A few weeks after my new helper, Annie, started working at the farm, I noticed a change in the way my sheep were behaving. Usually, when they see my border collie Rose, they bunch together and wait, resignedly, to be shuttled to one pasture or another. But now they were rushing up to me and to other people. Sometimes they sniffed at my pockets. A couple of times they ran right around or over the shocked Rose, and it took some nipping and charging to set them straight.
This was a problem. Herding is a complex synergy, involving the movement and temperament of livestock, dogs, and humans. It looks pretty simple with a dog as competent as Rose, but it's not. It works best when the dog and sheep are entirely focused on each other, when neither is sniffing around humans or otherwise distracted. So, when several of the ewes suddenly turned balky, ignoring or even butting at Rose, causing her to grow more aggressive in turn, it was disturbing.
What was going on?
I looked out my office window one morning to see Annie reaching into her pockets and offering the sheep, clustered around her, something to eat. I went outside and asked what she'd been feeding them.
"Oh, peanuts," she said. "I always bring some with me for the sheep."
Now I understood. The sheep had begun to associate people with their favorite thing—food—and so paid less attention to the dog. To do her job, therefore, Rose had to get uncharacteristically rough, a trait I didn't want to encourage. So, Annie and I began our latest—and by no means last—disagreement about animal care. We'd already argued about feeding the dogs food from the table or from her lunch. We argued about how much time and money should be spent to keep alive a ewe. Now we jousted about whether it was a good idea to give sheep peanuts.
When it comes to sheep, there are a few I know and feel fond of, and they come up to me for scratches or to angle for some of the snacks I'm taking to the donkeys. There are two or three good mothers I respect. But mostly, their lack of individuality—they behave like sheep!—and their one-dimensional personalities don't make it easy for me to attach to them.
Some people—including Annie—argue I'm underestimating the sheep because I encounter them only when I am with my dog. I regard them from a border collie perspective, and they associate me with being herded. Could be true. But I have only so much time and affection to share, I tell Annie. I have to make choices. Dogs come first, donkeys close behind, then the steer, then sheep, and then chickens.
I could say I love all my animals equally, but that would be a lie. It cost well over $1,000 for my yellow Lab Pearl's multiple surgeries to repair damaged ligaments. I wouldn't spend that on a ewe. When Izzy or Rose is sick, we rush to the vet. My pantry is crammed with treats, chews, and toys for the dogs. I've never brought treats to sheep, although I bring the donkeys cookies, and Elvis the steer gets his daily apples. I treat the flock well, provide the best food, freshest water, safest fences. I protect them from predators, give them their shots and deworming medication. But I've always been clear about why they're here: to be herded by border collies.
We currently have 50 sheep. We recognize that they do indeed have individual personalities. They also have a fairly complex and stable hierarchy. They are a society, and until a shepherd takes the time to observe, it's a secret society. The Secret Society of Sheep.
They have different preferences for grazing, shade, water. They have their own spots in which to sleep at night. They each have a different reaction to being handled, some are nearly impossible to catch, but once you do, they relax. Some fight and fight. Some come up to be next! Some like, i mean genuinely like dogs, some like people, some like the llama who is their guardian. Some only like sheep. The breed of sheep does have a lot to do with personalities. We have Icelandic Sheep. They tend to have little flocking instinct and are an ancient, intelligent breed.
I think people usually do need to distance themselves from the livestock which they kill for food. It's a human reaction. Make them 'things' so you don't feel bad. But the fact of the matter is that every living thing is an individual, and given enough time, can respond affectionately to human kindness.
All of our sheep have names. So do our cattle. So do our horses, dogs and barn cats. They live as good a life as we can possible give them. And if they end up in the freezer, well, they lived well until then and were loved.
I name many of our livestock, especially those who are around for a long time like the sows and boars in the breeding herd who we will need to discuss.[…] Names tend to have something to do with the animal. A physical or behavioral characteristic that is distinctive.
The sow is named Out because she slipped out through a very small hole in the fence and farrowed in the forest. Her aunt Flop is named for her particularly floppy ears. The boar Archimedes is named because he always seems to be peering studiously over his non-existent glasses. Big Pig is named for, well, you can guess on that one. Sometimes it is a pattern in their coloring. There is Cookie who looks like she has chocolate chips on her and Soviet who had the soviet flag on her butt. Mouse got her name because she has a rather famous Disney logo on her shoulder. The birthmark looks just like Mickey Mouse - the two of them will have to squabble over the intellectual property rights on that one as I'm not getting involved.
Normally I don't name animals initially. On the breeders it is generally after about six months or so of age that they 'tell me' their names. That's when we start to need to differentiate them from the run of the mill finisher pigs who are going to market. […]
On the topic of spending excessive money on vet bills for named animals - doesn't happen here. Not even close. Name vs number makes no difference. Can't afford it, for one thing. Dogs don't get it either. I do what doctoring I can as needed. Mostly we just try to avoid injury and illness. Heck, I don't even spend much on myself or my wife. Admittedly the kids are another matter, but then they're pets and I'm a bit emotionally attached to them. :) Cheers -Walter Sugar Mountain Farm in the mountains of Vermont
When in grad school, I taught two entry level science classes of 200 +- students each. Like Jon, I considered these sheep to be not worthy of more than a number, in their case a student ID number. Except for a few. There was one "Little Girl" who I'll call LT to avoid lawsuits. I still remember her name even though 35 years have passed since I last saw her. She was an elementary education major taking a science course for non science majors and as simple as I could make things was still to complicated for her. Her constant whining and pleading burned her into my memory forever.
I had another (male) student very much the same. I guess these were my sheep #s 57 and 58.
Today, I have a number of chemists that work for me, or rather for my lab manager. Like Jon's sheep I know most of them on a sort of number only basis. Until I see something special, there is little need for any more identity than that. This may make me less than I should be or at least identify me as a bad person.
Numbers for sheep are ok, but I guess I should name my chemists in a way more personal than sheep #1 and sheep #2. The trouble is all I see when I look at them is Baaaaaa Baaaaaa and occasionally one that falls in the ditch and can't get out. They are bad to stand out in the rain of a driving thunderstorm, six feet outside of an open barn door and the smell of fresh hay.
I do know my lab manager's name. He is a lot like Jon's sheepdog, Rose.
A few weeks after my new helper, Annie, started working at the farm, I noticed a change in the way my sheep were behaving. Usually, when they see my border collie Rose, they bunch together and wait, resignedly, to be shuttled to one pasture or another. But now they were rushing up to me and to other people. Sometimes they sniffed at my pockets. A couple of times they ran right around or over the shocked Rose, and it took some nipping and charging to set them straight. 
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Remarks from the Fray:
We currently have 50 sheep. We recognize that they do indeed have individual personalities. They also have a fairly complex and stable hierarchy. They are a society, and until a shepherd takes the time to observe, it's a secret society. The Secret Society of Sheep.
They have different preferences for grazing, shade, water. They have their own spots in which to sleep at night. They each have a different reaction to being handled, some are nearly impossible to catch, but once you do, they relax. Some fight and fight. Some come up to be next! Some like, i mean genuinely like dogs, some like people, some like the llama who is their guardian. Some only like sheep. The breed of sheep does have a lot to do with personalities. We have Icelandic Sheep. They tend to have little flocking instinct and are an ancient, intelligent breed.
I think people usually do need to distance themselves from the livestock which they kill for food. It's a human reaction. Make them 'things' so you don't feel bad. But the fact of the matter is that every living thing is an individual, and given enough time, can respond affectionately to human kindness.
All of our sheep have names. So do our cattle. So do our horses, dogs and barn cats. They live as good a life as we can possible give them. And if they end up in the freezer, well, they lived well until then and were loved.
--eightpondfarm
(To reply, click here.)
I name many of our livestock, especially those who are around for a long time like the sows and boars in the breeding herd who we will need to discuss.[…] Names tend to have something to do with the animal. A physical or behavioral characteristic that is distinctive.
The sow is named Out because she slipped out through a very small hole in the fence and farrowed in the forest. Her aunt Flop is named for her particularly floppy ears. The boar Archimedes is named because he always seems to be peering studiously over his non-existent glasses. Big Pig is named for, well, you can guess on that one. Sometimes it is a pattern in their coloring. There is Cookie who looks like she has chocolate chips on her and Soviet who had the soviet flag on her butt. Mouse got her name because she has a rather famous Disney logo on her shoulder. The birthmark looks just like Mickey Mouse - the two of them will have to squabble over the intellectual property rights on that one as I'm not getting involved.
Normally I don't name animals initially. On the breeders it is generally after about six months or so of age that they 'tell me' their names. That's when we start to need to differentiate them from the run of the mill finisher pigs who are going to market. […]
On the topic of spending excessive money on vet bills for named animals - doesn't happen here. Not even close. Name vs number makes no difference. Can't afford it, for one thing. Dogs don't get it either. I do what doctoring I can as needed. Mostly we just try to avoid injury and illness. Heck, I don't even spend much on myself or my wife. Admittedly the kids are another matter, but then they're pets and I'm a bit emotionally attached to them. :) Cheers -Walter Sugar Mountain Farm in the mountains of Vermont
--pubwvj
(To reply, click here.)
When in grad school, I taught two entry level science classes of 200 +- students each. Like Jon, I considered these sheep to be not worthy of more than a number, in their case a student ID number. Except for a few. There was one "Little Girl" who I'll call LT to avoid lawsuits. I still remember her name even though 35 years have passed since I last saw her. She was an elementary education major taking a science course for non science majors and as simple as I could make things was still to complicated for her. Her constant whining and pleading burned her into my memory forever.
I had another (male) student very much the same. I guess these were my sheep #s 57 and 58.
Today, I have a number of chemists that work for me, or rather for my lab manager. Like Jon's sheep I know most of them on a sort of number only basis. Until I see something special, there is little need for any more identity than that. This may make me less than I should be or at least identify me as a bad person.
Numbers for sheep are ok, but I guess I should name my chemists in a way more personal than sheep #1 and sheep #2. The trouble is all I see when I look at them is Baaaaaa Baaaaaa and occasionally one that falls in the ditch and can't get out. They are bad to stand out in the rain of a driving thunderstorm, six feet outside of an open barn door and the smell of fresh hay.
I do know my lab manager's name. He is a lot like Jon's sheepdog, Rose.
--meridiantoo
(To reply, click here.)
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