THE SHEEP DIP
a rain crow last night.
It
cleared up with a fresh wind blowing.
We waited in the lane for our neighbors. They came up with
their flocks. Together we had
900
sheep to manage.
The boys galloped around on the clumsy workhorses, ahead
and behind. The men trudged alongside the flock. A long road
ahead. There were many young lambs. The wind died down.
The sky thickened like marrow.
The boys first took it as a lark. They raced their horses
and cried, "Ya, Ya, Ya." They chased a redtailed hawk, wav–
ing their hats.
Soon lambs drifted away from their mothers. They lagg–
ed, bewildered. An old ewe toppled into a rut. She wouldn't
budge. We pulled her up under an oak. Two rams got thru a
fence. We cornered them and swung them over the wire. Off
the main highway onto an old logging railroad. The bundled
sheep poured thru an open barway. The farmer rushed nut of
his stable with a pitchfork. A dog barked. We cleared them
out before any damage was done. The country became hillier.
The road nothing but a wagon track. Halfway, the boys stopped
to lap water from a brook. The puffing horses looked soaped.
To keep the boss still was as hard as keeping a cocksparrow
on the ground. The bleating sheep streamed into a hollow. At
noon we reached the village.
We ate at the farmer's who owned the dipping tank. The
boss bolted his beef and cabbage, slammed a fistful of long cut
into his mouth, and was the first in the sheds. We partitioned
the sheds off with hayracks. In one corner we drenched. In
the cowyard the dipping tank and the drying platform were all
ready.
The county agent, a hairy little fellow like a woodmoth,
in boots several sizes too large, lectured to the farmers. "We're
ready to fix them for bugs internal, external, infernal. See that
lamb pissing there. Built like a brick, built low to the ground.
That's the best kind for the market."
The boss listened impatiently. He muttered, studying his
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