A New Leaf

by Ian Sherry of Rostrevor, Northern Ireland
photos by Stasia Sherry

Standing in the spring sunshine I admired my last three ewes to lamb (with twin lambs) grazing in the garden. But only momentarily because the hesitant step of one of them signalled a three or four foot length of barbed wire around her front leg and up into her wool. I was horrified; some careless person going past must have thrown it up on the ditch. Quick as I could I got a pair of heavy duty gloves and with the dog got the three ewes and lambs cornered against the fence.

There with one horn crooked around my knee and the other knee, as best I could, immobilising her against the fence, I began with my penknife to cut the barbed wire out. Truly I was on my limits. Should the ewe at this stage plunge forward the wire would scarify me; should the other two ewes stamping their feet at the dog ‘make a drive at him’ and should he (the dog) lose patience with the new lambs innocently tipping his nose… all would be lost.

“Lie down dog! Lie down Bo-Patch!” I was shouting while cutting frantically at the wool. When –– what should pull up at the gate but a very big sedan car; a luxury vehicle and to my horror two coiffured older ladies get out. “Cooee Ian! Cooee!” they shouted. “O look he has lovely lambs! Can we help!” They were two ladies who live on Cherry Hill; as the name suggests a very nice area in the village behind my house. ‘Ladies who lunch.’

I’m shouting at the dog; “Lie down Bo-Patch. Lie down!” At them; “keep back, keep back!” I note they’re now filming me on their telephones. I’ve totally lost the run of myself; I’ve no idea what I said but at some point they must have left and I must have succeeded in getting the wire cut out. Next day I saw the two of them walking their little dogs down the village. I stopped the car and got out. “You caught me at a bad moment yesterday,” I ventured. “O not at all,” they gushed. “Our friends in America and New Zealand absolutely adored the video we sent them!”

In the past I’d simply have caught the ewe by the horn and flank; sat her on her rump and pulled the wire out. The incident cemented my idea of just keeping a few ewe lambs each year and moving them on before putting them with the tup. My neighbour Paschal kindly volunteered to lamb my ewes for me but I thanked him and stuck to my plan. All my life I have bred Mourne ewes that have evolved to be big and strong and athletic. However they too have an engrained wild streak. They can jump like a stag.

To buy another tup with the qualities I like would simply not be good sense. Paschal generously replaced my last four young Mourne ewes with six lambs (just off the ewes) of his own. He has been breeding North Country Cheviots (also referred to as Lairgs) for many years. He is a champion of the breed. At home in Sunderland in the north of Scotland they are strong and hardy. Easily lambed and do well in harsh climates and rough pastures. And what do I think of them? They’re lovely! I don’t see them as sheep; I see them as pets.

Sturdy; with a broad back; pleasing white face and perpetually sticking up ears. They almost immediately ran up to the trough where I each morning give them a handful of meal. And they’re easily managed. They keep in a tight little group and look at me in unison with amused curiosity. They amicably trot into the pen in the corner of the field when I put the dog round them. Obligingly skipping over to the trough when I let them out.

I’m pleased to forgo the boisterous, nervous athleticism of my previous stock. Tups with horns that could disembowel the unwary and ewes that would test a senior shepherd and drag them ragdoll fashion around the pen.

P.S. Ten years ago I got a pup from Paschal. When I took him home Jack remarked he had a blue and a brown eye – like David Bowie. He suggested Bo for a name. Peter with all the authority of his six years said Patch. And that’s why he always gets his full title – and it rolls off my tongue – ‘Bo-Patch.’