Humans are programmed to see sheep as followers, unintelligent, without initiative, of no particular value, unnecessary space fillers in the bigger picture, not green or ozone friendly. Sheep look at those humans and sadly shake their heads, pitying them for such ignorant assumption.
Sheep experience intense emotions and are on par, if not higher, than humans in the emotions ranks.
They know fear: strangers (human or beast) cause them to take flight. Therefore they are also our first line of defense: always alert and on guard, they warn us about strangers and any human or animal traffic that do not belong here.
They distinguish faces: the outer walls of our house are mainly glass windows and doors – our sheep will scout the house, peeping through every window and door until they locate me with their eyes, and on making eye contact, will add sound and hoof scratches to encourage my urgent attention to their demands which, I want to add, is not always food. They are just as demanding for attention, ear scratches, body massages, or mere socializing.
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Jana (the baby of the sheep) with Picasso and Skibe-Dee on the miniature rocky mount
Sheep are social creatures. They require and like interaction – with other sheep, with cats, with dogs, with birds, with humans – as long as all these are part of their extended family. They do not like to be locked up in small paddocks and prefer the freedom to roam around (and sometimes inside) the living quarters of their humans.
Sheep mourn/grieve: when Trilogy, my darling boy hand-reared from a tiny white baby wounded by foxes and magpies, died inexplicably aged two after a healthy and wonderful and full life, Emma his mother would not stop asking me with great sadness in her eyes and voice what we did with her darling son. When we buried Trilogy amidst our big trees on the side of the hill Emma stared silently and questioningly into the grave and at us, wanting an explanation of where her son went. For two solid weeks, Emma and I visited Trilogy’s grave, weeping for the son who died much too soon. I knew Emma realized Trilogy was not coming back when she started nibbling on the green leaves near to the grave. She still occasionally visits Trilogy’s grave with me, but no longer demanding to know where he went. Her pain was as real as mine.
Trilogy escaping summer heat in front of fan in kitchen
Sheep are inquisitive: shopping bags, a car boot full of groceries, what is hidden under my lounge chairs, what lies beneath the bed duvet … they nudge with their noses, sniffing and smelling and will remove chair cushions and bedding to get to the bottom of things.
Sheep can reason: when Emma was pregnant with her second baby, Trilogy came charging up the hill one day, anxiously bleating and breathing, obviously coaching us to follow him. We ran down the hill, not knowing what was wrong, to find Emma in premature labor, obviously stressed. Trilogy had these huge eyes (even the blind eye, hijacked by the magpies when he was a baby), fear and anxiety written all over his body, guarding his mother with his concerned eye, ensuring that we do not leave him or her side. The little lamb was still born, and for days Emma (with Trilogy, trailing behind her, not understanding why she was excluding him from her emotions) would revisit the spot where she lost her younger child.
Sheep are loving: they love to be touched, kissed, massaged. If Vinkel decides that his massage has been too short, he will scratch my leg with his hoof (just like my dog will when he wants attention) and lean into me with all of his weight (which is double my weight), a demand which cannot be ignored.
Sheep are nannies: Emma loves to play nanny to her foster children (Vinkel and Jana), and she escorts and watches over the ravens or wild parrots or pigeons when they eat.
Sheep fall in love: Emma is devotedly in love with one of our cats, a black and white tomcat, Skibe-Dee. The love affair (of course unconsummated) between the two of them exceeds all the expectations of a fairy tale relationship.
Emma and Skibe-Dee, a mixed love affair
Sheep are vocal: They talk, they call, and it sometimes even sound as if they purr.
Sheep get excited: Their body-language and exuberant playfulness says it all. And they love to play ball.
Sheep react to their own names: If Vinkel is buffing the car, unwittingly engaging his horn in the process, you can shout STOP right next to him, and he will ignore you point blank. But just raise your voice even from inside the house, addressing him by his name VINKEL, and he will stop immediately with what he is doing. They do know their own names, and they respond accordingly.
Sheep like to go for walks: They will follow me around when I water the garden or when I take the wheelie-bin down to the gate for collection. Sometimes I follow them when I water the garden and take the bin down, as they also insist on being the leaders, taking turns amongst themselves.
Sheep like friends: Khan our Doberman is the sheep’s best friend … they run with him, chase him, follow him, relax under the trees with him, nudge-kiss him, even share their food with him.
Morning nap - Vinkel and Khan
Sheep and gas: I know the greenies feel threatened by sheep and their gas emission. These greenies do not have dogs, I would imagine; and most probably they sleep alone. Our Doberman can sink a planet with his gas bombs and as to the silent smell that can envelope and engulf the unsuspecting human sleeper…
Sheep are not meek and mild, nor stupid: Come and meet my sheep and both these qualities will be strongly refuted by them, by me, by you. Our sheep are too clever (sometimes for their and our own good) and as to mild, it is a quality that perhaps only applies to poor innocent incarcerated sheep, packed onto trucks like sardines into a too small tin, unable to escape, waiting to be slaughtered.
We love our lamb: alive, excited, joyful, loving, inquisitive, demanding, talkative, socializing, interacting, fully clothed in their woollen coats … but never ever on our table.
