, rolled the ewe onto a tarp, dragged her into the open barn, and left her there, figuring she would probably die. She did. We listened to the story, appalled, but I asked only how old the remaining sheep was. Five years old. The last time she had been sheared? Never had been.

I focused on the ewe, who watched us in fear from across the small pasture behind the barn. I was determined to get her out of there. After talking with the woman about other things—the farm, her life—I came back to the subject of the sheep and she finally agreed to let us take her, not right then, but at some point.

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