The Turn

As the days got shorter, I admit my patience did too.

Vlad was getting harder and harder to handle, becoming pushier by the day. His aggression escalated until one afternoon he finally decided to challenge me.

This once-sweet boy that we brought home at one-week-old and bottle-fed for nearly two months was suddenly charging me—once, twice, three times. I fended him off repeatedly, barely keeping my feet under me.

I’m not gonna lie—I was scared.

He was a big boy now, and I knew he could seriously injure me, especially if he managed to knock me off my feet.

I called loudly for my son, a teenager who is both bigger and stronger than me now and could hold his own with Vlad quite well.

As he came to my defense, Vlad continued charging—the fourth, fifth, and sixth time. My reflexes were slowing while his attacks came faster and faster.

For a split second, I realized I was about to lose this challenge.

Finally, I made the inevitable miscalculation, and he headbutted me. My thumb took the brunt of it.

I cried out in pain, shouting a few choice words and wondering if he had broken it. I was thoroughly shaken.

About that time, my son caught up to us and grabbed Vlad by the collar. He led him off to the Sheep Shed to be safely contained.

In the moment, all I could feel was the adrenaline and the pain in my hand.

Looking back now, I think God was using that encounter to shape me further.

Meanwhile I retreated to the safety of my house fuming. My rage was fueled by fear and pain as I contemplated the best recipes for Shepherd’s Pie. Katahdin sheep are, after all, well-known for their delicious meat.

However, the weather was unseasonably warm for October so it wasn’t exactly the best time to learn how to butcher and process meat. (Besides, I doubt I could have followed through on my threats. I’m not sure I have the stomach for processing meat we’ve raised.)

Instead, we put a few stop-gap safety measures in place and listed Vlad as up for discussion, hoping to re-home him quickly.

But the tension on our land was palpable.

There was some interest—but no serious buyers through October, November, or December.

Come January, a new challenge emerged.

The ladies were getting through our fences and wandering onto our neighbor’s property.

At first, it was more annoying than alarming. Our neighbors were gracious about it. They enjoyed seeing the sheep and even appreciated them clearing away some of the overgrowth.

Each time it happened, my son would search for the spot he thought they were slipping through and patch the fence.

But somehow, they kept getting out.

Again and again.

And each time they wandered a little farther from home.

By mid-January, the peace we’d known when the lambs first came home had started to unravel.

Vlad was unpredictable. The fences were failing. And the tension on our land was impossible to ignore.

Something had to give.

Stay tuned for The Fall, coming March 28.